Texan meets Yankee. Whirlwind courtship. Engaged exactly six months after their first date. Wedding day set. His parents in Texas. Her parents in Pennsylvania. The couple in Colorado. Who will travel? Wedding day postponed. Struggling graduate students. Wedding day rescheduled. Difficult friends who rebel against a New Year's Eve wedding. Date postponed again. A year goes by. Bride dreams of a Catholic wedding. Groom has no preference for location or type of ceremony. Texas? Pennsylvania? Colorado? Where will the wedding be? Bride wants to wear her grandmother's wedding dress. Mother of the bride disagrees and insists a new dress should be purchased from the most prestigious bridal store in Central Pennsylvania. No wedding date set and no location determined. Twenty three months go by...
Until he says, "Get your ass in the car. We are getting married."
Quick phone calls to their parents. "We are tired of waiting. We are getting married this weekend, just the two of us." Suitcases packed and loaded in a two-door Jeep Cherokee. Steep hill, tight curve, deep into a weathered canyon. Rushing rivers like the kind in beer commercials. Small town. Dirt road for a few miles. Dead end. Quaint baby blue and pale yellow Victorian house. A romantic bed and breakfast. Charming, secluded and complete with an innkeeper certified as a pastor though a snail mail correspondence course. The same man who marries couples in the morning leaves warm, fresh baked chocolate chip cookies on their night stand in the evening.
Green dress shirt and tan pants for the groom. Simple black dress for the bride. Too cold for an outdoor wedding. An unnaturally happy baker who serves as the witness, photographer and wedding coordinator situates the couple in front the fireplace. Innkeeper/pastor greets the couple briefly and starts chanting a Navajo prayer. The bride cries tears of joy. The pastor who specializes in creating divine peach stuffed French Toast transitions into a little Whitman, Emerson and Tennyson. The bride cries more. Watching the bride cry makes the baker cry too. The baker gives the bride a tissue. The bride blows her nose. Rings are exchanged. The couple kiss. Ceremony concludes with an Apache poem. Finally after nearly two years of debate, discussion and planning, the wedding is over and the marriage begins with a mountain hike and a day of reading by a fire.
No undercooked chicken and overpriced wine. No dancing with sweaty old uncles. No ugly bridesmaid dresses or overbearing mothers. No fake smiles and insincere pleasantries. Just him, her and their private happiness. A marriage not a wedding.
Author's Note to Handsome Husband: Getting in that vehicle with you thirteen years ago has resulted in years of happiness and four amazing children. Skipping the fanfare and focusing on our future together was the most beautiful decision we could have made. I am looking forward to many more days of hiking and reading with you. Happy Anniversary, my wonderful husband.
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