One of my favorite things about weddings (beside, of course, the eternal promises of amor and the two slices of cake) is finding my seat and discovering who the bride has decided to seat me next to. My wedding was easy: Mom, you remember dad? You two were married in 1973. You'll be at Table 1.
Then there are the more tenuous connections: C. works with technology software, and X. once Googled his high school girlfriend; you'll get along smashingly! or...You're from the south, Nicole, and Y. gets a real kick out of Tennessee Williams; you'll have a humdinger of a time!
This weekend in Maine the connection was obvious within moments of finding our place cards: fellow Brooklyn homeowners. Yes, we talked about Lowe's, about tiling, about gutter work and sump-pumps, and then, oh lordy, my stories caught up with me. We like to call it the Great Flood of July 5th, I said, in that way you say things you always say. Wait, fellow homeowner female said, was your garden just featured on www.brownstoner.com?
The thing is we had sent our garden in to brownstoner but didn't know it made the cut. Read the riveting renovation story: here.
In the meantime, I'll try to come up with a few new stories lest, dear reader, I end up in a silent moment across the table from you as we sup on chicken a la king and bang our glasses to witness a kiss.