I love a good speech. And I love a good wedding. And it doesn’t get much better when you have both together. One of the lucky ones who got to see the gorgeous Dora Nyiregyhazki marry the equally gorgeous Edward Quinlan in Budapest yesterday, I was struck, not for the first time, by the wonder that is marriage.
Gone are the days when marriage was something you did once. It’s commonplace, for myriad reasons, for people to try it and try it again. And all with the best of intentions. The Big Day. The dress, the hair, the makeup. The invitations. The seating plan. The Music. The breakfast. The speeches. The effort that goes in to make the big day one to remember is monumental. And this wedding ran like clockwork, oiled by a room full of genuine warmth and feeling. They’re a popular pair. And they both looked every inch of their gorgeous selves. There’s something wonderful about seeing two people so obviously in love. It helps restore, replenish, rejuvenate. It brings a little more light into a world that can sometimes be too dark. That sense of newness that comes with weddings is one to be savoured. It’s almost as if, on the day, anything is possible.
All the speeches were laugh-out-loud tributes to the couple with plenty of anecdotes. Each very entertaining. For my money, though, Dori’s mum gave the speech of the night, one that got me thinking. She asked the pair what the most important requirement is for a happy marriage. Not surprisingly they answered ‘love’. But no, she said. It’s patience. And the second most important requirement? Patience. And the third most important requirement? Patience. How right she is. For with patience, anything can be overcome. And for someone who could do with a little more of that particular virtue, it was something I needed to hear. Thank you, Ildikó. My first lesson of the day.
As she married them, the Registrar quoted from a poem by Jozsef Attila:
The train is taking me,
I am going
perhaps I may even find you today.
My burning face may then cool down,
and perhaps you will softly say:
The water is running, take a bath.
Here is a towel for you to dry.
The meat is cooking appease your hunger,
this is your bed, where I lie.
A second lesson. It’s too easy to forget that it’s the little things that matter. Those random acts of kindness. Those little considerations. Those seemingly insignificant acts that say so much about what we feel. That’s love. Real love. The sort of love that lasts.
At the end of the ceremony, Ed and Dorí were asked to each pour a glass of coloured sand into a bowl. This they were then to take home, and every year, on their anniversary, they’re to take it out and look at it and remember the committment they made in front of us all. A third lesson for me: take nothing for granted. Relationships take work. A lot of work. It’s when we start taking each other for granted, that’s when they founder.
It was a great day, a lovely evening, a brilliant night. We danced, we laughed, we partied. And as the fireworks went off in the city beneath us, there was something special in the air, something tangible. And that something was hope.
Here’s to you both, Mr and Mrs Quinlan.
May the light of friendship guide your paths together.
May the laughter of children grace the halls of your home.
May the joy of living for one another trip a smile from your lips, a twinkle from your eye.