Saving Our Date

Taking some time to reflect on one of the small details that turned out to be a blessing in disguise, and an unexpected meditation on our future together.

This weekend, I started working on our save-the-date cards.  This was made slightly more complex when George and I realized that, after some (ahem) internal miscommunications, we didn’t have final confirmation from the church for our wedding date.  I wisely held off on printing the cards themselves.  We’ll keep you all posted on that front...hopefully it will be resolved tomorrow and I will have been a stress-ball for nothing.

Rather than fret about what I couldn’t control or didn’t know, I cut out all of the pictures for our cards, turned them into stickers (which was a lot of fun--try making a scarf out of long strips of pictures of yourself!), cut the backing, mounted them, and decided to conquer the envelopes.

I had planned to print all the addresses onto the envelopes; maybe get a stamp made for the return address for the invitations.  It seemed easiest that way--the fonts could match; it would be convenient; it would be fast.  All that until I noticed, in the bottom of my Paper Source bag, the calligraphy pen I had picked up along with the blank cards.

As a kid, and I couldn’t have been older than nine, I would practice calligraphy in a little book.  I have no evidence now of the hours I spent laying out on my bedroom floor, changing nibs and attempting various lettering styles.  I don’t remember whether I was any good; I don’t remember what I ever used it for beyond the practice books.

During the year we spent in England, I wrote in my journal for all but three days (I think I had the flu).  My mom gave me a beautiful glass fountain pen which I’d dip in ink to write sometimes--especially entries that felt especially important or dramatic--but I wrote in my own hand, having forgotten those calligraphy lessons already.

Back to this weekend, when my impulse-buy brought it all back.  I picked up the pen thinking I might add a scroll here or there, perhaps monogram some thank you notes for myself--but then all those calligraphy urges rushed to the surface.

Yes, calligraphy urges.

After practicing on a few scrap cards, I decided to take on the return addresses on the envelopes.  What better way to get back in the swing of things than by writing the same five lines 60 times?  It’s not perfect, and it’s not any precise lettering style I’ve ever heard of, but I did it myself and I’m extremely proud.

I know that the folks getting these cards won’t mind that I didn’t wrap up the flourishes on my As, because I liked the way they looked left open; no one will judge my Ms for being too soft and rounded.  Few people, honestly, will probably give these envelopes a second thought.

Years from now, though, I’ll show my children my wedding album, and tell them about how their dad and I would spend our time before getting married.  Weekends mean fresh coffee, football on tv, and a few good hours of calligraphy here and there until the coffee table is covered in perfectly imperfect envelopes--that extra touch of effort for the people with whom we share the most love.  

It occurred to me, writing our address time and again, that our invitations will be the last time that our two separate last names will be paired.  I think that justifies an extra flourish, don’t you?