If I had it to do over again, I would find you sooner, so I could love you longer.
It somehow seemed important to log every moment, when we first talked about writing up the wedding. Every hilarious comment, every tender and emotional moment, we must write it all so that nothing is forgotten.
But after 17 days' time to think, I realize that nothing will be forgotten, at least not by us. Because it was perfect.
What I remember most was that we made the right choice - and not just by deciding to get married. When we first started this sleighride, we sat down and wrote out the things that were most important to us: as my friend Geoffrey said, "What do you need in order to feel married?" Every couple's answer is going to be different, and that's important. Fortunately Jim and I were in sync: we wanted to married in our church before the altar, and we wanted to be surrounded by our friends and family. That meant no running away to a beach somewhere, no courthouse. We wanted the traditional wedding weekend.
It was the right choice. It was an amazing and beautiful time, absolutely fun and meaningful at the same time. All the warnings about "so much trouble" and "too much drama".... nah. As I told Jim, my panic point was about two weeks before the wedding, when I was up to my eyeballs in DIY projects and trying to scramble the last arrangements into place. By the time of the wedding, my only problem was how much my feet hurt.
Oh, those demon shoes.
The rehearsal dinner took place the night before; Father McMichael assured everyone that he maintains a policy that the rehearsal should not take longer than the actual event. It was a lovely social event, giving everyone the chance to get to know each other or reunite over fried chicken. The sand ceremony with the kids was sweet and fun, even when Mallory accidentally spilled a little of her sand (to much ribbing from her brothers). The vase with the layers of colored sand now resides in our bedroom, as a reminder that we who were apart are now one family. (This idea I stole from my stepmother Karen, who did something similar when she and my father married.)
I spent the rest of the evening drinking wine in the hotel lobby with my bridesmaids. Hey, something had to dull the pain in those bedamned shoes. Now, I'd been up until 2 or 3 a.m. each night for the last three nights, with wakeup calls at 7:30 or earlier. So it probably wasn't the wisest choice to stay up late drinking with the 'maids when I was getting married in the morning. But then it wasn't the wisest choice for Jim to go drinking with the boys at Fast Eddie's, either.
The morning of the wedding was thankfully clear; we were terrified of rain, as you can imagine. A nasty-early wakeup call dragged me and the 'maids to the salon, where we were sadly lamenting our shortsightedness in not bringing mimosas. The ladies kept insisting that I rest and eat, silly 'maids. I did get a brief massage in the hopes of staying relaxed; little did I know that the beginning of the wedding day isn't when you need the massage! It's the next day!
Hair coiffed, we fled back to the hotel, where all of the ladies were getting gorgeous. It's completely unfair that the boys just have to shave and throw on a tux, while we spend five hours binding ourselves under these gowns. My phone would not stop buzzing as I did my face and started adding layer upon layer of foundation garments. I would tell you how many layers were between my skin and the air that day, but you would not believe me.
Finally the bridesmaids made me eat some pizza, because they were all mother hens, which I suppose is the job description. Then Sara the Fairy Godmother started working me into the Dress. Still the phone was buzzing, but Mitzi took it away from me and informed the groomsmen that they were on their own. And reminded Jim to go back to the house and get my beautiful shawl (knitted by Kate!) or he would be slain by the maid of honor.
Mitzi was the 'maid responsible for my transportation. We had to recline the seat so that I could pile into it with this enormous silly dress, and then she insisted that I wear a seatbelt. "Um, there is no seatbelt going to fit around this thing," I said. She stomped her foot and insisted, and believe it or not she managed it. I still think it was a violation of the laws of physics. I called her a nudzh, and she replied that she was responsible for the bride's safety and refused to reenact a scene from one of my books.
Upon arrival at the gardens, Mary the 'maid scuttled over to the bridge where the groomsmen had apparently been horsing around and tormenting Tom the photographer for a while. Mary provided a Boy Scout scarf to blindfold Jim, so we could have a First Look photo. That made it safe for me to approach - sort of, since the boys were in fine shenanigans. Oh, the snark. And something about Kaiser kissing Jim, which is a photo I can't wait to see. The best men, Ian and Noah, looked quite dashing in their tuxes, and Kaiser told me I was "a vision," which is about the sweetest thing I remember him saying ever.
