Today is my 13th wedding anniversary. It’s the third one I’ve had to
spend apart from my husband. I’m trying very hard today not to tally
up all the days that the Army has kept my husband away from me. It’s
not fair to blame the Army since military service is my husband’s
choice, but it’s easier to be angry with the Army than with Ian. I
can’t think of a moment of my life that I’ve been genuinely mad at Ian.
I may disagree with him at times, and there are certainly moments when I
just don’t get what he’s thinking, but I trust him more than any person
on earth. I love him, and days like this one make me miss him more
than usual.
So instead of focusing on what I don’t have today, my plan is to pull
out my wedding album and gather the kids around for a story. It’s a
story they’ve heard before, but only in bits and pieces, and this is the
first time Quinn is old enough to identify people in the pictures
himself, even though I’m shocked at how much younger everyone looks in
them. Want to hear a wedding story?
Now, I’m not much of a wedding person, which is funny since I have
been involved in more weddings than anyone else in my entire family. I
have been performing music for weddings since I was in high school. I
give advice to brides all the time on how to make their weddings run
more smoothly and be more personal. I’m pretty good at it, if I do say
so myself. But I am not otherwise particularly interested in weddings.
I was never one of those girls who used to imagine her ‘big day’ or
even think I needed to be married. It wasn’t important to me.
Ian and I lived together for several years before we decided to get
married. There were a couple of reasons we decided to take that step
when we did. The first was that we knew we wanted to start planning to
have children. I think the greatest gift my parents ever gave me was
their love for one another. It was unquestioned and the most stable
thing I knew. If I raised my children in an environment that caused
them to ponder my relationship with their dad long enough to ask why we
weren’t married, then I would not be giving them that same gift I was
lucky enough to receive. Even if the idea of being officially married
didn’t stir anything in me at the time, it does matter to many kids. It
bothered some of my violin students that Ian and I weren’t married, so
the potential impact on my actual children one day couldn’t be
discounted.
The other reason sort of snuck up on me. We were attending an event
with some relatives, and my aunt introduced us to someone as, “My niece
and her friend.” My aunt is one of the sweetest people I know and she
certainly wasn’t trying to be disrespectful in any way, but the word
‘friend’ in that context struck me as deeply inadequate. The word
‘husband’ may not have the same connotations for everyone, but it was
certainly closer to reflecting the true nature of our relationship than
any other I can think of. Suddenly a marriage certificate didn’t seem
so trivial. It created a shorthand by which we would be able to present
ourselves more accurately to the society we lived in.
I learned a lot planning my wedding. It’s an invaluable rite of
passage that teaches you about yourself, your family, what’s important
and what isn’t. This was not something I believed before I went through
it for myself. Now I have a theory about how much a wedding reflects
elements of the marriage as a whole. You can tell a lot about a couple
and their future by the choices they make surrounding a wedding. It’s
the only event I know of that forces you to examine the worth and
meaning of every personal connection in your life, if only to decide
whom to inform, whom to invite, and who sits with whom at the
reception. I can’t think of another time I made party arrangements that
included cousins and old high school classmates, work colleagues and
grandparents, college buddies and my parents’ friends.
I didn’t want my wedding to look like a lot of the cookie cutter
weddings I’d played for. I wanted it to be simple and elegant and I
wanted to have fun. It was important to us to keep our wedding small so
we could really interact with everyone there. We kept it down to 50
people, but the only reason that was possible was because my parents
threw a slightly larger party at their home the following weekend for
everyone else.
One of the biggest lessons I learned while planning my wedding was
how being someone’s child connects you to others. Its something I
understand much better now having children of my own, and caring about
the lives of my friends’ children. It took me awhile to understand why
my tiny guest list should include my mom’s friends, but as she
passionately made her case it struck me how much my wedding was her
event too because I was her baby. I’d spent too much time observing
pushy mothers imposing their will on their daughter’s events to
appreciate my mom’s side of it at first. I’m glad her friends were
there.
My dad suggested I send a few invitations to famous people. The
White House sends you a nice little congratulatory card if you send them
an invite, so I did that. I also sent invitations to Oliver Sacks,
Sting, Peter Schickele, Jimmy Carter, and Miss Manners. I added a note
explaining that sometimes people who have made important contributions
to your life are people you have never even met, and in that spirit I
would hope they would consider my invitation to an important day. The
Carters were very prompt returning their card with the ‘cannot attend’
box checked. Miss Manners once wrote a column about how she didn’t
approve of RSVP cards, since anyone kind enough to invite you to his or
her wedding deserved to hear back from you on your own stationery. But
people aren’t even good about sending back those convenient cards, so I
just didn’t include one for her. She did indeed have someone on her
staff decline the invitation in a handwritten note on official Miss
Manners stationery. I’m still waiting to hear back from Sting, Dr Sacks
and Mr. Schickele. (Technically I’m still waiting to hear back from my
brother, Arno, but I’m more likely to get that little card returned
from Sting so I should just let that go.)
