In about an hour we’ll be leaving for Michigan, our car packed with ribbon and picture frames and a small bubble maker to keep the kids entertained and a half-a-dozen cases of wine and 30 small pots of daisies.

When we return in two weeks the daisies will probably be wilting, the wine will have been long since consumed, the ribbon (having been tied to trees) will be frayed (if not burned in a bon fire). But we will be husband and wife and our new life will begin in earnest.

There will be laundry to do and dishes and the kitchen floor (which Penny hates because it scuffs so easily) will have to be washed. We will return to our jobs and there will be bills piled up on the desk (the cool antiquey one we found for $60 at an estate sale) in our foyer.

And nothing will be the same again.

As of this second (and anyone who lives in Michigan knows the weather can change by the minute) there is a 0% chance of rain for next Saturday in Grand Rapids. Thursday and Friday are standing at about 20% each day.

I know that some people will say the act of writing this down has just jinxed us. Well, I’m sure I’ve made this point abundantly clear - I don’t believe in that sort of stuff. I believe in luck (sort of) to the extent that you make your own. Sure, some people are born to rich parents, (or, sadly and more commonly, to poor parents) or with a certain look that their generation finds attractive, but basically your luck is what you make it.

For example, someone who wins the lottery is lucky…but you can’t win if you don’t buy a ticket. That’s making your own luck. It’s the same thing with marriage. You’re lucky if you meet someone you’re “compatible” with (however you define compatibility), but you have to work at making it into a relationship.

As for the weather…there’s nothing we can do about it. You can plan a wedding in a meadow, and if it’s 75 degrees and sunny, you’re lucky. But you should rent a tent just in case.

Forgive my indulgence.

Getting married next Saturday is the best decision I've ever made. I sincerely feel like the luckiest person I know. If I were a religious man I would use the word blessed.

I think of myself as a person whose belief system is based predominately in "reality." I believe in things that are provable. That being said, there are plenty of things I can't measure or "see" that I believe, things I think of often and will never truly understand: time is relative, the immensity of the universe, the power of human emotions.

My "pragmatic" belief system led me to reject ideas I shouldn't have:
-One person can change the world. (They can and do.)
-People can change (they can...for better or worse).
-I had to solve everything by myself (I underestimated peoples' abilities, or their capacity for caring).
-Marriage. (I dismissed it as antiquated, patriarchal, wealth control, institutionalized nonsense. Frankly, I thought it was a con.)

The irony (besides the all-too obvious irony that I'm getting married) is that my parents had an exemplary marriage. What I saw between them was respect, affection, empathy. What I never saw between them was disrespect, hostility, dishonesty. I never saw (and I mean this...never once) spite, hatred, apathy, jealousy.

Of course there were disagreements, between them, between my brothers and I, every imaginable combination.

And too little time.

It's easy to romanticize the past, especially now, so close to my own wedding. The emotions I feel from moment to moment are so heightened that everything I do (I'm not exaggerating...everything, from what I pick up at the grocery store to how I stand at the plate in my coed softball league) is literally imbued with more emotion than maybe such mundane acts should ever posses.

I well up with tears on a daily basis. We were sitting in Leona's the other day, just going over the plans for the ceremony: the introductions, who goes down the aisle when, we say the vows, etc. etc., and I started crying.

And my dad won't be there. I can't believe it's been almost seven years since he died. He never saw me go to grad school, write a play, never met the woman who is going to be the mother of my children. In so many ways he made me a better person, and Penny makes me a better person still.

Whatever good is in me is mine. But I didn't form it alone. Far from it. At this point in my life my human frailties are all mine; my strengths have been absorbed from better sources: philosophers, artists, people I've met (and I'm grateful for what I'm able to recognize as good in the world).

I never believed in "meant to be." And I still don't. It's nothing more than pure coincidence that Penny and I met. We were born in different cities, years apart. Grew up in completely different parts of the country. Our families were from different continents. We weren't introduced by friends, or betrothed as children. There was nothing "arranged" about our meeting; (I know, I know...that makes it seem even more like it was preordained). We were waiting tables in some random restaurant. When we met, there was undoubtedly a spark...but how did it happen that this person grew to become for me ... more than I believed was possible.

We've heard people say (usually in bad movies) I love her so much it scares me. I have no idea what these people are talking about. I've never felt safer in my life. Do I worry about money and kids (I have dreams about them) and "The Future?" Of course.

I'm not walking around in a foggy euphoria (I read way too much about politics to have any delusions). I know life is hard, and I know how lucky I am in more ways than I probably deserve.

Penny is the most obvious example of that.

You know that time between full sleep and full wakefulness? The time when you’re not sure whether you’re dreaming or actually experiencing? I love it. I looked it up; it’s called Hypnopompia. It’s defined as “the experiences a person can go through in the period of waking up.”

Experience is an interesting word. Because when you think about it, you’re not really experiencing anything. You’re just lying in bed. You’re not doing anything. The “experiences” are all in your mind. But they seem almost real. Sometimes you can’t be sure…’did that happen – or did I dream that.’ That’s pretty cool.

If you’re lucky, you get to take your time waking up. You get to experience even more of that other reality that occurs mostly in your head. If you wake quickly, one of those freaks that spring out of bed, that time is (sadly) short.

But I’ve been lucky recently in that most of my days I don’t have to wake at any given second. I don’t have the snooze button to look forward to and hate at the same time.

But I’ve been unlucky in that most of the conversations between Penny and I have taken place with one of us in that hypnapompic state. It’s always sweet, usually amusing and occasionally frustrating. We’ve learned to communicate under the most difficult of circumstances…with one of us barely conscious.

“Honey, did you see my keys?”

“Tfffhere inm…hmmm…de fhhhunt.”

“Thanks.”

If we can do this, then everything else will be a snap.