Wedding Day – Part Two
I do
Guests start
arriving at the beach house around 9:45. My friends have spirited me upstairs
to wait until 10:00, when the ceremony is due to start. Any notion we might
still host an outdoor wedding has been blown away like a trampoline in a
hurricane – rain and wind batter our friends as they plod muddy grass to reach
the side door.
I asked
Fiona to wrap ribbon around the staircase, which is the only place for a bridal
entrance. I hope to avoid tripping over my large bridal feet and tumble, end
over end, like a white chiffon slinky, on the wooden stairs. Jac snaps pictures of the kids and I together
– Fiona in her spiral curls and bright pink taffeta dress, Finley in spiked
hair and tuxedo. The kids and Pete have chosen to wear canvas sneakers.
Someone tells
us the crowd is ready. Josh, our 22-year-old musician, strums the first notes
on his guitar. I’d looked through his playlist of dozens of songs and chosen
Louis Armstrong’s, “Wonderful World” as our prelude. Fiona starts down the
stairs with a gift bag full of rose petals. I powder my nose one more time,
pick up my bouquet of flowers consisting of pink roses called ‘Bonjour,’ white
roses called ‘Avalanche,’ purple hydrangea, white Snowberries, pink
Alstroemeria, plus green grass and ferns.
I start very carefully, very slowly, down the stairs.
Nearly 60 of
our family and friends are sardined into the living room. I focus on not
tripping over the long dress which my dad has helped zip me into. At the bottom
of the stairs, I look up to see Pete. I’m stunned and overcome. I told myself I
would not cry and I’m good at not crying, having held back tears at Sean’s
memorial. Almost exactly four years ago, I had steeled myself against crying.
Today, I’ve forgotten my shield. Defenseless. Seeing my handsome groom in his
black suit, lilac shirt and shiny gray tie makes me feel like I did during the
lake swim of my first and only sprint triathlon: surprised by breathlessness
and nerves, struggling to inhale and exhale in rhythm. I’m going to marry this
man. It’s happening.
I gasp. Start crying. Shit. I’m stuffed. What about my
makeup?
Even Pete has
tears in his eyes. My stoic Scotsman. Until this moment, I’d suspected he was
an alien without tear ducts. Later, on our honeymoon, during dinner at the Thai
restaurant overlooking Ohiwa Harbour, Pete tells me, “I had, ‘What a Wonderful
World,’ on a mix tape my father made of all his favorite songs. I used to play
it over and over after he died, but then, it got lost.” I hadn’t known that
when I chose the song.
The music
stops, and Richard, the vicar (who’s also my boss at the Anglican church),
starts: “We have come together in the presence of all who have gathered… “ I clutch my bouquet in one hand and Pete’s
arm in the other, trying to sniff without snorting. From the front row, my
friend, Andrea (one of the first people I met in New Zealand), reaches into her
bag and pulls out a tissue. I pass Pete my flowers so I can dab my eyes and
maybe blow my nose.
My friend, Donna, reads from Robert Fulgham’s ‘Union’
…Look
at one another and remember this moment in time.
Before
this moment you have been many things to one another-
acquaintance,
friend, companion, lover, dancing partner, and even
teacher…
Paula reads
the ‘love’ passage from 1st Corinthians (“Love is kind and
patient…”). My friends. These same women spent hours decorating the reception hall
last night after returning from a 22-mile marathon training run. I am so
thankful for my friends.
I lean into
Pete and smile. He smiles back. He’s the first to read his vows. After a month
of procrastinating, he wrote them within an hour. They’re beautiful. And funny.
Dawn, I love and adore you with all my heart.
You make me feel like the only guy in the room
and to me you are the only girl in the room.
You have brought light and love into my life and given me
a family of my own...
I promise to give you space when you need it and support
when you need it.
To respect your beliefs and opinions and listen when your
heart speaks to me (even when there's a good action movie
on TV...
I love you, and today I'm proud to call you my partna,
my Dawn, my wife, your Petey!
I stop sniffing
to read my vows to Pete. I’d revised them four or five times, with a final edit
and critique from my friend, Lee. I nearly included something about Sean giving
me courage and strength to love again. Lee was on target (as always) when
she told me in an e-mail what I already knew – this ceremony was about me and
Pete, and our friends and families understood our history.
I look up
from the program Richard has tucked into a folder to gaze at my groom.
Pete, I love you. With you, I can
just be me. Your good looks caught my eye;
your listening skills flattered my
ego; your conversation captured my heart.
You’re kind, generous, smart and
funny. For this, I can forgive your addiction to action movies...
I pause
because our friends and family are laughing.
I don’t let my eyes linger long, because some of them are also teary,
and wedding tears are infectious.
I finish
without blubbering. Pete quips, “20 years of broadcast experience really shows…It’s
like getting in the ring with Tyson.” The group laughs. Richard asks if we have
the rings. Rings. Finley, our ring bearer, has been showering rose petals on our
guests (with help from Fiona) from the second floor loft. We send Finley for the
rings, which he’s left in a bedroom. He emerges, following an eternal pause, with
a small black box. I wriggle a nearly too-small silver band onto Pete’s hand –
the first wedding ring he’s ever worn. He, in turn, slides a white gold band
onto my finger – the second wedding ring I’ve ever worn.
Richard pronounces
us husband and wife:
Dawn and Pete you have declared the
love you have for each other and your hopes for
the future. You have made promises to
each other, and have symbolized them by the
joining of hands and giving of rings.
You are now husband and wife.
