A Wedding - Pt. 1
May. 20th, 2003 05:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
senoritafishEight years ago today, on a warm hazy Saturday morning, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
runsamuck and I drove a good 60 miles out to Glen Helen Regional Park outside San Bernardino. There we participated in something some magazine I was reading lately, probably Reader's Digest, called "a tacky trend that they hoped was coming to an end soon." Well, too bad; we thought it was fun and meaningful, and I hope others do too.
About seven months earlier, I told my mom as she lay in her hospital bed, that I thought John was the one, and that he had asked me to share his life with him.
"Well, if he is, you'd better do it then," she said gruffly, although her eyes were shining. She was not all that happy that we had been staying in a 22-ft. RV, with two cats, near the beach for nearly a year already. (And believe me, if that's not a test of compatibility, I don't know what is.) Then we turned on the hospital TV and I held her hand while we watched "Necessary Roughness," because we both liked Scott Bakula. During a commercial, she laughed and said she wanted to go to Laughlin, Nevada, not because she liked to gamble, but partly because the town shares our name, and she wanted to check out the buffets. It turned out to be the last time we watched a movie together.
I didn't want the traditional wedding. I'd have loved to have done it scuba diving, since a kelp forest is one of my favorite places in the world, but alas, I hadn't dove in awhile, and John is asthmatic and unlikely to get certified. Shortly before my brother got married, I noticed that the Renaissance Pleasure Faire had a wedding garden. I thought it might be fun, but he and his girlfriend opted to have it in Massachusetts, near her parents house. Now that it was my turn it occurred to me again. We made reservations for May (sans banquet, that was just too expensive), I made my own invitations, and planned on making my own costume. John made arrangements to rent a medieval style kilt, and we racked up our credit card buying admission for everyone we invited (luckily they had a discount for groups). My brother, who plays in a group that does medieval recorder music offered to contact the harpist the faire provided, so he could play along with her. For people who couldn't or didn't want to make a trip clear out to San Berdoo, we had our reception the next day in Long Beach; John's mom lives in a mobile home park with a clubhouse, which tenants can use for free.
About a month before, I still hadn't gotten my skirt and bodice put together. Whatever made me think I could do it myself is beyond me. Beth, my best friend and maid of honor, called me and said "Haven't you gotten that done yet? Mine's all finished!" When I sheepishly admitted I hadn't, she came down to HB, and we went shopping for fabric and patterns. There is the neatest fabric and craft store in Long Beach on Anaheim Street that has everything; however, it made Beth uncomfortable to go there because she thought it was in a bad neighborhood (if you spend any time in Long Beach, you get used to it). The next weekend I went out to Redlands to her friend Mary's house, and we got it put together. I hadn't used a sewing machine except for mending since the eighth grade, but it actually turned out pretty nice. Mary was kind enough to make me a headpiece out of ribbon and dried roses. Her son, an aspiring film student, said he could video it; I offered him $50, which he jumped at.
The day before the big day, John, Beth and I went out to the faire grounds to meet the minister. John's "best" friend did not bother to show up. She was a perfectly spherical lady with a keen sense of humor, (Universal Life Church, so I think in some states we aren't legally married), who said we could have the ceremony in present-day English or Elizabethan (you can guess what we chose). Since I had completely spaced on flowers, she arranged two bouquets. One for me, and one for my mother, containing rosemary for remembrance; she had passed away two weeks after we watched that movie together.
The next morning, we headed back out to the Faire, in several different cars. My dad stopped and picked up my 94-yr-old grandmother, my one brother went out early to meet the harpist, and everyone else was supposed to just meet at the garden - everyone had been sent their tickets in advance. When we arrived, Beth and I went to change. Unfortunately, they only provided one trailer for changing - I don't know where they thought John was supposed to. We didn't realize it while we were changing, but John found out his costume had been forgotten that morning by the people who were supposed to provide it, and she had gone barreling back to Anaheim at 90 miles an hour, to get his kilt and other accoutrements and be back before the wedding started. Guests had begun arriving and were sitting in the banquet area waiting for it to begin. The lady with the costume arrived, while John was standing there wondering what to do.
