On wedding days, before my eyes even open, my first thought is about the weather.  On Saturday morning, as dawn broke, it did not look good.  I lay in bed looking at the ceiling, thinking it needed painting or at least a good cleaning, and mentally ran through the day.

Hair and make up appointments for the girls, lunch at Hog Penny for the guys. Needed to get into the office, collect the flowers, folder and umbrellas before heading to St. Peter’s Church. Ceremony at 3.00 p.m. Photos in Somers Gardens (or not). Collect cake. Reception to follow. Mentally sorted out interesting, but alternative yet equally fabulous, photo locations. If it had to rain, the location was perfect really – St. George’s  has such rich architectural nooks and crannies and is so beautiful regardless of the weather.

As I arrived at Petals to collect the flowers (a stunning bouquet of ivory roses and winter white calla lilies with deep purple throats, boutonniers for all the men, corsages for all the ladies), the sky began to clear and patches of blue appeared – but was it enough to cut out a sailor’s suit? – as my grandmother was fond of saying.

I packed my new SLR camera, excited about using it for the first time, and capture details as I saw them.  Do check Gavin’s blog for the official photos which will be posted in a month or so.

St. Peter’s is such a beautiful Church and Rev. Rath was in fine form officiating with his usual warmth and efficiency. Rev. Philip Wiehe, a family friend, also participated in the ceremony and provided wonderful insight into the subject of marriage and the couple’s relationship.

Notes to self: -  remember photo storage card. Write Gavin a thank you letter (involving a stamp) for saving me. Don’t give up my day job!

After the ceremony Gavin Howarth stole the newly married couple away for photographs in Somers Gardens. John is a structural engineer and he is fascinated by form and function. On arriving at the gardens, John saw a wall that captured his interest.  I smiled as he asked Gavin if they could do some shots in front of it – he liked the texture and colours the ancient wall offered.

In the time Susannah and John were in the Gardens, I saw a side to their relationship that was enviable: Between them existed a comfortable bond – one that spoke of time spent in each other’s company, trials of life fought and together won, happiness shared and respect that’s been earned.

But what struck me most was John’s quirky, infectious sense of humour and playful, inquisitive nature so beautifully complemented by Susannah’s gentle presence and grace. Between them I saw a relationship that would last long after the ancient wall in Somers Gardens no longer remained.

Paris is magical.  The passion of the city, of the Parisian way of life, is simply infectious. I arrived at my hotel,  La  Belle Juliette,  just before dawn broke; a little worse for wear and ready for bed. I was offered a room on the top floor with views of cobbled streets and dormer windowed rooftops. The French doors of the bathroom opened onto a Juliette balcony- quite appropriate really. Previously eager to explore the city, exhaustion set in. I removed my shoes and face planted on the large bed to sleep my jet lag away.

As dusk turned to night, I made my way to Saint Ephrem Church; a tiny chapel tucked well off the beaten path.  A single chair was placed at the front. The only light was hundreds of candles that gently flickered, casting long shadows and creating a warm intimate glow.  The waiting audience quietly talked in all different tongues and suddenly I felt very alone. The still air was broken by strains of a cello warming up. Heard but not seen.  A young woman came out, only slightly bigger than her instrument. Her presence was acknowledged by polite applause. After being seated, she lowered her head. In no hurry to begin just being at one with her cello, eyes closed, visualizing the piece she was about to play. And she did.

Her fingers flew up and down the long, graceful neck of the cello and the undulating movements of her bow became a blur. Intricate notes, precise, warm and full, spilled from the body of the cello. She played The Bach Suites – all six – memorized by heart. I sat there, oblivious to the cold, on my narrow, uncomfortable wooden chair, the dampness from the stone floor permeating my body.  The feeling was surreal – I was in Paris, in a tiny chapel in the middle of nowhere, in ecstasy.  Unbidden, tears gently fell off my chin onto my lap as I absorbed what was surely the most beautiful cello performance I had ever heard.

On Sunday, I awoke to church bells and the sound of the bustling street market near by. I was only in Paris for a few days but every moment I reveled being in the anonymity of the city, catching buses and going on the metro, never seeing any one I knew. But each day it was as if I had truly lived.

I had taken my SLR camera, intent to learn how to use it before the Bermuda wedding season began. I captured everything from strangers kissing with an intimacy that’s only respectable in Paris, to the underbelly of Le Tour Eiffel. Days were spent walking through gardens, exploring art galleries and enjoying with abandon the cafes and restaurants. I must confess, I was spell bound as I entered the L’Orangerie museum, home to Monet’s Water Lilies. I first noticed a sign that said “Silence is respected”, and it was. However, nothing prepared me for the enormity of seeing what I had only read about, viewed in heavy art books, learned about at school. Nothing at all.

Sucking  in the very life of the city. Walking until dark, drinking in everything I could see, raw and exposed to the differences between my life of weddings and where I presently was. I had left behind vibrant blue skies that had been replaced by a grey overcast ceiling. And suddenly, on a winding street, the large windows of a famous fashion house revealed the new Spring colours - ”rouge et violette” – red and violette and there and then I fell in love. Two colours so unexpectedly joined together but somehow quite perfect. Like lovers fused at the hip.