in downtown ottawa (not unlike many other communities), Summertime Saturday sees its streets, parks and canal walkways exploding with poofywhite gowns (ka-BOOM!) and parading penguin suits and a bevy of other costumes. and, regardless of whether an ornamental envelope made its way into our mailboxes months ago, we're all invited to the wedding party: just try passing the national arts centre or strolling through major's hill park without intercepting a pose or -- in the process of, say, ogling a dapper groomsman -- unwittingly striking one yourself (thereby becoming an extra in someone else's wedding album...you know: that unrecognizable person the couple's eventual offspring enquires about several years down the road: who's that, Mommy?).
yep: here come the brides!
and Summertime Sunday (the coffee shop whispers to me) can be quite similar. after all, it is -- figuratively, if not actually -- Day One in the lead-up to the coming week's saturday, as per three tables over: a beaming hetero duo and their perky wedding planner, meeting for the first time. (ps is it legal to plot others' nuptial to-dos when you're twenty-five tender years old?) the late-twenties bride-to-be has a big warm toothy smile (think Jennifer Garner, caricaturized). her sweet, gangly, concave-chested partner in crime wears a stupendously purple (think Barney the Dinosaur) tee. amid lots of giggling, the couple explains that the ceremony'll be in rockcliffe park (it'd be great if at least one photo were like [insert dream moment]!) and begins to tell Perky their story of luv -- something about CaricaJen going to med school and meeting Barney Tee there, in newfoundland. (at this point, i begin to seriously hope their wedding plans will include 1) the officiant announcing: you may now kiss the (cartoon) cod! and 2) the open bar exclusively wetting guests' whistles with screech.)
alas! Summertime Sunday is also Day Eight in last week's wedding run. it's the "wedding hangover," as per my morning mission (enveloped in the wintry chill of this über-air-conditioned starbucks): translating my forty-something friend's marriage deed into english so he can move forward with his long-awaited divorce.
cue the (fascinating) documentary "112 weddings." cue, also, the current café playlist song:
...keeps me searchin' for a heart of gold,
and i'm gettin' old.
few understand like young neil.
and now back to translating...
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