Eight years ago today I married my Italian sweetheart in Italy.
We ran off to city hall. The wind was blowing.
It hadn’t occurred to me to hire a wedding photographer, buy a dress or don some new shoes. We wore what we had, planned nothing and spent nothing; the sprig of baby’s breath behind my ear was my biggest splurge.
We borrowed the wedding rings from his mom; inscribed with her name and the name of her husband long passed. I felt honoured to become a part of that family circle.
We didn’t invite anyone really: it seemed frivolous to ask my family to travel from Canada and so we decided not to invite his family either even if they lived in the same town — but the Italians didn’t listen. Family, friends and relatives showed up at the wedding they weren’t invited to bearing flowers and hugs. We were overjoyed to see them. All together we made city hall feel lively and happy on that cold March day.
Alessandro and I have filled the last eight years with many plane tickets over the Atlantic, immigration papers, our very first home (built from Youtube reno tutorials), our gorgeous shiny daughter Flora, lots and lots of work, a good amount of tears, a mom’s passing, juice fasts, cozy rainy nights, weekend walks on the beach, some hella big blowups, dreams, goals, hopes and satisfaction. It’s been a messy ball of yarn. And it’s been a damn good ride. And a damn great partnership.
Marriage is something I went into knowing nothing. Less than nothing. I was carefree with the arrogance of youth backing me up saying; no big deal. But it IS a big deal. It’s an investment into the rhythm of showing up every day in someone else’s life. Sometimes the going is great. Sometimes the going sucks. But it’s not a practice run and it’s not a play for keeps. It’s your path and someone else’s path becoming a wider path for as long as the choice presents itself to travel it. In eight years of marriage I’ve learned that and so much more.
Buon anniversario. xx Bianca
Drawing by Julie Morstad.
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