Now a medieval kilt is really just an unsewn bolt of tartan cloth, which is folded in large pleats, wrapped around you, and secured with a large belt. The costume lady arranged the fabric on one of the table, told him to lie down on his back on it, and wrapped him up like a burrito with everyone watching - they all thought it was quite funny (this was also the reason his kilt wasn't exactly "authentic" - he was wearing these butt-ugly shorts with holes in them underneath! I guess that qualifies as the "something old."). We heard later from John's father that he thought the costume lady was me (he's a bit of a recluse, and we had not met by this time). Since she was rather well-endowed and wearing the typical faire peasant girl costume, he was doing his best not to stare. When he found out later it wasn't me, he regretted not taking more pictures.
All was finally in readiness, the music was playing, the guests were seated on the haybales, and we laid a wool paisley scarf on spot where my mother would have sat. John was waiting with the minister, Beth and Alex (John's friend) went up the aisle first, then me and my dad (I told him he didn't have to wear a costume if he didn't want to, but I wish he'd have worn something besides jeans - oh well). We stopped at the empty seat, laid down the rosemary bouquet for my mom. and paused for a moment, wishing she could've been there. Then to business, Words were said, hands were fasted, and rings were exchanged - the normal stuff, except John kept switching hands when I tried to put his ring on, and the minister interrupted with "Cease thy japes, sir, or I shall have to slap thee!" which made everyone laugh. And why not? This is supposed to be an occasion of joy right?
Things are a little foggy; I need to find my tape and watch it. I know afterwards everyone went off and enjoyed the rest of the faire, and my brothers and I went to the pond and scattered the rose petals from my mother's bouquet on the pond. There was something symbolic about this, but right now I can't remember what it was. We didn't stay very long after ourselves. My grandmother tired easily, but didn't leave before Queen Elizabeth stopped and gave her a rose. She was so thrilled, you would've thought the woman was the real queen.
TBC - Maybe I'll add some photos later, provided I can get them organized and scanned.
runsamuck and I drove a good 60 miles out to Glen Helen Regional Park outside San Bernardino. There we participated in something some magazine I was reading lately, probably Reader's Digest, called "a tacky trend that they hoped was coming to an end soon." Well, too bad; we thought it was fun and meaningful, and I hope others do too. About seven months earlier, I told my mom as she lay in her hospital bed, that I thought John was the one, and that he had asked me to share his life with him.
"Well, if he is, you'd better do it then," she said gruffly, although her eyes were shining. She was not all that happy that we had been staying in a 22-ft. RV, with two cats, near the beach for nearly a year already. (And believe me, if that's not a test of compatibility, I don't know what is.) Then we turned on the hospital TV and I held her hand while we watched "Necessary Roughness," because we both liked Scott Bakula. During a commercial, she laughed and said she wanted to go to Laughlin, Nevada, not because she liked to gamble, but partly because the town shares our name, and she wanted to check out the buffets. It turned out to be the last time we watched a movie together.
I didn't want the traditional wedding. I'd have loved to have done it scuba diving, since a kelp forest is one of my favorite places in the world, but alas, I hadn't dove in awhile, and John is asthmatic and unlikely to get certified. Shortly before my brother got married, I noticed that the Renaissance Pleasure Faire had a wedding garden. I thought it might be fun, but he and his girlfriend opted to have it in Massachusetts, near her parents house. Now that it was my turn it occurred to me again. We made reservations for May (sans banquet, that was just too expensive), I made my own invitations, and planned on making my own costume. John made arrangements to rent a medieval style kilt, and we racked up our credit card buying admission for everyone we invited (luckily they had a discount for groups). My brother, who plays in a group that does medieval recorder music offered to contact the harpist the faire provided, so he could play along with her. For people who couldn't or didn't want to make a trip clear out to San Berdoo, we had our reception the next day in Long Beach; John's mom lives in a mobile home park with a clubhouse, which tenants can use for free.
