I wasn't ready. I mean, I was ready in the sense that I knew what I was going to say. I knew well in advance I was giving a toast and I had run the thing over in my mind repeatedly. I had the bullet points loaded in my brain for when the time was right. But guess what? The timing got screwed up. You see, I thought I giving a toast just after the cake cutting. So I had it all planned out. Dinner would be over. Folks would be mingling about and then gather for the cake cutting and then I'd do it...when folks were just standing around. I'd timed it out so that I'd have a drink before dinner, a drink during dinner and one in my hand by the time that we got to the cake cutting so that nerves wouldn't be so much of an issue. But instead, during dinner I was suddenly told it was time. What? What?! What?!?! I hadn't had my pre-dinner drink. I didn't even have my during-dinner drink! So, I managed to get the waiter to find a glass of champs for me and told the toast-pusher that she just had to wait until I'd finished at least one glass to push me anymore. [As a side note and for the lady readers, it's worth pointing out that the waiter had a more-than-striking resemblance to Gilles Marini...to the point that almost every lady at the wedding reception called him Gilles and giggled all night. A girl could do much worse than having a Gilles Marini look-alike pouring your champs for an entire evening. But I digress...] So, I got the one glass of bubbly in me, stood up for the toast, realized that everyone was seated, quiet and focused on me, panicked and forgot everything. I bungled the whole damn thing. Quite frankly, as I was speaking, I lost track of what I was saying because my brain was screaming, "Just stop talking! You're botching this!" but my mouth wouldn't stop and I don't really know what I said. At one point, I even heard the bride - THE BRIDE - helping me fill in the blanks. If I could have turned up the bottle of champagne - or the bottle of tequila that my mother and my husband had stashed in the other room, for that matter** - I would have. This toast has bothered me since. I think about it every week.
As the title of this blog indicates and as all of you surely know by now, I'm a runner. Saturday mornings I get up early, go meet a group of friends and we set out for our weekly long run. I typically end up running by myself as we all run different paces, etc. Saturday morning runs are mentally cleansing for me. Depending on the length of the run, various things happen. I reflect on the past week. I think about what's coming up in the next week(s). I zone out and let my legs take over and give my brain a rest. I occasionally have conversations with God, my Granddaddy and more recently, my brother-in-law, Michael. One thing has been consistent with my Saturday morning runs since May 4th - my many thoughts and regrets over that toast. So I'm going to set it straight.
My toast - or at least the version I can get on paper. You'll have to imagine the shaking hands and quivering voice on your own:
For almost five years, I was an only child and an only grandchild. I thought I had it made. And then, a month before my 5th birthday, Leigh Ann came along and I thought my perfect world had been shattered as I had to share everything including the time and attention that once had been all mine. I couldn't have been more wrong. As it turns out, that tiny, cone-headed baby had a lifetime of gifts to give me. Through her - my very first sibling - I have been able to experience all the gifts of having and being a sister - except the clothes sharing part because Leigh Ann stayed tiny. We played together. We fought over toys. I'm sure at some point one of us complained that the other was "looking at me!" or "touching me!" She called me Sissy. To this day, I don't know why that stopped but it was probably for the best. Five years after Leigh was born Pye came along and, together, Leigh and I adapted. Since then, we've continued to play together and argued with each other and shopped together and cry together and laugh together and spend holidays together, and...and...and... Little Leo, as she's known in our family, visited me in college and was right beside me to welcome Nolan into this world. All of these things - the playing, the fighting, the college visits, being by my side - were among countless amazing gifts.
Even on her wedding day - the day that is suppose to be all about her and her love, Leo continued to give gifts. As she said her vows, she brought Marty and Hayden, Marty's son, into our family. I take the liberty of speaking for all of us when I say we couldn't be happier. On her day, Leo gave Pye, Mitch, Mark and me a brother-in-law and a nephew. She gave Ansley K and Nolan an uncle and a cousin. She gave my parents their third and final "M". (I gave them Mark. Pye gave them Mitch.) We all got the pleasure and the gift of witnessing the three of them become a family of their own. In return, our wish for Leigh, Marty and Hayden is the gift of a long life together filed with love, laughter, fortune and good health.
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| Rick, Mom, Joel, Leigh, Michelle, Marty, Mary Pye, Mitch, Julia, Nolan, Mark, Hayden & Emily |
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| Nolan and Leigh |
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| Leigh and Mark |
Love you most, Leo.
RunningTALL and as a proud sister,
Julia
**The history of my mother, my husband and their tequila bottle is a story for another day...
