As we play with planning some kind of wedding party (noting that I continue to add “party” to “wedding”, as if this somehow lightens expectations of myself or invitees) I continue to chant the ‘simple’ mantra.
One can search online for guidance with phrases like “rustic”, “homespun” or “do it yourself wedding”. I’ve even found a niche of “Bohemian” weddings I never knew existed. But these cyber shots often showcase lavish spreads featuring nature-inspired props that probably totaled $10 – $20 grand, easy.
Talk to the Bohemian about a wedding menu and he’ll say “rice and goulash for everyone!” Guaranteed, none of the featured brides and grooms I’ve seen online have had that much paprika on their breath.
One of the Bohemian’s many talents is working with what he’s got. He can build one bicycle that works from the skeleton of two that don’t. He’ll repair the weed whacker gathering cobwebs in the corner long after the owner gave it up for junk. And it’s downright scary what he’ll throw in the Vitamix as a ‘smoothie’ just trying not to let any leftovers in the fridge go to waste.
Wedding planning is no different. Some Sunday time on the beach turns to talk about the number of invitations to the party. As we count down names, his hands begin crafting some make-shift diorama out of driftwood twigs. In a short time, there is an aisle, seats with attendants and an archway where we, the stick people, are standing with the officiant.
“Yes, something like this,” he says.
And I agree, as I lie down closely to peer at the scene. I wish I had my camera to zoom in on the intricacies of this little stick world. But again, we use what we have. At my request, the Bohemian grabs his cell phone (no high-res pictures from his intelligently simple, non-smart phone) and snaps a shot.
The image here may not be as sleek as I would like. But perhaps that is the point when you’re working with what you’ve got. It’s real. And that’s where beauty lives.
You know, maybe somewhere people would pay extra to meet a wedding planner on a Hawaiian beach and have their festivities mapped out in 100% all-natural driftwood. Hmmm…maybe.
All I know is there’s a wealth in what we’ve got (and I suspect this is true for most when the time is taken to consider their abundance).
I’m thankful for a soon-to-be husband that makes something out of nothing.
This wedding may be small and barefoot. There may be goulash served on the unfinished dish sets of my grandmother. It may be mapped out by seaside twigs, but we know its humble origins are great.
We make the most out of what we have. And that’s love, and only love, at the root.
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