Bright Spots | Weeks Twelve & Thirteen

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Week Twelve | Friday night pub in Cambridge for a pre-wedding pint, that I successfully hemmed my beautiful floral dress and it made me feel elegant and comfortable and put-together, that my mama is home and my sister soon too, that it is now acceptable to eat hot cross buns for every meal and elevenses, that my friends and I had such a great time celebrating the first marriage in our circle, that we quietly celebrated our one-year-anniversary-of-meeting all weekend long, that he looks so dapper in a bow tie, that Hannah and York (the newlyweds) have such a happy life together ahead of them, that I can smell spring on the breeze (that heady blend of new earth, green buds, pollen on the wind) and saucer magnolias punctuate every corner, that the next few weeks are filled with such happy events – his master’s graduation, the advent of British Summertime, the arrival of two blonde Americans diverted by County Clare, my sister’s homecoming, an evening sewing class, anniversaries galore to remember (a year since our first official date, a year since we sat atop primrose hill together and talked of love, a year since he met my family, and I visited his student halls, a year since we walked all the way from Camden to Waterloo, drunk on affection, and missed all of the last trains home.)

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Week Thirteen | Easter everywhere, in the carpets of daffodils spreading like wildfire; in the skies that race overhead, one moment pale like ice, the next ablaze like fire; in the glass jars of foil-wrapped chocolate eggs; in the hot cross buns slathered with butter; in the fact that we are all, family, together again. Bank holidays, what an invention. That sewing class – a wonderful teacher taught me, once and for all, how to correctly insert a zip with appropriate zipper foot and now I’m all a’dreaming of the handmade dresses, skirts, coats and totes in my future! The week’s brightest bright spot was the arrival of the two Americans; what fun we had. A wild day racing around London on the prettiest day of the year: from the suburbs to Bank to Canary Wharf to Greenwich and back again. We rode home on the Thames Clipper, the wind whipping our hair, cheeks dappled in the golden hour, hearts full of friendship and the joy of the city feeling magical, enchanted, ours – even if only for the day.