Glimmer

RJ subscribes to the New York Times Sunday paper. He has been for years. I don't read the paper. The only section I ask him to save for me is Styles.

I enjoy reading the occasional interview (if it's someone I care about), opinions on women's issues (a 60-yo author finds power in allowing herself to ditch the coloring bottle and go gray; why Victoria's Secret's pinup supermodel approach is no longer relevant with today's shifting cultural norms...), the advice column (the humor and candor), Modern Love (often clever and insightful), and, last but not least, wedding announcements. They are not just announcements, but love stories with anecdotes.

I love weddings. Even in my darkest of jaded days, when I deemed myself unlucky in romance, seeing two people in love and on a journey together moved me to tears. And I was never too bitter to be celebratory.

Even since I have been gainfully employed at my current job, I've let my reading slide. Today, on Labor Day, the first Monday in September, I am just catching up on last October and November. Simply ridiculous.

Earlier today, as I sat down to read in an attempt to make a small headway in that exponentially ever-growing pile, I questioned, "Do I need to read these old wedding announcements? Or should I just recycle?"

But I did read them. And every detail delighted me (the grooms wore Christian Louboutin! She learned to say her vows in Polish so her to-be-in-laws could understand...) rimmed my eyes with tears as well as made me chuckle. Sometimes simultaneously. (Yes, I did chuckle out loud with the Louboutin bit when it was reported that they had changed shoes, again, for that evening.)

I did not regret reading the segment. It was not a silly, sappy waste of time. On the contrary, unbeknownst to me, my soul needed it.