I loved my wedding. As it took shape, certain things about it
surprised me. For instance, I never pictured myself in a traditional
wedding dress. The idea of dressing up in something I couldn’t wear
again goes against my sensibilities. But when I tried on one or two for
fun, it hit me that this was the only time in my life I could wear such
an outfit and not look insane. Having a special dress for one day
suddenly looked kind of marvelous instead of wasteful. I had also
assumed I would be the kind of person to write her own vows, but when I
really thought about it, I realized I wanted my chance to just say, “I
do.”
But my favorite part of my wedding (besides the whole marrying Ian
part) was how it was something so many people contributed their talents
to. For wedding gifts we asked people who were able to add something to
the day.
Not only did that make the wedding more meaningful, but much
more affordable. I think the only things we paid actual money for were
the tuxes, the officiator, Ian’s ring, my shoes, and the food. I
bartered for the space in the Renaissance style garden by carving some
of the column tops that were slated to be installed there in the
future. My mom made the invitations and traded one of her drawings for
my dress. The cake was a made by a friend, the flowers were a gift from
a gardener in attendance, and the music was played by friends from
college. I wrote my own march. My dad wrote the poem for the reading.
The place where we were married had a portico that framed a garden,
and we ate facing the center which provided a perfect stage for
performances during the reception. The best man did a juggling act, a
cousin danced, friends and family played music. One brother acted as MC
between acts by providing clever poetic introductions, and the other
gave an entomological lecture followed by the release of butterflies.
We danced into the night to a truly wacky mix tape. One of the best
lines of all time was from my friend, Sarah. She was asked by one of
the waitresses who was confused by how eccentric this wedding appeared
if it was some ethnic thing, and she told me later, “I hope you don’t
mind–I told her you were Estonian royalty.”
The only part of this wedding tale that gets my children’s attention
(aside from the juggling) is that our pet rabbit at the time, Cujo, was
there. She didn’t participate in any way (although I suppose she could
have if we’d thought of some appropriate way to include the chewing of
electrical cords into the ceremony), but we left for my grandmother’s
cottage for our honeymoon straight from the reception, and the bunny had
to come along. She sat in her cage in the corner until it was time to
go, but my kids ask to hear again and again about how there was a bunny
at the wedding.
I still have my dress. My grandmother had it specially boxed for
me. I wonder if one of my girls will have any interest in using it
someday, or if it will be something that gets shuffled from one attic to
another over time until people forget which distant relative it
belonged to. I have never revisited the site where our wedding took
place, although I’ve often wondered if the grapes I carved from mahogany
ever found their way onto the garden columns as planned. I’d like to
go back there with Ian one day and walk around. Maybe if he’s not
called up again around the time of our 15th wedding anniversary we could
have another party there. I still have the mix tape my brother made,
and it would be fun to dance to the theme from Sanford and Son again.
(I seem to remember William Shatner doing Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,
and something by Aretha Franklin…. I should pop that tape in tonight
after dinner and see what the kids think.)
I love being married. I didn’t think there would be a difference
between living together and being married, but there is, at least for
me. I never expected to have the life I do. I’m not sure what I
pictured, but the husband and children I have are more lovable and
interesting than any people I could have imagined.
My wedding day was
wonderful, but it was not the best day of my life only because I’ve had
many, many wonderful days. Each day of my life adds to the collection
of experiences that are uniquely my own, and I have many to enjoy
reflecting on, not just the one where I got to declare my love for my
husband in front of the other people in my life. I may miss him today,
but I am lucky to know him at all, let alone get to be his wife.
The opposite of the depressed dog was when I got him out of the kennel on the ferry. I managed to get away to join everyone at the cottage for a weekend, and the only convenient way to do that is to take the high speed ferry across Lake Michigan. I've never taken the dog on the ferry before, but they have a kennel down with the cars and attendants make sure the dogs get water and treats. I thought the dog was going to wag us both to death when I got him out of there, and his joy at being reunited with the kids again was something to behold.
