This Month’s Bit of String: Black and white schoolhouse portraits
Located at the gateway to the grandest peaks of New Hampshire’s White Mountains, the hotel leans into a a rustic theme in its main corridors and lobbies. The site was a shoe peg and crutch factory in the late 19th century and then briefly part of Draper and Maynard, makers of baseball gloves. Babe Ruth’s might have come from here.
Various chimneys and smokestacks remain, and oxidised tanks with screws big as elephant toes swoop over the wine cellar in the restaurant. This is now a rightfully popular venue with excellent catering. But in the tower leading up to the room where my husband and I stayed, the stairs were strangely hushed, reminding me of when we took the auto road to the top of Mount Washington last year. Higher than birds fly, the silence was stunning.
Vintage photographs cover the walls. Group pictures from schoolhouses or factories, girls in pinafores and boys in shorts. I’d rush over a landing and with a jolt, my eyes met the sombre gaze yesteryear’s children.
Does that ever happen to you? The sudden recognition that each face in old photos was as human as you and me, as complex and full of need. I wondered whether they lived full lives or if they felt they had to settle for less. And I hoped they experienced at least one day of complete, earth-shattering joy.
Perfect Day
This was where our son married their wonderful partner just over a week ago. There was a small, beautiful ceremony, so heartfelt and precious that even the officiant choked up, and then a reception in the hotel where we stayed.
I could not be prouder that I have a child, biologically a son, who loves so hard they cry. That they arranged and played the piano recording used for the processional, and that the handful of guests featured friends cultivated from all over the world, each one excited and inspired and supportive, on both sides of the aisle.
I’d gratefully relive the day again and again. I remember flashes of our own wedding, when Bear was two-and-a-half and my new husband still lived overseas. Those were some frantic factors to contend with, so as soon as our special day was over, it became patchy in my mind.
Back then, I didn’t have time to record the most marvellous details of my wedding day. I’ve never even managed to put the photos in an album. Now, I have daily scribbles in my routine. They got a bit backed up—it took me 10 pages and 3 days, while life carried on and there were still many moments to be maximised. But I have an account, at least, and pictures I was able to snap myself now and then.
Overflowing
It was handy having a room at the hotel, because I could pop up and redo my make-up a couple of times. I was tearful all through the service and I still can’t remember the speeches without welling up slightly.
Why do we cry when we’re happy? It’s a response to the overwhelming emotion, isn’t it, like sweat for our feelings. A bid to moderate our sentiments’ temperature or they cannot be borne.
After the lovely wedding eve rehearsal dinner beneath the elephant-toed pipes, my husband observed of the kids, “They don’t seem nervous like we were. That’s good.”
“I wasn’t nervous,” I said. “It was just so intense.”
Marriage is, after all, a momentous choice. We close off countless alternative worlds and focus on what one person can offer us. More dauntingly, we vow to offer all we can to that person. I know that’s why I cried privately while driving to my wedding.
And maybe, on some level, we cry because pure happiness and true good fortune are scary. We may feel unworthy.
I am praying the utter love and beauty and sincerity of our Bear’s wedding will ward off misfortune. When I looked into the black and white faces on the hotel corridor walls, even as I grappled with the reality of those figures’ humanity, I was calculating.
If they grew up to be deeply satisfied adults, how does it affect my own family’s odds? Just in case there’s a limited number of content existences to go around, like the minuscule percentage of 9s (A*s) handed out nationwide in GCSEs. Does our happiness tempt fate, meddle with universal justice?
But maybe, extending love and committing, as our precious kiddos did 8 days ago, to face life “together with a spirit of curiosity and patience” shows courage and dedication enough to earn this joy. Can it be possible?