Yesterday, the Knot informed me that we have 90 days until we get married. We’re not even close to prepared, though nearly everyone presumes we must be. (Apparently, I give off “I’m competent” vibes. If only the truth were known…) We’re in a bit of a panic mode now trying to get everything done.
We did get most of our invitations in the mail today, which has been a big adventure. I also managed my fancy wedding dress undergarments (my fitting being in two weeks) and finishing off the suit the Kid will be wearing to the wedding. Tonight we’ve been focusing on buying our wedding rings, which is a bit of an adventure, as neither of us are fancy jewelry people. My Beloved has never owned a piece of jewelry before, aside from the earring his father made him remove as a teenager, so he’s really starting from a blank slate. In addition to not having much of an idea of what kind of ring he *might* like, most jewelry stores don’t carry floor models in his size, so he can’t even try any on to see what they might feel like or actually look like on his hand.
Disaster. Being a giant isn’t easy.
As a bit of a starting point, we’ve decided to go for a Celtic design. Aside from him being a native of Ireland, my ethnic background is both Scots-Irish (which is not Irish at all) and Cornish with some other stuff thrown in there. I can simultaneously nod towards my own ancestors while honoring my husband’s ethnic traditions. At first the idea felt a bit corny. As an American who spends a lot of time with native Europeans, I’m rather hypersensitive of the stereotypes of Americans. One of the big ones is an overeagerness to prove our Irishness. It’s just uncool. I was worrying a bit that people would think that’s why I wanted a knotwork ring. (Somehow, I don’t worry about the knotwork on the tattoo on my back, even though that’s straight out of the Book of Kells. That’s different? Because it’s art?) But after realizing that my Beloved liked the idea, I’ve settled into it. It feels right, somehow, to connect to the past, when we are doing one of the most traditional things you *can* do. There is a farm in Cornwall where my great-grandfather was born. I’ve seen the wall his mother pressed against as she bore him. Having an American accent and a penchant for Mexican food doesn’t change that.
Of course, there’s a tremendous amount of choice out there, so we’re not out of the woods yet. So far the only ring that we’ve both been able to agree on is this one, which is rather spendy.
God only help us when we get around to writing the ceremony. Getting married in a church would have been about a million times easier.