It's you I like

It's that time again-- late at night, and time to write. Time to let all the free radicals in my brain come seeping out into something I hope is coherent.
As you get older, your likes and dislikes really crystalize. I'm sure it's just the trial-and-error wisdom that comes with age, but sometimes things surprise you.
A few years ago, I was convinced I wanted to be a wedding planner. Don't ask me why. I never fancied myself Jennifer Lopez or anything, but I love throwing parties, and I love seeing other people in love. Great combo, right? These days, my spare moments are filled helping my brother and future sis-in-law work out the details of their upcoming nuptials. It's still fun, but surprisingly hard. I mean, I think if this were my full-time gig instead of something I try to squeeze in here and there it might be different. And it's not like I've done/am doing a lot. I did go with Skye to pick out reception decorations and to the florist to talk shop when it came to flowers for the wedding party. I'll be putting together the toss bouquet and an arch for the happy couple to stand under at the reception. Also on tap, making pasta salad for 300, finding a red dress, and working on wedding favors and announcements. I booked the honeymoon last week, and am supposed to help brother find a good way to give her the ring (it's still on order, though wedding plans are moving full speed ahead). This morning, I spent a couple hours researching addresses so people will actually come to this thing. The bridal shower is in just a few weeks.
Still, with all the work, it reinforces the fact that I like organizing big, impossible tasks. I like that I'm sure I like this business, even though it's not what I do on a daily basis.
Other things I've known I've loved forever: Mr. Roger's Neighborhood (which is why I plan to name one of my daughters Elaine Fairchild someday); performing (and I take that in any way I can get it-- which is why I'll be re-joining the Institute Choir in January-- it's not theatre, but it will do); and last, but not least, the 1950s and 60s. It started in 1st Grade when I first saw "Grease" and has blossomed into a love affair with vintage clothing, a collection of great vinyl, harmonica lessons to channel Bob Dylan, and a secret fantasy of spending an evening slow dancing with a boyfriend to old doo-wap tunes. Preferrably while wearing a poodle skirt and saddle shoes.