So I approached my dashing groom, standing practically at attention with this bright yellow scarf over his face. Tom instructed me to pass him and approach from behind. As I passed Jim, I murmured, "Hiya." He replied. "Hello. Kaiser kissed me." I really think #kissedbykaiser was the hashtag we should have used, though #thewalkingwed became rather more popular than the lame #donaldgillentine that I came up with. Kudos, Cousin Shaun.
Then the First Look, which Jim has already described in much more powerful fashion. I couldn't stop smiling; he looked so handsome, and of course he was crying, because my big tough man is a total marshmallow in a leather jacket. Or a tuxedo.
There were photos. Many photos. Cell phones were bopping out all the time, and of course Tom took gazillions - 600 or more by the end of the day, if I remember correctly. First on the bridge, and then in the pagoda overlooking a lovely autumn lake - just a week too late for real fall foliage, alas.
The bridesmaids and I were all in strapless dresses because the bridal industry is wonky like that. Three of the 'maids and I had lovely shawls, while two others had opted for puffy jackets. Thus it was their fault that we had to have the photos sans shawls. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. It was... a tad chilly. As the gentle breeze wafted over the lake and struck our bare shoulders, a cry arose: "Oh my GOD it's cold hurry hurry we're freezing!"
Tom got creative, too - he arrayed us all on a hill slope beside the water, which was just awkward enough that we were one slip away from a hit YouTube video, plus we were still freezing. Tom grinned his evil photographer grin and said, "You know, this is such a great shot we could stay here all day." There might have been a chorus of profanity, I'm not sure. We did the "point at nothing" shot, so when I get the photo, there will be a contest to see who can photoshop in the best thing we're all terrified of - and Godzilla is disqualified. Too easy.
Onward to the church, and Mitzi strapped me in with a seatbelt again even though I was practically horizontal in a mound of ivory satin, resolutely maintaining I would make it to the church in one piece. I started singing "Get Me to the Church On Time" from My Fair Lady, only I couldn't remember all the lyrics and I was prone in a corset, so I doubt my performance was memorable.
At the church it was more photos - by the end of the night, Ian confided in me that "I've never had my picture taken so much in all my life." Hang in there, kid, your turn will come. Really, that was part of the fun: all the families were there, and we mixed and matched like mad. We were all laughing and having fun - the bridesmaids came to the conclusion that my uncle Brian is a dead ringer for Walt Disney, and Ian concurred. Chris the groomsman took a photo of the 'maids sitting in a pew with only their shoulders visible, and of course they look naked, because that's the way this goes. Onto the internet it goes!
The last few minutes before we were supposed to get started were just minor kerfuffles: handing out the flowers, getting the witnesses to sign the marriage license, last-minute hair repair. Sara tried to re-place my tiara so it would be more obvious, which I vetoed. As she said: "I'm Sara Harvey and I don't do subtle."
I was dying of thirst for some reason, so I went back toward the kitchen for a cup of water. "Look out, she's making a run for it!" cried Kate, and chased after me. I insisted I was only getting a cup of water, but of course there was an exit door next to the kitchen. Up popped Tom - I swear, he was a magic gnome who could appear whenever there was something silly to photograph - and now there are official photographs of me trying to make a run for the back door of the church with Kate restraining me.
Of course, Mitzi had informed me all the bridesmaids were in agreement that if I tried to run, they'd wave copies of the receipts for nonrefundable deposits in my face. It would have worked.
Hilariously, it was Jim who had the panic attack before the wedding. We were all lined up for the Ministry of Silly Walks: flower girl and ringbearer, bridesmaids and groomsmen, crucifer and torchbearers, choir, book bearer and priest. Plus us. There were a lot of people in this wedding. We had opted not to go for the "traditional" procession where everyone goes in and then they all stand up and watch me walk in by myself with a big fanfare like I'm the Queen of England. Instead, we decided that Jim and I would process together with the rest of the liturgical party.
But Jim was convinced something might go wrong - is it time for the flower girl to go? Does the crucifer know to wait? I asked if anyone had a tranquilizer dart gun. "Relax," I said. "Everyone knows their part. Stop fretting."
