Last weekend was a very special weekend. On Sunday the 9th of November, 40 years ago, my parents said “JA” (I DO) to each other. They got married on a cold November day in the town hall of Kristianstad in Sweden. She was 23 and he was 21. They had met a while back, in the hustle and bustle of flat warming party in Lund. Young, blue eyed and crazy in love. My dad stayed the night at my mum’s and never moved out. He was stuck and she was happy.
I asked my mum to tell me about the day of the wedding. She laughed remembering how she spent a the morning at the hairdresser’s coming back home furious having to redo the hair as the hair was like a big square on top of her head ( I see Bob Square Pants …). She ended up redoing the hair do herself. Us Collvin women need to have it our own way or no way. Always. My dad told me about the stress regarding the flowers. A boquet with Lily of the Valley in November, flown in from Italy. Then almost did not get there. Control freaks as they both are I bet the issue of the flowers added to the stress. The ceremony itself was an intimate affair with close family only. I wish I could travel back in time and join the party. After dinner in a restaurant they all went back to my grand mother’s place for coffee and cake and drinks. And dance and singing. The party was on and love was celebrated in style.
My dad was gorgeous wearing a black suit and my mum so pretty in her restyled hair do and knee – length Marimekko dress. I love the photo of them two. Filled with excitement and happiness. Young, strong and oozing a feeling of “bring it on, nohing will stop up the two of us”. And – it sure hasn’t. They have come along way. Struggles and hurdles along the way have been the glue that kept them keeping going. Pushing them them closer and making them stronger. Comparing to my own, much more varied and instabile love life, their foundation is imbued me and has given me a forever positive outlook on love and companion ship. Always.
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” Emily Brontë.
Ulrika/ who was born exactly 9 months after the 9th of November 1974. Oops! That’s how it goes. Love.