Okay.

*pauses for deep, deep breath*

I have some thoughts.

They aren't even depressing.

I was off the interwebs for two or three weeks because my sister-from-another-mister and her beau canceled their wedding in July for responsible reasons (WASH YOUR HANDS! WEAR A MASK! SOCIAL DISTANCE!)

And they asked if we could host a much, much smaller affair at our house.

And we were of COURSE beyond excited.

So we crammed this event's plans into a couple of weeks.

It was all-encompassing, because not a lot of time, but super-important, right?

And they reiterated over and over that we shouldn't go above-and-beyond, or do too much.

But that's crazy-talk.

Two people are getting married in this crazy--CRAZY--time.

THAT is love. And commitment. And devotion.

So they downscaled dramatically, and we came in clutch to make our little part of it as nice as we could.

We bought party tents off Craigslist! We ordered ridiculous amounts of lights off Amazon, hating Jeff Bezos 100% of the time!

Our portion of the event was hosting the dinner. 10 people. Totally small. Very responsible. Only the locals--no parents flying in, which was of course devastating for so many of them.

But everyone was gracious and understanding, and we Zoom-called a ton of weird events for them.

(side-note: GET YOUR SECURITY DIALED, ZOOM)

One of my self-denoted tasks was "mood" for the dinner.

Our yard has been neglected for three years since Trump. It's a GLORIOUS yard.

So I did a lot of chain-saw gardening before the dinner. The weed whacker (the one that wasn't stolen--who steals a week whacker?)...

was on fleek for two weeks making us look less shambolic.

And a couple days before the wedding, I pulled out my great-grandmothers dinner linens and began ironing them.

Hour one was great. I even got my son to do the napkins.

These are those stark white linens you see in Downton Abbey, where they have "staff" and "help" pressing them all day every day.

But these ones are ours, and are, at the least, 120 years old.

I am the help. I'm the one gonna do the ironing.

It's meditative at first. A certain flow takes over. You think a lot while you blast disco.

But there's another tablecloth. And another.

YARDS of white linen have taken over our counters.

But all the while I'm contemplating the reality of these linens: they have survived the most fraught and desperate moments of our crazy country's life.

They were already about two decades old by the time the 1918 flu pandemic arrived.

They wended their way through my great Gramma's life, to my grandmother's, to my father, to me.

Through WWII, through Viet Nam. The AIDS crisis.

All the while, men are making these horrible, horrible choices for humans.

But these linens have made their presence at so many important events in my life.

No one ironed shit in my family. But when we had Thanksgiving, we ironed these... once every few years.

They were the linens at my great g-ma's table, and they've been the linens at my grandma's table, and my father's table, at my 20th anniversary party.

And now, most importantly, at my sister's wedding dinner.

The hands of women (or in the case of my father, a feminist who loved using the relics of history for our events) have been protecting these humble rags for over a century.

They have outlasted everyone--but they have also outlasted every tyrant.

Everyone has succumbed to time, but these have not.

They have been nurtured to outlast each generation, and each generation's execrations against humanity.

They are humbly, humbly stronger than them.

They are legacy, and triumph, and time, and love.

So of course I gave some to the newlyweds in a toast, while recognizing that "Who even knows what their lineage is at a certain point?"

"You'll find this random linen in a drawer and think it looks okay for a cocktail party, and remember dimly that it was a gift, and you'll iron it, while telling your future daughter (YES THEY'RE PREGGERS AND IT'S A GIRL! YAY!)

...that maybe it came from your step-sister or your great aunt, or someone, but it won't matter because it will be meaningful to you in that moment."

And finally, I was reminded of so many truisms from other terrible human historical moments:

There is nothing--nothing--more important in times of crisis than these rituals.

Because that is our humanity, and our love and truth.

Not the insanity.

Not the base lies and insanity, but the seeds of love, and legacy and truth and loyalty.

And cherish them. They are glittering gems in a dark sea.

Look for them and hold them dearly.

Live defiantly.

Love defiantly.

Love radically.

Iron your ancient linens with radical love.