“You can do anything. But not everything.”
— David Allen
Growing up on a dairy farm could mess with a busy social calendar, and I learned this at the ripe old age of 6.
Every time we visited my great-grandpa Charlie, I would stare with fascination at the picture of his granddaughter, my dad’s cousin Harriet. This was her college graduation picture, her shoulders draped in a black gown which was the photographic fashion of the moment. Adding an elegant touch, a fine necklace completed her attire. I felt sure her next stop was Hollywood, and we would attend her movies with pride.
At a family reunion, I secretly removed my lace trimmed socks since Harriet wore flats with no socks. I wanted to be fashionable like her. I then chatted her up, as though we were classmates. I was her shadow until Mom made me “stop being ridiculous” and forced those frilly socks back on my sweaty feet. I adored this grownup cousin and her lovely lipstick, plus that brand new diamond engagement ring.
So imagine my delight when I learned we had received an invitation to her wedding. It would surely be the event of the whole year! I could hardly wait.
It was an afternoon wedding, which caused concern. Dad said this was making it nearly impossible for dairy farmers to attend. Mom said we would have to draw straws to see which two of her four daughters would get to go, the others staying home to do evening chores. I was still so young I felt sure I would be a shoe-in for getting to go.
As the youngest, Mom let me draw the first straw. And it really was actual straw from the straw mow. Mom hid the ends by folding four straw pieces in heavy paper. I pulled my pick and it looked like a winner to me.
One by one, my three sisters pulled a straw. Then we compared. I had pulled a loser by a country mile.
Dad confirmed that he needed me to stay and help with chores. He used words like “fair” and “compromise” but I wasn’t hearing a word of it through my tears.
My pretty new dress and white patent leather shoes would be staying in the closet while Harriet married the handsome guy who everyone adored.
The day of the wedding came, and my little broken heart could hardly stand it. Those darn cows didn’t seem to appreciate our sacrifice for their daily demanding schedule.
“Now, I don’t want to hear it,” Dad said patiently, though you just know he surely wanted to go momentarily deaf.
Making it all the worse, even great-grandpa Charlie wasn’t coming to help me shake out straw and feed the calves, because he was an honored guest at the wedding.
“I bet he wishes I was there, sitting beside him,” I managed to say before Dad gave me ‘the look’ which could silence even Mother Nature’s loudest critters.
When the evening milking was done, we headed for the house, quietly grouchy. Mom and my two lucky sisters had just returned from the wedding and were putting supper on the table.
They wanted to tell us all about the big event, but I didn’t want to hear it. In my 6-year-old wisdom I said, “I’m gonna tell you right now, I am going to Harriet’s NEXT wedding!”
There was silence. And then everyone but me laughed like it was the comedy crack of the century. I didn’t get it.
Harriet remained married to her prince, Earl, for a lifetime. They both are gone now, and they are missed. And I’m still that 6-year-old kid who wishes beyond words that I could have been at their wedding.