About a month before, I still hadn't gotten my skirt and bodice put together. Whatever made me think I could do it myself is beyond me. Beth, my best friend and maid of honor, called me and said "Haven't you gotten that done yet? Mine's all finished!" When I sheepishly admitted I hadn't, she came down to HB, and we went shopping for fabric and patterns. There is the neatest fabric and craft store in Long Beach on Anaheim Street that has everything; however, it made Beth uncomfortable to go there because she thought it was in a bad neighborhood (if you spend any time in Long Beach, you get used to it). The next weekend I went out to Redlands to her friend Mary's house, and we got it put together. I hadn't used a sewing machine except for mending since the eighth grade, but it actually turned out pretty nice. Mary was kind enough to make me a headpiece out of ribbon and dried roses. Her son, an aspiring film student, said he could video it; I offered him $50, which he jumped at.
The day before the big day, John, Beth and I went out to the faire grounds to meet the minister. John's "best" friend did not bother to show up. She was a perfectly spherical lady with a keen sense of humor, (Universal Life Church, so I think in some states we aren't legally married), who said we could have the ceremony in present-day English or Elizabethan (you can guess what we chose). Since I had completely spaced on flowers, she arranged two bouquets. One for me, and one for my mother, containing rosemary for remembrance; she had passed away two weeks after we watched that movie together.
The next morning, we headed back out to the Faire, in several different cars. My dad stopped and picked up my 94-yr-old grandmother, my one brother went out early to meet the harpist, and everyone else was supposed to just meet at the garden - everyone had been sent their tickets in advance. When we arrived, Beth and I went to change. Unfortunately, they only provided one trailer for changing - I don't know where they thought John was supposed to. We didn't realize it while we were changing, but John found out his costume had been forgotten that morning by the people who were supposed to provide it, and she had gone barreling back to Anaheim at 90 miles an hour, to get his kilt and other accoutrements and be back before the wedding started. Guests had begun arriving and were sitting in the banquet area waiting for it to begin. The lady with the costume arrived, while John was standing there wondering what to do.
Now a medieval kilt is really just an unsewn bolt of tartan cloth, which is folded in large pleats, wrapped around you, and secured with a large belt. The costume lady arranged the fabric on one of the table, told him to lie down on his back on it, and wrapped him up like a burrito with everyone watching - they all thought it was quite funny (this was also the reason his kilt wasn't exactly "authentic" - he was wearing these butt-ugly shorts with holes in them underneath! I guess that qualifies as the "something old."). We heard later from John's father that he thought the costume lady was me (he's a bit of a recluse, and we had not met by this time). Since she was rather well-endowed and wearing the typical faire peasant girl costume, he was doing his best not to stare. When he found out later it wasn't me, he regretted not taking more pictures.
All was finally in readiness, the music was playing, the guests were seated on the haybales, and we laid a wool paisley scarf on spot where my mother would have sat. John was waiting with the minister, Beth and Alex (John's friend) went up the aisle first, then me and my dad (I told him he didn't have to wear a costume if he didn't want to, but I wish he'd have worn something besides jeans - oh well). We stopped at the empty seat, laid down the rosemary bouquet for my mom. and paused for a moment, wishing she could've been there. Then to business, Words were said, hands were fasted, and rings were exchanged - the normal stuff, except John kept switching hands when I tried to put his ring on, and the minister interrupted with "Cease thy japes, sir, or I shall have to slap thee!" which made everyone laugh. And why not? This is supposed to be an occasion of joy right?
Things are a little foggy; I need to find my tape and watch it. I know afterwards everyone went off and enjoyed the rest of the faire, and my brothers and I went to the pond and scattered the rose petals from my mother's bouquet on the pond. There was something symbolic about this, but right now I can't remember what it was. We didn't stay very long after ourselves. My grandmother tired easily, but didn't leave before Queen Elizabeth stopped and gave her a rose. She was so thrilled, you would've thought the woman was the real queen.
TBC - Maybe I'll add some photos later, provided I can get them organized and scanned.
