My maternal grandmother loved weddings. She attended them in countries around the world when she was traveling - which was often. She got close to 100 before she passed away at the young age of 69.
Whenever she and my grandfather would travel, she would find a local church or synagogue or other house of worship. She would actively seek out weddings and slip into the back row to watch the ceremony. My grandmother made friends wherever she went. Somehow on a regular basis, she would simply tag along to the reception.
She apparently always carried a card and a check with her when she went out, in case she ran into a wedding. Whether she went tot he reception or not, she always left the couple a gift.
She was so full of yes and hope and joy that she would often give a toast to the couple. When she told me about it, she said she had just done it in South America somewhere. I remember asking her if she spoke Spanish. She said “Of course not, everyone knew what I was saying. I was wishing them a lifetime of joy and happiness. Everyone speaks that language.”
We do, don’t we.