Some moments I am recalling:
The young ring bearer who came joyously down the aisle astride his father's shoulders, too shy to make the excruciating journey all alone;
the thunderstorm that came out of nowhere and as quickly vanished as two people, now married, exchanged a kiss;
the large vase of flowers crashing to the ground during a wedding, and the groom's mother coming to me afterward to tell me in wonder that a vase had crashed at the ceremony in which she married the groom's father.
The groomsmen who tightly surrounded their "charge" (after all, they were responsible for his well-being) with a language intelligible only to them.
The warm, enveloping voices of friends and family, in varying tones and pitches, all calling a tiny boy's name, at the baby naming ceremony in a Buddhist garden.
Dozens of tea lights extinguishing their flames before a ceremony. "I didn't realize it was so breezy," I thought, before I saw the 5-year-old girl in her frilly bouffant dress moving from one to the next, with a gentle "pfff". We came to a deal - she would let them burn through the ceremony, and then - she could blow every single one of them out.
The quiet, soft-spoken groom who pulled a crumpled piece of paper from deep within his pocket, and read the loveliest words to his chosen partner.
Tears of course. Laughter. Flowers and ribbons, buttons and bows.
Sweet, miraculous happenings, all.
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