Four grown kids, six delightful grandchildren, constant, long-time partner. A retired academic, I'm adapting to life in a Vancouver condo after decades in a waterfront home on a very small (Canadian) West Coast island. Keen to discover what new priorities emerge, what interests persist, in this urban life after 60!
If we were hosting Megan and Rob's wedding here this weekend (as we did with our eldest daughter's a few years back), we'd be spending the day on the phone trying to arrange tents or canopies against the very likely possibility of rain.
We've finally had a few days here with temperatures in the low 20s and fairly consistent sunshine, but apparently we're done with those. The weather forecast now shows a row of rainy or cloudy days ahead, temperatures in the high teens. We'll have to remember summers past . . .
But this morning's skies looked like a glorious epiphany, suggested soaring string melodies, demanded emotional resonance . . .
And our daughter is not getting married here this weekend, but in a lovely club in Vancouver, indoors, in rooms that were decorated by someone else, and that I don't have to worry about at all. So I can save my fussing energy to sit and write a toast, a speech, a few heartfelt words . . .
And meanwhile, instead of setting up tables and chairs and figuring out how to tie canopies to trees, Pater is whisking me down island to a wonderful spot we once planned to honeymoon at. We're just going for lunch today, and to wander around the little town I've never managed to get to (having been too green to know that a reservation must eventually be followed by a deposit . . . we honeymooned somewhere else instead, sadly). Instead of fussing about a wedding today, we're still working on a marriage . . . it's a series of epiphanies. . . every day a revelation, every day a new sky.