I forgot that the best

I forgot that the best part of sending invitations (besides having that over with) is that you get RSVP cards back. Mail every day for month! It is interesting how some people are very straight-forward with their name writing and checking of appropriate boxes, while others are reserved but personal with little hearts or red pen or smiley faces. Some come with personal notes or drawings, and we even got one yesterday incased in its own homemade envelope. There are so many wedding things that you do because you are supposed to do them and they have to get done, but then you realize suddenly that these little rituals have meaning. That we just worked very hard on a little art projects that traveled back and forth over the Manhattan Bridge several times, changed hands and trucks over the country, and landed in private homes where people touched and wrote on them and sent them back to where they started.

I finally resorted to bringing Harry Potter on the subway with me yesterday. I usually restrict my commute reading to magazines and lightish books, but leaving a book for at-home reading only does seriously extend the amount of time it takes me to get through something. This week was looking busy, and I finally had to admit that I needed to finish the book more than I needed my shoulder to not be sore. On my morning train the first available seat I saw was next to a woman who had Harry Potter spread out on her lap and, I cannot tell you exactly why, but I was too embarrassed to sit next to her and ALSO lug out my book like we were some kind of little club or something. For some reason it also seemed like something the nerd guy in the movie would do to impress the hot girl he’s been stalking (I know the entire nation is reading this particular book). I mean, not that it made any difference that I sat ACROSS from her or anything, it made me feel better.

There were some shower gift items that shipped to my office, that I’ve been slowly trying to lug home. The biggest so far is the ice cream maker, which I’ve been dying to try out. I decided last night was the night it was coming home, gave myself a pep talk, and proceeded to lug the whole thing into the station during rush hour. I then lugged it all the way BACK to my office, where I retrieved my keys that I’d left on my desk. Then back to the subway station where it was now much more rush hour. I finally made it onto the express train heading over the bridge, and even manage to squeeze a space for myself leaning against the doors, with the ice cream maker on the floor in front of me. I pulled out Harry Potter after some debate over whether it was too much trouble under the circumstances. But let me tell you: it saved my sanity.

The crowded, un-air conditioned subway chugged along the bridge at the slowest speed possible, before stopping for a full 10 minutes on the track. Like I said, I had my back against the doors, which meant the sun was beating directly on my back for this entire length of time. I swear the only thing stopping me from losing it completely was the fact that I had a riveting book in my hands. If I’d had this week’s New Yorker, like I almost grabbed, with the nauseating leech story, several dry political articles, and a report on the terrorism police beat, this story would have been scanned in from a post card I would have sent you from the insane asylum.

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