![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrvmotuuc_I4Atw_lwN2DtBFlyaoVUGs21ZDC8m8wvRBi8CPa7RkFqCWf1_BTan5_WQXM3z9-f23WNn1rAFqwI2IJ_7OhPs__qIBWIq_YE8sjUglCajnAdu-CbuZiddwzDgnb_8UKCEc/s320/Basket3.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6CdtJl-CY_g20Kdkfioyu9lUzq6pZgWSZ07h6oqItwdgf2rDS_5lhS400USfDVM69WGc-xYGDUg__VvYlKifr2PkIek66dMGB4yW81yZeu3Cu0NoNHZ5kiW30f1RHFaFm0QkoTsOB8K0/s320/Basket1.jpg)
When I got married in 1972,
my niece was my flower girl.
Somewhere over the years, I kidded her that
one day when she got married, my little girl could carry the same basket and be her flower girl.
Turns out that’s exactly what happened.
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