Winter Wedding

We wanted to get married right away.

Nearly eleven years ago, I was proposed to in a not-so-conventional way and I, of course, said yes. That was Labor Day weekend, or thereabouts, and our joy the next day was somewhat circumvented by the tragic news of Princess Diana's death.

We were young, we were hormonal, we were invincible, and we wanted to get married very soon. I knew that we couldn't afford a decent wedding, and I never thought my parents would pay for one, so we planned to elope on Sweetest Day of 1997.

Fast forward to November of 1997, and we were still not married. Our humble elopement plans had been cut short by my dad, and a 'real' wedding was being planned. My dad had astounded me by offering to pay for the event, and I actually thought that I would have some say in what went on for it. Ha.

Since the wedding was intended for family to see us off, see us married in a proper manner, we figured that it would be nice to wait until June or July, get married outside under a canopy. Rent a dance floor, have a barbeque, light some candles- oh, never mind. Dad suddenly got the idea in his head that Michael and I should get married very soon and run down to Florida for a 'working honeymoon'. There was a little startup Renaissance Faire, you see, just north of Miami, and we could operate it on the weekends and honeymoon during the week. In a tent. That was just so utterly brilliant.

I really don't know why I fell for his plans so often, but I did, once again. Michael is the most laid-back guy I've ever known, and he went along with it. My church, the one that I had served at in various capacities for several years, refused to marry us. Somehow we wound up having the nuptials and the reception in the ultra-classy Wexford County Civic Center. Some dear soul pinned a backdrop up on the bleachers so that we could have nice photos. My almost-mother-in-law cooked, sewed, decorated, and planned frantically to meet the late January deadline. Trying to make the best of the situation, as always, I asked my photographer if he would take a photo of me, in my white dress, outisde in the white snow. He said sure but never did.

So we got married in the dead of winter. On a multi-use basketball court. In the same room where I had ogled first-place ribbons on 'Agriculture Entries' for the better part of my childhood. We got married in a place that my daughter recognized as the 'Circus Place(!)' from our wedding photos. Because of my dad's business 'need'. The Ren Faire turned out to be a flop, we earned a fraction of what we were promised, and we returned to Cadillac jaded, resentful, and in debt. Somewhere along the line, I picked up pneumonia again, as well. It may have had something to do with sleeping in a tent during tornado season, I'm not sure.

We've stuck it out for over ten years. Our beginnings- if anything,- strengthened us, unified us. Every year, when our anniversary rolls around in an ugly and frigid month, and I'm too poor to holiday on a beach somewhere far away, I resent the forced winter date just a tiny bit. But then I look up at the sky and I see pure white crystals falling softly and gently to the earth- ever so quiet. They sparkle like the beads on my dress, like my eyes did when I marched so resolutely down that aisle. There is a cleanliness and purity about the snow in that dead of winter that somehow relates now to that beginning- two innocent kids so sure of themselves and so in love.

Its bridal season now, and we've been busy at work making wedding bands and sizing rings bought elsewhere. All of these fresh faces will have their summer wedding to revel in, their anniversary always in pleasant weather (unless they move to New Zealand) their fresh flowers actually in season. I no longer envy them. My wedding was as oddball and out-of-place as Michael and I are, and it really was perfect.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Labels: anniversary, love, wedding, winter