My nephew is getting married. The event, which is the third in a quartet of celebrations spread out over a year, happens in Boston. We are traveling there, as are four of our adult kids and two of their spouses. The second in the parade of parties happened in Alaska, and our daughter joined them for kayaking in the land of the midnight sun. 

I expect that the event will be different from ones I am used to. No flower petals creating a path to stroll along. No cello music, or triple tiered cake with frosting. But there will be promises made, and friends to cheer while we break some version of gluten free bread. I have a quilt to give them, because that is one way to blanket them with our affection after they return to ordinary life and its winter chills. 

How do we best support each other? Gifts are traditional, although some couples are leaning away from a house full of belongings, hoping to replace it with a sense of it instead. Surely our presence addresses that kind of connection, and being able to speak with our voices rather than texts feels like a luxury after the past two years. 

I notice that the anticipation has been building in the weeks leading up to it, and will probably linger for awhile. Even as the planes take off and the cars start their engines, we will carry with us those feelings that add no weight to overhead suitcases. They may even contribute to the loft of the aircraft.