It’s all about the little things

Confessions of a Wedding Planner

Real Weddings
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Nikki takes her passion for simple yet elegant designs, her extensive knowledge of local vendors, her obsession with flowers, and her practical financial background to deliver breathtaking weddings on time and within budget. It’s all about the experience!
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As soon as the Bermuda Wedding season goes into full swing, Sunday afternoons are spent in recovery. Recovery from lack of sleep, recovery in the office tidying up a forest worth of paper or recovering in my home, armed with a list of what needs to get done before the week begins again. Repeat. Repeat.

But last Sunday, I did none of the above. As soon as I opened my eyes, I knew it was going to be a beautiful day – but how should I spend it?  The deliberation was short lived by an invitation to go to a friend’s house for a bbq. Before I could help myself and allow guilt to set in of all the things that would not get done, I said “YES!” Absolutely!  What can I bring?” I gave Jakob a much needed bath and, with the day being so glorious, put on white jeans to celebrate. Me that is, not Jakob.

As I drove up to the cottage, bikes littered the driveway; the top of the Dutch door was open. Laughter spilled out and floated into the blue, blue cloudless sky.  People were already chilling on the deck overlooking the Sound and the day suddenly felt relaxed, and easy and idyllic. Munchies were put out and inhaled. Soon conversation turned to dinner, discussions of wine and of the food to be prepared. A walk was suggested and so we wandered down to the vegetable gardens to pilfer lettuce for the salad and limes for “New Age”, my oh so love it, summer drink.

On the way to the gardens, the banks were exploding with wild freesias. A paved pathway led to a hidden vegetable patch where loving sweat had surely dripped down strong backs aching from the labour. Yet satisfaction had surely been the result to make this secret garden possible. Manicured rows of lettuce wiggled their way through the earth, their leaves nourished by the rays of the sun.  The weight of the wild magenta garden roses caused their branches to heavily hang. And, as the flowers moved lethargically in the soft wind, they released their heady fragrance into the air. I buried my nose into the blooms, suddenly anxious to imprint in my mind this very moment.

I was in heaven that day and as night fell we ate dinner under the dying sun. I turned to the horizon and was spell bound at how quickly the sun could disappear – a sight I must have seen a thousand times but from this new location, a different perspective. I held onto the tenuous peace I don’t often find. While Jakob gently snored, curled up by my feet, I was enjoying the company of friends. And with painful insight, I became aware it’s all about the little things.

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