We kiss.
Maybe one more for my handsome groom…
Richard ends
with:
We
call upon the moon and the stars and the sun, who govern the rhythms and
seasons of our lives and remind us that we are part of a great and wondrous
universe,
and we ask them to bless this marriage…
The ceremony
itself was only about 15 minutes long.
And yet, we’d concentrated more than two years of loving
each other into the space of 900 seconds (give or take a few). Hundreds of
seconds of intensity, emotion and a love as big as the swelling sea outside the
house. It’s as if we’d pressed the pause button on my GPS watch during a run. We’ve
stopped the clock to stand together, look at each other, to honor the love we
share.
After the
planning, arranging, calling, organizing, seating charts, food orders, dress
alterations, hair sessions, a combined bachelor/bachelorette party, what was
most touching, tender and real about this wedding was the ceremony.
I hear champagne corks pop and smell warm sausage rolls. Servers have laid large trays of savories, salmon, carrots, hummus, baguette, pear, grapes and brie on the
wooden table in the kitchen area.
This is where Pete and I, plus witnesses Lee
and Elton, sign our marriage certificate.
Our scribbles on paper show we’re married not only in the eyes of the
church, but also in the eyes of government.
Josh plays
Jack Johnson’s “Better Together” on guitar while we nibble and mingle. Jac
grabs Pete and me for more pictures. This time, we’ll brave the drizzle to take
photos on the boardwalk overlooking the beach. So much for the hair. So much
for the beach wedding. Crikey, my one shot as a beach bride, and I’ve blown it.
At least I have purple canvas sneakers in which to shuffle through wet grass
and blowing sand.
We stay at
the house until around one o’clock, when we drive up the street to the
reception hall. Donna and Paula’s efforts have transformed the place: the
tables are decorated with ivy (collected from another Jogger friend’s garden),
sea shells, pussy willows, candles, sand and white hydrangeas.
The lamb,
for which we rented a barbeque large enough to roast a wildebeast, is tender and
delicious. We have more than enough meat, salads, beer and wine… more than
enough wedding cake (a gift from my friend, Lee), more than enough chocolate
chili raspberry gelato (a gift from our friend Matthias and Bettina)… more than
enough.
What we don’t have in infinite quantity is time: Our musician must
leave at three o’clock.
I’d asked the
Joggers’ Running Captain, Jackie, to emcee. She leads us gracefully from the
meal, to awards (we presented faux trophy cups to couples who’d been married
the longest and shortest amounts of time), to toasts. Jackie had coached Fiona
and Finley to stand together and speak into the microphone, saying, “Cheers to
Dawn and Petey.”
My Dad, who’d
arrived three weeks earlier with his wife, Kathe, stood and said, “After Sean died, Dawn took the kids on a trip around the world. We met her in Paris; then,
she travelled Europe, South Africa,
Australia and finally New Zealand. When she told me she’d met someone and
wanted to live here, I said, ‘Why do you want to live so far away?’ But when I
met Pete, I knew – this is where she needed to come to meet exactly the right
person for her…’”
I want to cry with gratitude, love, relief. He gets it.
Another Mount
Jogger friend, Mary, stands with nine other women from my running group. Mary
gives a short speech revealing two not-so-secrets about me she and others have
gleaned from girls’ weekends away: I don’t sleep well and I eat a lot. I pause
from my plate full of lamb and salad to look up and laugh. Mary says, “Dawn, we’re
glad you’re here with us in all your American-ness. Please don’t ever lose that
quality.”
I toast my husband, starting with the Thomas Merton quote I'd found at two that morning, "My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me."
The rest of
the reception is a kaleidoscope of smiles, music and laughter. The weather outside
grows increasingly warm and humid, making my hair droop. I sit next to Pete’s wee Scottish mum at the
head table, who says, “It’s about time” her 47-year-old son got married.
My groom and
I dance to the song I recall hearing consistently when we first met: Lionel
Richie’s, “Easy.” We pull in parents and kids for the next song. One moment I’m
swaying with Dad, and the next, I’m clasping Finley’s hands, bouncing up and
down. Not many people dance, since it’s the middle of the day, but I can always
count on my running friends to shake a leg or two.
It’s five o’clock
by the time we’re helping our servers clean up. There’s no grand exit in a
fancy car – just last minute instructions to our hired help and requests to a
few friends to please return our rented items (champagne flutes, BBQ…) to the
party store. It’s not the almost-fairy
tale wedding of my twenties, with fancy hall, five-piece band, catered banquet…
It’s down-home, DIY, Kiwi-style. Still gorgeous in its own way. And I’m just as
married today, at 43, as I was back then, at 29.
Beautiful! Looking forward to following along as the rest of your wedding plans unfold.
ReplyDeleteWedding Flowers
Thank you! Yes, 'Wedding, the Sequel' happens in Spokane in July. Time to start planning again...
ReplyDeleteThis must’ve been the most memorable event in your life so far. Everything was just perfect! All your family and friends were there to support both of you, the wonderful vows, and a grand celebration. But in all of the things that happened, your favorite must have been the moment on the third picture, where Pete and Finley are side by side. Because seeing two of the most important men in your life happy and looking gorgeous with their finest suits is priceless. Congratulations!
ReplyDeleteHoward Crist @ Hidalgo Brothers
Why am I not this good at writing down blogs! I enjoyed reading this blog a lot. Last month I attended a wedding in one of the wedding venues. It was a Scottish wedding and since then I am planning to write about it in my blog, at least I should try now.
ReplyDelete