One of the wonderful things about having a daughter is the thought that one day you'll see her all dressed up and holding a bouquet of flowers as she walks down the aisle. This weekend I was able to witness a preview of that charming scene as my eldest daughter, as yet only eight, did just that as a flower girl for of one of my best friends' wedding.
It wasn't just your ordinary run-of-the-mill taffeta dresses we bridesmaids can wear only this one time type of wedding. Nothing against those types of weddings, only pointing out that in general they are so common we can all close our eyes and imagine it down to the matchbooks at the reception tables with only varying differences in types of flowers and theme colors. This wedding was a grand step beyond that. It was a Celtic Handfasting with a High Priest and High Priestess and all of the wedding party as well as a good percentage of the guests in full renaissance garb.
The church it was preformed in was the Barnes Chapel in the West End of Bristol. A truly gorgeous bit of architecture looking from one angle like a small castle and another a medieval inn and beautiful stained glass windows scattered along its walls. If it had not been for a biting November wind, (well biting in relation to the off the shoulder gowns we wore) the photographer would definitely have had us outside for hours taking pictures with every angle of the church as a backdrop.
My own wedding ten years ago being the epitome a simple affair without a hall or a band or a photograph (excluding my shutterbug mother who made me pose quite long enough.) did nothing to prepare me for the extensive photo shoots that accompany less casual weddings. Before the wedding in the ChimneyCrest Bed and Breakfast (also in Bristol) where we bridesmaids and one flowergirl, met the bride to put our faces on and do our hair. Several photos inside, one of which I bemoaned the aching of my legs which the crouch subjected them to. Little did I know there was worse to come. Outside we posed, in the cold, in the wind, for a long time. After the photographs before the wedding, after the wedding and at the reception, both inside and out, my daughter stated emphatically that she never wants her picture taken again. I'm sure even if it had not been uncomfortably cold, it still would have been unbearably boring and tedious to an eight year old, or anyone for that matter.
The handfasting itself was within a circle cast in the church where I had the nervous honor of representing North, the Realm of Earth. As nervous as I was, I became so caught up in the ceremony itself and was concentrating so hard to not cry (just like everyone, I always cry at weddings.) When they came around to my section of the circle, I was able to project my voice quite acceptably as I recited the blessings from my assigned element.
But those are the sacrifices you make for good friends. You willingly stand for hours in chilly winds and put up with aching feet and backs. Photo 'hassle' included, it was more than worth it all. Never before have I seen a more diverse group of people than those participating and attending let alone a more beautiful ceremony. There were Pagans and Wiccans and Christians, members of FALO, members of NERO, members of AARP, members of the PTA, goths and minstrels. Everyone got along and everyone had fun (or did a good job faking it).
My daughter and I were certainly not faking it, we had a blast dancing a circle/spiral dance with the minstrels and other guests. We had fun watching the people who play faerie characters in FALO run shouting and jumping through the reception hall to surround and cover the bride with glitter. It was great to watch the guy with enough to guts to spend the entire night at the reception in a flowing blue outfit and homemade faerie wings. I had more than fun watching my daughter being a part of such a beautiful wedding, watching her act so grown up and looking so beautiful in her gown and flower wreath circlet.
I myself had once been a flower girl at the wedding of my uncle. It was during the late seventies and I ended up wearing a horrid pink tablecloth patterned dress. All I can remember about it is disliking the dress I had to wear and how my nylons kept making my feet slide down in the shoes to squish my toes. I'm not sure how much of her flower girl experience my daughter will remember, the odds are she won't forget standing in the cold to get the photos done. The one thing I am sure of is that she loved her gown, she couldn't wait to wear it and can't wait to wear it again when we go to the Ren Faire next summer.
Memories from the age of eight are fleeting and in the long run, patchy at best. I'm just glad that she's managed to acquire this experience that at least some of it will stick with her. And that that does not stick at least there are photos to prove and remind.
As it's every bride's right to be queen of the day when she weds, it's every little girl's right to be a flower girl and hence princess of the day at least once. I'm thrilled beyond words that my daughter was afforded the opportunity to be the flower girl at such an originally beautiful wedding in the company of such a diverse group of imaginative people.