So he kept fretting, because he's Jim. There was another exit door at the end of the hall, so I pitched my voice sotto voce and said, "We can still make a run for it." Donna the bookbearer, all of maybe five feet tall, raised the brass-bound Gospel in her hands and said, "I will hit you with this book." She won.
When we began the processional hymn - Jim's favorite, and seven freaking verses long - I was shocked at the crowded church. When I got married the first time, I remember being saddened at all the empty pews - but in retrospect, that was the Cathedral in Memphis. It was a big room. Our little church was so full - so many people who came to share in our happiness and support our choice to share our lives. Jim has already written about the amazing joy and positive energy in that room, and I can only echo it: so much love in one room.
Of course, there were a few hiccups. Kate had tied the rings onto Sammy's ringbearer pillow, and instructed the priest that he needed only to pull this one loop to get them free. Of course, he pulled the wrong one, and at least a verse and a half was spent struggling to free the rings. Young Sammy (my nephew) just grinned as though to say, "Hey, I did my job." The 'maids later told me they needed to restrain Kate, who wanted to leap over the aisle and help. "Wrong loop!" she allegedly whispered to Mitzi. I told her later, "Well, he is a priest. But he's still male."
The rings safely placed on the altar, Jim and I went through the Declaration of Consent. You know this part: it's the part where we both vow to love, honor and cherish (it does not say obey) each other in sickness and in health, etc. We say "I will" - there is no "I do" in the Anglican rite. It's also the point where they ask if anyone has any reason to object, and Jim and I shared a little grin at that. Fortunately our friends behaved themselves.
This was also when my father gave me away. Funny thing: we had been over every step of the service together. Jim and I discussed every part, decided everything together, and I thought we knew the service as well or better than anyone except the priest. But once we were actually going through it for real, everything flew out of my head. I forgot what happened, what to say or anything we'd discussed. When my father stepped up to give me away, I had totally forgotten he was going to do that. As if we hadn't discussed it a number of times.
I also give Dad credit: At no point did he crack the joke, "I keep giving her away, eventually someone's gonna keep her."
The "I wills" are not the vows, by the way. That's our consent, that we have come together willingly and for the right reasons. The vows are something different, our promises to each other. But first! Readings! Because we're Episcopalians, and we have to do the pew calisthenics.
The first reading was from the Song of Solomon, as read by our dear friend Geoffrey Pruitt, who once told me that we should do what we needed to do to feel married. I wanted to preserve it, and can't remember which version we used. But here is the likely translation:
My beloved speaks and says to me: 'Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away;
For now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.
The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance.
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm;
For love is as strong as death, passion fierce as the grave.
Its flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame.
Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it.
If one offered for love all the wealth of one's house,
it would be utterly scorned.
The second reading was from I Corinthians, and at first I wasn't going to use it. It's beautiful, but it's also used at every. single. wedding. But then when I read the alternatives, and Jim and I talked about it, we realized there's a reason it's at every single wedding. It was read by our dear friend Candace Sauermann, who once upon a time told me to keep my mind and heart open to the idea that someday I might marry again.
If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.
And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have faith so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.
If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.
It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never ends.
But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end.
For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end.
When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; but when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.
For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.
And now faith, hope and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.
And then the Gospel, which I won't reprint here because this is already too long. It's John 15:9-12 if you're so inclined to look it up. Father promised that his sermon would be "uncharacteristically brief," and he surprised me by going into some theological depth; standard is to keep wedding sermons general, since the congregation is varied. Ours was moreso than most: probably fewer than half the people in the room were Episcopalian, with a large number of Catholics, Mormons and Pagans. I wished I had the ability to take notes on his sermon, which focused on how God moves in our lives, and how our marriage would be an example of God's love in the world. (No pressure.)
He made the probably-unintentional *snerk* moment by saying "it isn't a fairytale." And that's true, acknowledging the long roads that Jim and I both traveled to reach this point, to be together, to decide to marry, and even then, the long path we traveled through our engagement. I have said it before, but I'll reiterate: we were not engaged for two and a half years so we could plan a giant shindig of a wedding. We were engaged for two an a half years to prepare to be married. We went through premarital counseling and family counseling; we spent a lot of time talking about marriage and creating our own informal Engaged Encounter (since there wasn't one to be found anywhere in the Midwest if you weren't Catholic). He has two divorces under his belt; I have one. Neither of us wanted to rush into a big mistake. So it isn't a fairytale.
