Two of my grandchildren will get married this spring and summer, a grandson and a granddaughter, cousins. I asked the girl if she planned to wear The Veil. (Her mother is the current custodian of The Veil.) She said she was not going to use it, because she is wearing her mother’s wedding dress, therefore she will wear her future mother-in-law’s veil. I have to admit that that is diplomatic, but I was a little sorry not to see The Veil called into service again. It has a long history.
When our three daughters were little girls, my mother took a trip to Europe. Like most tourists, she shopped for something to bring home to her grandchildren. She got little dolls; she got rocks from the Alps; and she got The Veil.
To this day I do not know what kind of lace it is. I just know it was lovely. Actually, it still is.
At that time the little girls were thrilled with it. They were at the age when they loved to play at pageantry — “Miss America,” princesses and, of course, brides. We let them use TheVeil occasionally, when they were supervised.
They were small, and The Veil fell to the floor. It flowed behind the current “bride” as she paced dramatically to their self-performed rendition of “Here Comes the Bride.” They had fun with it.
Then, like toys, it was outgrown. The girls did not play with The Veil anymore.
I was not a very wise young mother. I had never heard of “heirlooming.” I simply put The Veil in a drawer where it lay forgotten for years.
The time inevitably came when the little girls became young women, and soon they were planning their own weddings. The first to marry remembered The Veil. We dug it out of the drawer and examined it gingerly.
It was a disaster. Not only was the lace yellowed, it had big brown spots on it. I took it to the dry cleaners, but they shook their heads and said they feared it was beyond hope and that cleaning it might finish it off. It might even disintegrate.
Dismayed, I took it home. It was hopeless, so I thought I might as well try to wash it. I pulled out the Woolite, sudsed it up and soaked it a while. When I rinsed it, The Veil emerged pristine, sparkling white, once again lovely. So simple. Soap and water.
It made a beautiful fingertip veil, and two of our three daughters wore it. I confess to being very sentimental about it, the child’s plaything that became “something old,” that was a beautiful part of the bridal attire.
My daughter Terrell had The Veil heirloomed. Her daughter Mary Frances wore it a generation later. It was still lovely.
I fully understand why the second bride of the grandchildren’s generation chose not to wear it. Besides, every bride needs to follow her own wishes.
I am just a sentimental old woman for whom The Veil is a part of history. I will not worry about it. Anyway, I have two other granddaughters. Who knows what will happen?
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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