Ironed shirts for the weekend and caught myself shifting from heel to heel before I had finished the second one. The right foot wanted a break, but I was so used to standing there that I kept reaching for another hanger. Sat down to sort the ties instead, shoes off, and felt how warm the soles of my feet had become. My shoulders were tight too, mostly from reaching across the board rather than moving it. Nothing dramatic, just a body that would like some input on the evening's schedule. My youngest brought a shirt over and asked if I could do theirs. I said yes, after a minute. The minute became five. The shirt survived the delay.

My daughter looked at a seating chart and asked why I had put two quiet cousins together. I said they would have something in common. She said being quiet is not a hobby. Hard to argue with that, although I tried for a minute. I know what tables need for service and where relatives should be kept apart, but I sometimes fill the remaining seats as though temperament were enough. We went through what the couple had actually told us about those cousins and found a better option. Now my daughter wants credit for the whole chart. Negotiations are ongoing. She also wants to know why adults cannot just choose their own chairs, and that explanation will take longer.

At a reception, the bride's father asked if I would bring his wife over before the first dance because she was in the kitchen thanking the staff. That made me unexpectedly fond of both of them. Usually I am the one fetching somebody who has disappeared at exactly the wrong moment, and I feel irritation before anything else. This time I found her telling a server that the meal reminded her of her own mother's cooking. I waited for her to finish. We started a little late, and I did notice, but watching the parents take each other's hands at the edge of the floor pleased me more than an on-time entrance would have. I still wrote the time down.