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Notes from a wedding, 21.09.2013
Sep. 28th, 2013 11:18 pmI married Shim on the equinox, in Scotland, on a day halfway to autumn. If you don't want to read the rest: my dress was red; our friends cried; afterwards we spent two days in Prague, wrote our names on a padlock and threw the keys into the Vlatava. And nothing and everything has changed. These are notes for my own memory, as much as anything, and also this is where I say thank you for the thousand things – the gifts, and good wishes, the wisdom of the elite group who consulted on my coming-in music! Thank you, which sounds so bare and unadorned, here, compared to the richness of your kindnesses, but thank you. Shim and I appreciate it more than it's possible to say.
We held the wedding, ceremony and reception both, at the Rowantree, which is a pub and open space below the South Bridge in Edinburgh. If you walk down the South Bridge and you don't know the city, you'd be excused for not knowing it's a bridge at all: it looks like an ordinary city street, built above the vaults and spaces of the bridge supports below. The way down into the vaults was rediscovered in the eighties after being forgotten for decades, and once the spaces below had been cleared of a century's middens, they're just magical: today the Rowantree is a smallish festival and wedding venue, dim and warm, filled with fairy lights and stalactites and about a thousand candles. I fell in love with it at first sight about a year ago and the tone of the wedding was set at that point: Scottish, intimate, strange, and full of candlelight. We lit those lights ourselves – metaphorically, but literally (thank you, Ikea) and I would like to be able to show you what that room looked like as I walked in, but I never will; I will never stand anywhere like that again, except in memory.
( before )
( during )
( afterwards )
We held the wedding, ceremony and reception both, at the Rowantree, which is a pub and open space below the South Bridge in Edinburgh. If you walk down the South Bridge and you don't know the city, you'd be excused for not knowing it's a bridge at all: it looks like an ordinary city street, built above the vaults and spaces of the bridge supports below. The way down into the vaults was rediscovered in the eighties after being forgotten for decades, and once the spaces below had been cleared of a century's middens, they're just magical: today the Rowantree is a smallish festival and wedding venue, dim and warm, filled with fairy lights and stalactites and about a thousand candles. I fell in love with it at first sight about a year ago and the tone of the wedding was set at that point: Scottish, intimate, strange, and full of candlelight. We lit those lights ourselves – metaphorically, but literally (thank you, Ikea) and I would like to be able to show you what that room looked like as I walked in, but I never will; I will never stand anywhere like that again, except in memory.
( before )
( during )
( afterwards )