Charmed Memories: One

Through my daughter’s wedding plans, I didn’t worry so much about something going wrong. I expected misfires. Something I could not control: the weather, the timeliness of the limo pick-up, the Italians’ (my side) reaction to butternut squash ravioli in place of a traditional penne marinara entree. (The bride and groom wanted a fall-inspired menu).

I did, however, fret over the possibility of me messing up the wedding works. Me and the dark cloud I’d placed myself under since my husband died, thirteen years earlier. Recalling my holiday backfires and red-letter-day rants, I worried I’d unintentionally zap the joy out of Em’s big day too.

Unlike my past meltdowns, I, at least, owned up to the possibility of this one. Em and I talked about my fear, which led us to our mutual hope that Larry's memory be  present at the wedding - in a joyful way. How could we do this?

 The first idea was her’s –a memorial charm attached to her bouquet. Hidden between the bound stems of her array of fall blossoms and her grasp, this token of remembrance would accompany her every move, from ceremony to celebration. She chose a photo of Larry on our wedding day.

 I was beginning to feel better already . . .

MOTB > Mommy-in-Law

Chaucer would have called me a modyr in lawe.

What’s a MOTB to do – after the wedding?  I’ve been thinking about that – over three months post nups now. The bride and groom have been pronounced  husband and wife, and the MOTB – has become an “in-law.”  According to Wikipedia, this now gives me a “legal affinity” to the groom,  whatever that means.  I haven’t gained a son; I’ve attained a son-in-law.  I wonder if there is an IRS form for that.

Chaucer would have called me a modyr in lawe. He relates a rather malicious modry in lawe story in The Canterbury Tales, told by a guy (it figures!) on route to the shrine of Thomas Becket.  I don’t remember the sordid details, though I do remember – verbatim -- the first fourteen lines of the Tales. Had to memorize them to pass a required college English course over forty years ago. Memorize and recite. A forgotten objective in today's school curriculums.

Practicing for days in my dorm, I found I could best remember the archaic yet mellifluous Middle English when I sang the words to the tune of Leaving on a Jet Plane, a John Denver song (most popularly covered by Peter Paul and Mary). After stumbling through a few Whan that aprill –s at my official recitation (you had to make a one-on-one appointment with the prof ) I asked her if I could get my guitar – which I had left outside the meeting room – just in case (no pun intended!).

Strumming away, I breezed through the fourteen lines.  Still can.

What tune can I rehearse being an M-in law to, I wonder. Certainly not its namesake song, which I wrote about pre-wedding. I want the lyrics to rate at least a 9, American-Bandstand-wise, and be easy to dance to.