I recently unearthed the CD containing all the pictures from our wedding six years ago. All of them. Be afraid . . . there was much dancing. Lots of sweating. More on that later.
C and I met the day after I'd broken myself out of a seriously dysfunctional relationship. (Well, actually, we met that night.) Anyway. We met in a bar (ugh) but really, I was there with my bestie Mo, having dinener. I was lamenting that I'd never meet anyone, never get married, boo hoo boring hoo. So on my way to the ladies's room, C stops me, introduces himself and asks if I'd run in a race a few weeks earlier. I did, we chatted, he asked me to dinner. I told him about the breakup from a mere 12 hours before.
Now, this was only a few days before Thanksgiving, and I was planning to run the Turkey Trot before gorging myself on stuffing and pie. I told him if I saw him there, I'd give him my number.
Um, this race? Yeah, it's the oldest and longest-consecutively run race in the country. And it's huge. We're talking, that year, about 6000 runners. So, the chances of me running into him would have to be left to fate.
We met up, I gave him my number, and almost two years to the day later we got married.
The day of our wedding in late November was a weather-wise anomaly. It was warm, sunny, and NOT SNOWING. Unbelievable.
The service at our lovely Unitarian Universalist church was tailored by us; we each picked a secret poem for each other, and had someone deeply meaningful to each of us read it. Mine was by Rumi, C's was "She walks in beauty like the night . . . " Then we had a couple read a poem to everyone gathered, from The Spoon River Anthology. I walked down the aisle to "My Love Is Like a Red, Red Rose," by Robert Burns, sung by our amazing choir. The ceremony was our favorite part of the day.
A close second was our reception. Holy shit were there a lot of people there. All our families, most of our friends--those who could attend--and LOTS of friends of our parents. As in, "Hey, you! Thanks for coming . . . (whisper to C: who the hell is that?)!"
I was, I think, quite a low-maintenence bride. (Bridezillas make me want to puke.) My priorities for our reception were not focused on flowers, or table arrangements, or place settings or colors or any of that shit. It was the food and the dancing. I wanted everyone to eat, drink, and be as merry as they wanted, for as long as they wanted. And oh, did we dance. And eat. C and I were exhausted by the end of the night, but were so happy that we, and everyone else, had a fun time. Exhibits A through . . . :