Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue

As a girl of eighteen, I disapproved of lavish weddings. Also, not so lavish weddings. Idealistically, I felt that marriage was all about the marriage with nothing whatsoever to do with the wedding. I watched as friends and family walked nervously down the matrimonial aisle in clothing they would never wear again; say words they would never use in daily life; and line up their peers in horrid dresses, surrounded by strategically placed flowers and candles. All of it choreographed over months, and performed after an oddity referred to as "the rehearsal". And I, as a young maiden, would think, "Rehearsal for what? Us? Who are they kidding?"

It was all reverse pretension, of course, but my opinions now have changed little from those of my youth. My own wedding, though Spartanly simple, was still fruffier than I would have liked because my mother is a woman of class, but it was against my wishes. I refused a formal wedding dress, wearing instead a creamy, lace dress I had bought for $100.00 months prior to realizing I would be marrying. And I had occasion down the line to wear it to another fancy function, which well suited my romanceless heart.

I toyed with the idea of bridesmaids, but discarded it, figuring my sister was all I needed. She was less happy due to being eight months pregnant, but I eschewed the theater of trotting my few friends down a petal-strewn aisle in dyed shoes. As they had caused me to do.

I was awful. An awful girl, and rebellious. But I thought weddings the worst cross between a costume party and a stilted church play, and since it was more important to my mother than me, I let her plan mine with nary a bit of help - then eyed her harshly when I saw a few frills and flowers. (Though they were actually very, very pretty faux flowers, smelling pleasant for years.)

I objected to fancy weddings on so many grounds, but in one unselfish way, I didn't want my parents to spend all that money. I regarded it as so much waste as none of it could ever be used again. All to put on airs in front of our family and friends? And people who didn't much like me anyway? And people who knew I had undergone a miscarriage only a month before? I didn't think so.

I knew others who had fountains and slide shows and bowers and twelve attendants and lavish receptions, and even carriages to either convey yonder the glowing young couple or to convey hither the blushing young bride, but it was never in the stars for a girl like me to ride to her beloved in a carriage. (Besides, my sort of luck does not interweave comfortably with any scenario wherein a horse can lift his tail at will. And I wasn't going to give it the chance.)

I thought the best wedding possible would be outside under the sun, with grapes and cheese and bread for refreshments, but tradition said we had to have cake and punch and nuts and little pale mints that no one but the youngest of children eat because they don't know any better. (Or those weird melty flower molds that might or might not be made of white chocolate. ?)

Frankly, Allen and I strongly considered the Justice of the Peace, but our mothers wouldn't hear of it. We said to them that marriage was what you make of it and had nothing to do with the ceremony, but in the end we caved and were ultimately forced to stare into one another's eyes as a paid singer sang two lengthy ballads about love. Well, we could not even keep straight faces.

I realize this all sounds harsh and unlovely, and I'm certain it was to a degree, and a little self-righteous. After all, I have been to (including my own) some lovely, sweet weddings that were a pleasure to attend. Luke and Jennifer, for instance, had the prettiest wedding ever without breaking Mark Thornton's budget. Chrissy and Jennifer rolled up their sleeves and did the creative work on their own, with friends and family offering help and services, making the whole process a meaningful testament to friendship and community. Plus also, I believe couples feel freer these days to do as they like, not as others dictate.

Ultimately, however, marriage takes work that gains no help from the facade of flowers or candles or mints or punch or lace. Only the promises made before God - promises which bear couples along more safely over rough terrain than any horse-drawn carriage.