Last week I had the good fortune of attending my friend Heather's wedding in Southern France. She first told me of the wedding plans while I was visiting her in London last November, as I was en route from one place to another. When I stayed with her and Michael again in January, on my way to Tunisia, I decided then that come hell or high water (in form of dwindling teacher-salary reserves!) I was going to attend this wedding. Because, in fairness, I would be closer than nearly all other guests, Tunis being only a little one-hour hop over the Mediterranean. But also because I wanted to. Because I was really happy for Heather. Because she and Mike had hosted me twice. Because there in that apartment I saw evidence of a life well-lived together, a life that celebrates pleasures great and small: travel books on the coffee table, pictures draw by nieces and nephews on the fridge, Parisian teas and chocolates on the countertops, more wine in the fridge than food, and lots of good scotch! Who would not want to celebrate such a pair?
However, in my life as a former high school teacher turned aimless traveler, this is not exactly the sort of thing that fits into my budget. Never will I be able to afford a week of foie gras, caviar, champagne, and restaurants with three Michelin stars. Knowing that this week would damage the savings, I purchased my wedding outfit at the second hand market in Tunis for under $25 dollars and I arrived in France ready and willing to “throw the house out the window,” as the Mexicans do for quinceañera parties. I was not going to worry about the cost, and focus instead on having a fabulous time. And have a fabulous time I did, and spend much money, I did not.
Heather invited me to join her family in a farm house that her parents were renting for the week before the wedding. So I joined them. I flew from Tunis to Marseille, and took a train from Marseille to Avignon. Heather and Michael picked me up at the station, so I didn't have to take a cab. Then I spent five days visiting towns and markets of Provence, having rosé with every lunch, and playing with Heather’s rambunctious nieces and nephew. We ran into and out of, and back into the pool. Then kicked plastic soccer balls up into the air, squealed with glee and did it again, and again. What is it about children and their inability to be bored by repetition? Amazing, tiring, never dull. I slept in a white bed, with fluffy white, 8 million-count cotton sheets and a pillow that makes one think of clouds, all in a white room, decorated with small hints of things minty-colored, and a window looking out onto the riotous green of the trees in the yard.
Every meal was delicious, and I was treated at every turn. The dinner on Thursday night, before the actual wedding festivities began may have been my favorite. It was a Provence style barbecue. Meat was cooked on a grill, there were cheeses and breads and salads made of all delicious things grown in the ground, warmed and ripened by the actual sun. The spread was magnificent, not simply because of the food, but the company and the ambiance. Relatives and friends, many people connecting different parts of Heather and Michael’s lives came together and found all sorts of things to laugh about. You know the scene, everyone does. Imagine a long wooden table, covered with cloth printed with flowers of Provence surrounded by chairs of wrought iron. The table is outside, on a patio, half under the trellis dripping with leaves and flowers. The sun has set, leaving orange-ish, warm light, and all is blurred at the edges thanks to the endless bottles of rosé and Côte du Rhone. Talk is lively, and buzzes about, conversations from one end of the table to the other rise softly, float above the guests, become intertwined and fall back into the mouths of the speakers, content with full bellies and good company. This scene is in a thousand movies, all taking place in Provence, Tuscany, or some such idealized location. I don’t care how over-done or how repeated ad nauseam, it really is as lovely as it sounds.
From the heavenly country house, we moved into the heavenly Château Mazan where wedding events were took place from Friday to Sunday. The couple exchanged vows at a vineyard, Château Unang. We had wine before and during the ceremony, a most refined custom that everyone should copy at every future wedding I attend! I recited the Irish Blessing, which begins with the road rising to meet you, as everyone knows, and ends with “May pure be the joys that surround you,/ May true be the hearts that love you.” Thoroughly blessed, we returned to Château Mazan for champagne, ridiculous appetizers parading about looking prettier than anything a person should eat, followed by dancing and countless courses of one beautiful dish to the next.
Sunday morning and brunch was another blur of foods decadent and delectable. Slowly guests began leaving for train stations, for airports, for a final visit to a town unexplored. The château emptied of all people save me. Really, just me. Heather and Michael left to take final group to the train station and I had the cold water of the pool under the hot sun and fuchsia colored flowers all to myself. So I sat at the edge of the pool and observed the jarring contrast from the night before. No noise, no music blasting past 3 a.m. So void of people, it's like you could see the holes of left by those I had only just been talking to, a Christine-shaped hole here, a Manisha and Vineet shaped hole there, and wee holes in the shape of whirling dervishes where Nico and Arianne twirled about on the dance floor. I sat there a long while, dangling my legs in the water, and thinking of why specifically it was such a nice wedding. In such an elegant environment, it could have seemed stuffy, it never did. It could have been arrogant or showy, yet wasn’t. The couple, their parents and sisters, exuded happiness and a desire that we share in that joy. Share we did. Friends dropped work, used up vacation days, battled inevitable French transit worker strike, flew across oceans and seas, in order to join in the celebration. Generosity flowed more recklessly and freely than the wine, which is really saying something.
I have had the deep and profound fortune of knowing many generous people in my life. There is nothing, nothing like a generous person. From the reckless abandon of my sister Eileen, who would empty her bank account for a friend. To Patrick's uncanny ability to give perfect gifts, generous gifts, always things you didn't ask for but love more than anything you've ever bought for yourself. Shannon's generosity in the form of bottomless empathy for others. To Rosie, well, what can one say of a life time spent teaching, of being hostess and of opening her home to anyone in need of a place to stay? Generosity incarnate. So I consider myself an expert in judging generosity. And anyone can give things or money away. That's not generous. For giving to be generous it's measured in hows and whys. Concerning how, there must be no grand-standing, no waiting until the bill arrived and being dramatic. Simply, I'm treating you. Thanks for being here with us. The why must be out of love, of gratitude and of desire to share in another person’s joy.
On many occasions the groom treated me, not because he is able to, but because he clearly wanted to. Because he was saying thanks for celebrating the wedding with them, thanks for being there for Heather. Every time he treated, he gave me the impression that it was I doing him the favor. Michael, I always thought you were lucky to be with Heather. Who is dear to me for the many, many conversations we had in our kitchen in Southie, over coffee in our pjs with light streaming in the windows and onto out bare feet. These were usually about our families. You can understand a lot about a person when you hear her talk about her mom and sister, her fathers. Heather is a person of depth and beauty. So clearly, you are lucky to have my lovely friend as a partner. And Heather, you, dear, are too a very lucky person indeed. I can think of nothing more priceless in a partner than true generosity. It’s clear that you both love life, love eating, love wine, love travel, and new challenges and experiences. But more importantly you love sharing these passions with all the great people in your lives.
It’s quite appropriate that one of the readings at the ceremony was an excerpt from Hugo’s les Miserables. “You can give without loving, but you can never love without giving. The great acts of love are done by those who are habitually performing small acts of kindness.” I would clarify that yes, you can give without loving, but you cannot give generously without loving. Generosity without love is impossible. Only loving spirits are generous and know the true meaning of giving. Congratulations and happy marriage!
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