[First draft]
With the walls painted, I rented a sander and got to work on the floor. The unwieldy contraption moved across the wood with all the finesse of a pneumatic jackhammer. The rental was for 48 hours. Two days later, all the accumulated wax and grime was gone, turning what had previously been a dark oak patina into a light ash, the color of a new baseball bat fresh from Louisville.
I proceeded to stain the wood, given it an even tan, followed by a urethane sealant. At first glance, I was proud of the new floor I’d created after only a week’s work. On closer inspection, however, I found the silky surface was marred by wavy undulations. I’d been unable to steady the sander’s oscillations, resulting in a series of minute circular peaks and valleys. The stain and glossy overcoat brought out all the details of my amateur job.
I pointed this out to Cheryl. “We could cover it with a rug, hope whoever buys the house won’t notice until they move in?”
“You don’t want to start over, try and smooth it out?” she asked.
“I’d only make it worse,” I said.
She tactfully changed the subject. “I found a Mormon lady to make my dress. She says she can make you a shirt as well. And rings. We have to go to the jeweler.”
“All these details! What else?”
“There’s a baker for the cake.”
“A cake. Wait, is it going to have tiers, and a bride and groom on the top?”
Cheryl giggled. “No! They showed me some choices. Some rabbits – they had these two cute little rabbits holding hands with a heart in front.”
“Rabbits!”
“Sure, we’re a midwife and an Ob. You know, rabbits are a symbol of fertility?”
“I can’t wait!” I said. Cake! I love cake! What flavor, chocolate?”
“No, white – it’s a wedding.”
“And tiers…?”
Cheryl thought a moment. “Oh year, a big on at the bottom, smaller layer above that, and then two pillars support a tiny piece with the rabbits on top. That’s the one just for us, that we get to eat.”
“Like, we feed each other…?”
I took a sip from my gin-and-tonic. Seated together on the hanging swing, the Salt Lake Valley sprawling beneath us, spreading up to the Wasatch and the canyon of our betrothal, I put my arm around her shoulders. Cheryl dropped her head onto my chest.
“Umm, that sun feels so warm. I love the sun,” Cheryl purred.
“So you don’t mind the floor?” I asked.
She titled her eyes up towards mine. “You’re a surgeon, not a carpenter, she said”
We rocked a bit more, a gentle breeze floating up from the Temple Square a mile away. Cheryl sat up.
“Oh, forgot to tell you. I started on the invitations!” She left for a minute, then returned with a box of greeting cards and envelopes. She pulled one of the top and handed it to me.
Surrounded by hand-drawn flowers, a giant “W” dominated the page. Next to it in a column were “ho – Al & Cheryl”, “hat – our wedding”, “hen – August 25, 1979”, “here – Alta, Utah”, “hy”, then “heee!”
I was stunned, almost to tears. I was about to join my life with someone who could create such joy in the mundane act of sending wedding invitations.
“You’re going to have these printed up? I asked.
“No, I’m going to do them myself. There’s only about 12 or so we have to send, it won’t take long. What do you think?”
“I love it – the who, what, when, where, and especially the ‘Wheee!’ at the end.