Our Wedding

- 1 - We began talking about a wedding in March of 1999. Plans were afoot to hold it in the garden, with my best friend, Louise - a fabulous cook - catering vegetarian fare, "Stairway to Heaven" playing on the stereo, and ending with John and me diving into the pool. You know, taking the plunge. Before the plans even had a chance to cool overnight, they began to multiply. The next thing we knew we'd be hiring a flautist to pipe some Bach or Mendelsohn, renting chairs, tables, goblets, platters, canopies in case of rain, not to mention a velvet runner to prevent the heels of the female wedding party from aerating the grass. And so things moved along until we were into May and I still had not decided what to wear. A seamstress was booked and consulted, outdated Vogue pattern books were lugged home and laid end to end in the living room. Pages were thumbed and dog-earred, copious lists of possible patterns were made and reviewed, with a few designs remaining as possibilities.	Read our Wedding Ceremony	- 2 - By mid-June the seamstress telephoned to say that if she did not have the material by week's end, it would not be ready for the wedding. This wasn't the only wedding she had to sew for, you know. A rush trip to the most elegant fabric stores ended with an even more hurried trip to Mrs. Pincushion who greeted the selection with great acclaim and added it to her stash of jobs. She was happy. I was not. The more I thought of the dress, the more uncertain I became about it. Then one day, in mid-July I was informed that there was a place I could get my shoes dyed. After extricating myself from the telephone cord which had wound itself tightly about my neck, I sat down to consider my options. One: I could leave town. Rejected because I hate spending money on accomodations when I already own a house. Two: The possibility of cancelling the wedding was not seriously considered, mainly because once I make up my mind to do something, I like to see it through. And there was the small matter of a promise made. Three: I could find some shoes that needed dying and do my duty.
Marcus and Norma	Gride and Broom	Marcus, Shauna, Tarryn, Nate
- 3 - That night, when other couples would be whispering sweet nothings, I informed John of my nightmares featuring a wild stallion. Before he could get too excited, I went on to explain that the stallion had the features of a wedding planner and he/she/it was dragging us all to our deaths. Bottom line, either we scrapped everything planned to date or they would have to do it without me. He stopped rolling on the floor laughing when he realized that I was dead serious. Then I saw panic in his eyes. No matter, it would not sway me. And so we started planning again, my way. When the idea of getting married in jeans wasn't a big hit with the mother-in-law-to-be, we settled on less elaborate dress and I set about making a wraparound outfit that would be worn over a bathing suit, thus making the plunge in the pool, long forgotten in the last plans, more easily accomplished.	Fritz - Guest of honour	- 4 - There would be no need to agonize over which extended family members to invite since this plan would call for immediate family only. No ifs, aunts, or buttheads. No caterers, no guests, no rentals, no gifts. A week after the wedding we would have a humongous party and surprise friends and extended family with a fait accompli. I decided to make a papier maché bride and groom (or as John called them the Gride and Broom) with facial cutouts. We would stand them on the patio on party night and let people draw their own conclusions. We would have a camera on hand for those that wanted their pictures taken with the happy couple. And as it was written, so it came to pass. Wedding day, August 7, 1999, was bright and beautiful. The only thing rented was the minister who came in sandals - my kind of guy. Wedding supper at the Chateau Laurier was superb, and best of all, we were married, sans fuss, sans muss, and we still had a great party to look forward to.