It’s official. I’m a married man. We got our fancy computer-printed Certificate of Marriage Registration from the City Clerk’s office. Nothing says official in 2004 like an Old English-style font.
The wedding was an experience unlike any I’ve known. I felt like I was in a hurricane of love. Once in a while I would find myself in the eye, where things were calm enough to see the big picture and take in the affair. But those moments were fleeting, and it was mostly a delightful tumult.
We had been stressing about rain for weeks before the wedding, wondering if the Catskills’ record-breaking rainy August would take a breather for us, or rain on our parade. We asked our friends with high karma counts to call in their favors, acknowledged our respect for the elements and checked weather.com on the half-hour. As it turned out, the sun shown down upon our ceremony, which was held as planned beside a pretty pond. And boy did it shine; came down hot. Instead of rain, we had only sweat to contend with, and I’d certainly make that trade again.
The ceremony was invented by Jeanhee and I and came into being as an assortment of ideas, rituals and people. We shaped it, but I did not truly have a vision of its final shape until it finally happened. (That’s probably why our rehearsal was so bad.) The actual ceremony was perfect for me; it felt very right and had the feel I wanted but couldn’t put my finger on. Beautiful music, heartfelt speeches, simple gestures, and personal promises, all by and with our friends and our family.
After the ceremony, folks went to the tent to start the fun and frolicking while Jeanhee and I and our families took pictures with our photog Phyllis. After a bit of that, we walked over to the tent and joined the fray. Within ten minutes, the August rains came down, and came down hard. It rained torrents for about 30 minutes, creating instant mud puddles, soaked catering staff, and a few minutes of general chaos.
Our guests handled it with good humor [ahem, foreshadowing] and the kids present had fun with the rain and mud. After the rain stopped, the sun came out again and it was gorgeous, though not as hot as before. Guests from various ethnic backgrounds told us how their tradition viewed a rainstorm at a wedding as a good omen. I’m sure these traditions developed in various cultures with good reason… to make the bride and groom feel better about rain falling on their big day. Seriously though, it was fine, and if it had to rain, the timing couldn’t have been better.
I have more to write, and I will, but for now I’ll say that I had a great view of the crowd when the 1967 Good Humour ice cream truck rolled up the hill ringing its bell. People’s faces expressed joy, puzzlement, surprise, and the reckless abandon of a dash to be first to the truck. My brilliant wife came up with this idea, and it was a blast.
Photos and more to come.