My sister got married in a small, quiet mountain town.  It was a lovely place for a wedding, but just wouldn’t do for a bachelorette, so we had decided to go farther afield for our wild times.  Unfortunately, it was pouring rain, very dark, and the roads were mountainous, winding, and unfamiliar.  This made me chicken, and I kind of wanted to call it off, but in the end we braved the awful roads and drove over an hour to Asheville.  I drove, I should say, and though my sisters made fun of me for being slow and kind of herky jerky with my brakes, I would like it noted…

Early November stole swiftly upon us.  Before I knew it, I was gathering my wedding toasting glasses, silver cake cutting utensils, leftover wedding ribbons and faux autumn leaves, scarves and sweaters and little boy coats, piling it all high in the living room next to two large, empty suitcases.  It was time to go to the North Carolina mountains, to a place that still feels like home, and marry off my little sister. Wednesday I skipped my morning class and thoroughly packed and cleaned.  I really didn’t want to forget anything – my bridesmaid dress and the boots I would wear with it, the boys’ outfits, the travel crib, special…