Wedding Watcher

 I watched a wedding today.

It wasn’t on TV, and I wasn’t in a public place. I also wasn’t an invited guest. But I was allowed and encouraged to watch and by that generous action of sharing, I have been blessed today.

But that’s not even the best part of the story, so let me start at the beginning. 

Like many of us, we have been steadily working our way through some home improvement and organizing projects during the pandemic and recently I was looking through some old family photos which happened to include photos of the home commonly considered to be “THE HOME,” for my dad’s side of the family. My dad grew up in that house and my grandparents lived there for 22 years. I was only 2 when they moved out, so I am one of a small handful of grandchildren with no memories of it of my own. However, it was a constant touchstone in our family throughout my life and the numbers that comprise the address (709) have become synonymous in our family with “signs from heaven.” (In fact, I have a long running list of the times those numbers have appeared at meaningful times, which I probably should take the time to write down.) There are a few treasured items in my home that hold special significance because they came from that house. 

You could say the house is almost like a member of our family.

I’ve only been inside the house (when I was old enough to remember it) once and that was because it was between residents and empty when our family happened to be having a family get-together at the house next door, where my aunt and uncle lived for many years. Knowing the house was empty and knowing who the new owner was, my family decided to try to get inside to take a self-guided tour. Naturally, the house was locked up and I can remember the adults discussing how to overcome that obstacle — including, of course, calling the new owner and asking if he might come and unlock it. Instead, my dad decided to try out the method he used to use as a kid when he found himself locked out (or maybe needed to get back inside quietly?) and found the basement window to be exactly as cooperative as it had been in the days they had been co-conspirators. He crawled inside, opened a back door, and we all took a tour. 

By the way- the person who was that new owner still lives there today, and that’s going to be important information in a bit.

That house is a fixture in my life. When we were having second thoughts about whether we could afford to build a home, my dad agreed with our decision and went on to explain that when my grandparents bought 709, they couldn’t afford curtains and so they lived there for a few years with bare windows. I know he was trying to make me feel better about waiting but all I heard was “they couldn’t really afford it either but they took the leap and it became this amazing family home” and a few days later we signed the paperwork to move forward.

That house is a fixture in my life. When it came time to pick out siding and shutter colors for our house, we simply took a drive by 709 and then replicated what we saw there. I don’t even know that we loved the particular colors, but we were in love with the idea that we were building our own version of this iconic place for our children.

That house is a fixture in my life. We planned my dad’s funeral procession route to drive by that house as one final good-bye. The current owner made sure to put out his city flag in tribute.

When I found those photos recently, I took some time to reflect on how funny it is that I can feel so connected to a house that I never really knew. And then I realized the current owner has lived there so long now that it’s probably not right that I don’t think of it as his. I don’t think of it as anyone’s house really. I just think of it as this foundation of family, as if the house exists all of its own. I was feeling bad about that, but now I’m not.

Today, the current owner’s son was married at 709. A friend lives close by and had messaged to say how beautiful the outdoor ceremony setup was and like so many others in town as word spread, I drove by to see. Then I stopped and we sat on my friend’s front porch and watched the busy preparations of people coming and going. It was like watching those scenes in “Father of the Bride” and “Steel Magnolias” in real life. At some point, the owner saw us and made a point to invite us over to see the beautiful table decorations for the outdoor dinner seating up close. It was gorgeous, and it caught my breath to be so physically close to where so much of my family’s history lies buried in the walls.

But it was also wonderful to just feel alive and normal, for a few minutes to forget about the craziness in the world and to just look around and soak in some of the love already floating in the air. Love, hope, excitement — all just there for the taking in. Ah, weddings.

We watched the wedding from the front porch of my friend’s house across the street, with the blessings of the father of the groom. It is not something I ever thought I would do and even as I write it, it sounds crazy, nosy, and certainly kind of tacky. But please believe me, it didn’t feel that way in the minute. I am eternally grateful to him for letting us share in that very special moment for their family, and here’s why. 

It felt like we were part of a community again. It was a sense of connection that we have been so missing in these many months of distancing and lockdown. It truly felt nostalgic, as we realized this must be the way “it used to be,” when the best entertainment possible on a Saturday afternoon could be taken in from a rocking chair on a front porch as your neighbors celebrated some wonderful milestone in life. I imagine it used to be like this more often. 

When I gave birth to our last child at home, neighbors took note when strange cars appeared in our driveway and wondered if the blessed event might be happening. I imagine it used to be that way a lot more, when midwives or doctors suddenly appeared in the driveway as a due date drew near. 

Perhaps it used to be easier to tell when good and bad things were happening to a family in a home, perhaps it used to be easier to tell when they needed a casserole or someone to drop in with a neighborly good wish. Today we lock our doors and close our garages the minute we get home. Truthfully, I suspect this is why social media was so appealing in the beginning, because it gave us that sense of connection again.

But there’s something else. 

I swear to you, I saw that house smiling today. 

That house has been home to maybe half a dozen families. It’s seen some things. Last night I found a picture of my dad, maybe 8 or 9, in shorts and argyle knee socks standing near the steps at the front of that house. Today I watched a beaming bride and groom have their photo taken in that same spot. It was the house that my dad grew up in. It’s the house that groom grew up in. It will likely be the house that countless more generations are shaped in.

That house doesn’t belong to my family, but truthfully it never really did. It doesn’t belong to the current owners either. It will likely outlast us all. 

Yes, its continued existence does depend on those who care for it.

But my existence depended on that home caring for those who lived there.

Thank you, 709. And thank you to the new bride and groom and their family for sharing your moment with us. Thank you for sharing it with the home and for sharing that home with your friends and family.

We need that today. 

I needed that today.