A big percentage of my travel preparation is wedding planning. Since the wedding will be in Illinois, and will take place 8 whole months after I move to Trinidad, I’m scrambling to get the big things booked before I leave.
I guess I’m working on the small things too.
And the medium things.
And also working full time and still cleaning up my thesis to submit before the extremely soon deadline of 4 days from now.
It is much easier to get items shipped in the U.S. rather than sending them to Trinidad, and since the wedding is here it seems counter-productive to plan to get things there just to bring them back here. For these reasons, in addition to thinking about the venue and the photographer and everything else that is supposed to go in the 8-10 months before the wedding time slot, I’m also attempting to order bridesmaids gifts and make name tags and get everyone’s address so that all of the invitations (which I already have) can be addressed and stamped and ready in order to limit my wonderful Maid of Honor’s responsibilities to simply dropping them in the mail in five months. (Not that she wouldn’t gladly write addresses for me, but she’s already doing a ridiculous amount of work for this wedding for me out of the goodness of her heart.)
To be fair, I am enjoying brainstorming details like (inexpensive yet cute) centerpieces so early, and this past weekend I had a blast wedding dress shopping with my mom and three of my very best friends.
Something I am excited for that is lacking, though, is Kevan’s involvement. It’s more than a little depressing to go meet with the priest to discuss wedding details by yourself. In terms of some of the major decisions, there’s only so much that can be communicated through pictures and explanations, and he’s kind of just trusting me to do an alright job.
In 39 days I will go to Trinidad. You’d think after 3 years of long distance, just over a month wouldn’t feel too bad. Yet here I am, complaining to Kevan over Skype every few days that I am tired of being apart and I do not want to be apart anymore, and when we are together I never again want to be apart for more than, say, two weeks if it’s really necessary, but of course less than that if at all possible. Honestly, I think if Kevan lived nearby but happened to not be able to come meet the photographer, I wouldn’t care. It’s just that him not being here for things like that are another reminder that he’s far away. Still.
Oh, well. It’s probably edifying me somehow, right? Redemptive suffering. I’m hopeful that when we’re finally together for good it’ll be that much sweeter.