Maybe if I had had children it would not have hit me so hard. But there I am in Lynch Park for Amy and Joe(y)"s wedding. When I was their age I lived with my high school boyfriend (17-25) just down the street in an apartment where I hosted the groom's parents for my first adult dinner party. We ate "piece meal" as the science of cooking times was new to me. Now this 58 year old butt is sitting in the formal rose garden waiting for what will be one of the most beautiful brides I have ever seen to walk the grassy path to a man who is obviously eager to have her by his side for life. After the service I call my Aunt Ruth who lived next door to me way back then. Now she resides in an assisted living place in another town. She was one of the first people to show me by example that creativity was a gift and not a hinderance to living a "normal life". I leave a soppy, sentimental message, unsurprised to not find her in. Later at the reception I avoid the bridal bouquet tossing ritual. I sit with Joe(y)'s mom, Martha who actually wore a bra for the event. We are trying to figure out how so much time has gone by. It was the same conversation, but a different bra, that we had a few years earlier for her daughter, Jennifers wedding. I tell her we will be here in twenty five years or so for the grandchild's wedding. We will probably have the same conversation then.