Quakers in July

Just got back from the wedding in Philadelphia. I should clarify, however: it wasn't in Philly. It was probably a forty-five minute drive from Philly, in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania. Even more specifically, in London Grove, outside of Kennett Square. I don't even know where the reception would be considered. The nearest town was 5 miles away. It was beautiful.

Quaker weddings are very quiet. Due to some faulty pre-navigation (as in, I thought I'd had the proper address, but in fact I very much did not. We ended up staring at a loading dock behind the local post office. Major kudos go to my youngest brother for calmly relating the proper directions, even though he was dying to talk about Harry Potter, both book and film) we arrived twenty-five minutes after the ceremony had occurred, at the same time that approximately seven other people showed up late. So the mid-twenty-year-olds had to creep into the back of the meeting house, setting the wooden floorboards in an uproar over the indignity of our tardy, youthful feet. At one point, one of the Friends at the front of the room -- one who belonged on the Committee (which I think was the "wedding committee", maybe the body who determines whether a marriage is appropriate? I'm not sure) -- stood up and gestured silently toward the front row in an invitation for us to sit down. It was a hot day, and I looked longingly at the clueless young man blocking the end of the standing row. He was oblivious, and so the late crew continued to stand in shame at the back of the room.

We were not actually that late. One of the two groomsmen, a friend of Captain Boyfriend's from his St. John's days, confessed that the bridal party had only arrived 5 minutes before ourselves. This was kind of good to hear.

Once everyone has settled in, the bride and groom -- when the Spirit moves them, mind you, which is usually about 5 minutes after the last person has spoken -- will stand and make their vows to one another. There is no officiant (the vows they make to one another need no higher authority than God, who is with them), no extraneous singing or ceremony. Then they go sit down, and people are free to commune with their higher power, or meditate on and celebrate the lives of the bride and groom. This is very nice if you are friends or family or part of the couple's community, but can be a little slow if you don't know them. However, when people begin relating reminiscences or personal stories, it becomes more moving. One woman who stood up told the story of the Native American "Cinderella", a story which I remembered from when I was younger. She moved from there to describing how she and her husband used to go canoeing on their anniversary to remind themselves of how important it was to move in sync with one another, often without speaking. Now that they're older, they'll take long walks in the woods, sometimes straying from one another in ways that remind her of how people can continue to walk their own path, but that it can still be parallel with another's path, but eventually coming back together and joining hands to assure them both of one another's presence.

I bore this in mind later when Captain Boyfriend and I stood up to dance to Doctor Dog, the wedding band and high school friends of the groom's. They were a rather a-typical wedding band, tremendously rock-y but people were out on the floor, shaking Quaker and non-Quaker booty to what turned out to be some infectious and well-done harmonizing (they're on MySpace, also. Go friend them. Bostonians, they'll be here the 8th and at the Beachcomber on the Cape on the 11th). The first two songs, I found that my partner was more apt to break away and groove to the beat of his own, different drummer. I pouted. I mentioned it later as we nibbled on a plain though pretty wedding cake, and he avowed to do better.

He did do better, holding my hands though his feet strayed to other beats. And I reminded myself that sometimes I liked to dance on my own, and that maybe one of the best times to do that is when your friend is dancing on his own too, right next to you.

After a kind of stale-cigarette-smoky night in a Days Inn outside Wilmington, Delaware (seriously, never stay there. It was pretty gross), we decided to venture into Wilmington proper to see the sights and hear the sounds. We were deprived of both as, inexplicably, the Riverfront Market tourist attraction spot is closed on Sundays. Instead, we were forced to go to Harry's Seafood Grill, a slightly shi-shi restaurant right next to the Riverfront that probably makes a regular killing on the befuddled out-of-towners. But you know? It was entirely worth it. I had ceviche and sashimi for the first time in ages that was simply divine and a good solid spinach salad with spiced pecans which were as good as they sound. The wine list was excellent and accessible. Capt. Boyfriend's swordfish steak was good, though not as solid as we both like it. His golden lentil salad, however, was excellent, and he won the "whose gelato is better" contest by getting the Mochaccino rather than the Mango (my choice; I should have known better and gone with my gut, which always says creme brulee).

We missed out on the marketplace but the sky was gorgeous. I had gotten to see one of my dearest friends; I had seen a new marriage ceremony; I had visited the most beautiful house in the greater Kennett Square, PA, area; I had gotten to dance; I had been treated to a divine luncheon; the days were warm jackpots of blue and brilliant skies

I am such a lucky girl.