On the other hand, we had this whole theme going. So it's a little funny. Forgive me, I get the giggles at important moments in my life, and I had them big-time. I just couldn't stop smiling, even laughing. I laughed like a fool the whole weekend, even when I was wearing those damned shoes.
After the sermon, both Jim and I looked at each other in terror. What happens next? We had both totally forgotten, and because we're idiots, neither of us had a program. We were actually glancing around the wedding party to see if anybody had a program when Father McMichael gestured to us - oh yeah, the vows!
We went up to the altar, and I heard sniffles already - I'm lookin' at you, Grandpa Curtis. It's a good thing Father McMichael was well-seasoned in this, because he knew to repeat each part of the vow in phrases for us, because every word I knew except for the ones he said had flown out of my head. "To have and to hold from this day forward. For better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish; until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow."
Jim held in there until the second line. Marshmallow, I'm telling you. I wanted to hug him, but instead we just held each others' hands. He pulled it together and finished his vows, all teary-eyed and adorable. Shut up, I kinda like the guy, you know. I did my part, still with my brain a hissing white void like snow on a TV screen, but I had the presence of mind to remember to speak up; it's a big room and I wanted them to hear this. Even the little grin we both shared at "for richer, for poorer," because for us it's mostly poorer. And that's okay. Because we're rich in other things.
Then the rings, which the priest blessed before giving them to us. As we slid the rings on each other's fingers, we said, "I give you this ring as the symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." I share the words with you, folks, because I believe the Episcopal rite of marriage to be the most beautiful I have ever read. I'm a words person, and I could not have written a service more lovely than the one we chose.
At that moment, the priest declared us husband and wife (not man and wife, and certainly not Mr. and Mrs. Jim Gillentine because no). And then we leaned in to kiss. "Not yet," Father McMichael reminded us in his placid way. There was a roll of laughter that went through the entire sanctuary - yeah, we got ahead of ourselves. I half-shrugged - hey, can you blame me? He looks dashing in that tux!
No, first there are prayers. Because Episcopal. The Lord's Prayer, and a series of prayers for our life together as read by my father in his best voice. It was beautiful and wonderful, wishing for us wisdom and devotion, that we might support each other in hard times and give joy to each other in good ones, that we might have grace to return and make amends when we hurt each other. We even left in the part about being blessed by children, because while it is unlikely with my health, it is a blessing we would love - and we are already raising our children, the greatest of blessings.
There was a prayer that was almost dead-on part of the Father's sermon: Make their life together a sign of Christ's love to this sinful and broken world, that unity may overcome estrangement, forgiveness heal guilt, and joy conquer despair. Again, no pressure. But even so, it is part and parcel of my own faith, which I share with Jim. The greatest of these is love.
There were prayers for others, as well: that the married couples hearing the vows might feel their own vows strengthened. Earlier there was a point where the priest asked everyone if they who witnessed this marriage would do all in their power to support us, and the congregation replies, "We will." That was one of the most important moments for me: all who were there stood with us, not only as witnesses, but participants in our covenant.
The ending prayer was one of the most beautiful, and given the events of recent days, it dwells on me with more than the usual weight.
Grant that the bonds of our common humanity, by which all your children are united one to another, and the living to the dead, may be so transformed by your grace, that your will may be done on earth as it is in heaven; where, O Father, with your Son and Holy Spirit, you live and reign in perfect unity, now and forever.
We knelt before the altar, as Father McMichael took his stole and wrapped it around our joined hands. Let their love for each other be a seal upon their hearts, a mantle about their shoulders, and a crown upon their foreheads. This is an optional part of the service, an ancient tradition that held great meaning for me. It's similar to the Pagan handfasting - which means the ancient Anglicans probably stole it from them - and to me, it truly seals the marriage.
Then Jim helped me up, turned to the priest and said, "Now?"
"Ah, go ahead," Father McMichael said. Jim kissed me, and the room went wild.
(to be continued!)
