The One
So of course when I least expected it I met a man I trusted instantly. I didn't love him right away, but I liked him. A lot. I felt safe with him, valued. Adored. Understood. Admired. Cherished. Loved.

He didn't care about my wild oats, he'd sown plenty of his own. The skeletons in my family closet didn't scare him away, they made him want to protect me. He loved me, he wanted me to make a nest for us. A home. A future.

I took that man at his word, trusted him and his love, learned to love him back. Fiercely. Completely. Con gusto. Then he wanted marriage. No!

My rationalizations: We're already living together. Happily. Both working. Fulfilled. Complete. Content. Everything was great, why rock the boat?

I was pretty firm about that. He tried to talk me down, convince me it would work, but no go. So he backed off. I thought I was safe. So I relaxed. Really. I really relaxed.

Almost six months later, one night I said to him, "You know, I think we should get married. I'm not afraid any more. I love you. I want to be your wife. Let's do it."

Suddenly it was his turn to panic. We were living together. Both working. Happy. Complete. Content. Everything was great, why rock the boat? You get the idea.

Fighting and Champagne
Then, right in the middle of a perfectly reasonable discussion, he said the magic words that started The Fight. "There's no reason to get married unless we're going to have kids."

Fireworks. "Are you kidding me??? People should get married because they love each other, want to spend their lives together, form a lasting partnership, a family of Husband and Wife. Not because they want kids!!

We should be enough for each other, just as we are. Because if we're not, then all the kids in the universe won't make our marriage work."

Much more was said. Back and forth. The battle raged for almost two hours. A friend was staying with us at the time. Our bedroom was on the second floor, she was downstairs in the den behind the living room. She and I had talked that day, pros and cons of marriage, I'd told her I thought I was ready, would tell him that night. She'd secretly gone out and gotten a bottle of champagne.

Our door was open when the conversation --FIGHT-- started. She told us later she must have looked like an idiot, a deranged robot. When she heard our voices she got the champagne from the fridge, brought it to the dining room table along with some glasses. Then the yelling started, she put the bottle back in the fridge. Then quiet talking, she got it out again. Then back. Then out. Back. Out. Back.

She gave up and went to bed. Five minutes later we were pounding on her door to tell her we'd decided to get married. We all drank the champagne. And laughed. I called my mother, who cried. Tears of joy, of course.

Planning The Wedding
The wedding plans were remarkably easy. My mother wanted me to have A Wedding. Okay, then I wanted it to be a fun Saturday night party with a great band.

Also a chocolate wedding cake.

And I didn't want a traditional wedding gown or legions of bridesmaids. Okay, two sisters. Color scheme: If I'm wearing white, everybody's wearing white.

 
It's entirely possible I'd been given some Valium at this point.

We put everything in my mother's more than capable hands, no fighting, no demands, no hysteria. She pointed out that if she wore white it would look odd when she and Dad walked me down the aisle in the Jewish custom. Okay, bronze for her. To match the buttons of the designer gown I found on a back room sale rack in Philly's priciest boutique. It was exactly the dress I had in my head.

My mother-in-law found a white dress she liked, okay with me. My sisters got white silk jersey skirts, each picked out a lace top. Invitations, whatever you say, Mom. Flowers, ditto. Small white family bible to carry, orchids attached, I liked that idea.

Food was fun, we had a tasting party, picked what we liked, that was that.

Open bar, of course. Photographer, no problem.

Only one thing I really, really regret: I said no to video. This is a wedding, not a movie, it kills spontaneity, it's tacky, I said. I was wrong. I have the memories, but I've wished so often I could see and hear them again. Especially because many people are gone now. At least we have the pictures.

Husband-to-Be said, typically, "Just tell me what to wear and what time to show up." Tuxedo. Ketubah signing, 6 PM. Wedding, 7 PM.

The hotel gave us the Presidential Suite--3 bedrooms, living room, dining room, kitchen, 4 bathrooms--so everybody got ready together. My sister-in-law and her two little kids, my other sister with her new baby and their joint baby sitter in one bedroom, the rest of the women in another, the men in the third.

Getting ready was just like home. Fighting with my sisters for space at the sink to put on make-up. Yelling at my younger sister for showering so late, steaming up the mirror and frizzing my hair. Everybody telling me to put on more make-up. Older sister and Mom fixing my hair. Sitting in a robe holding my baby nephew, chatting quietly with my two little nieces, a small oasis of calm.

Suddenly standing in my dress, my mother and sisters helping me with the short veil we'd had attached to my favorite headband. The homey aromas of soap and baby powder mixing with perfumes, then colognes as we joined the men in the living room. Husband-to-Be looked at me with such wonder and so much love. I will never forget that look.

Ketubah
People went quiet as the Rabbi came in, asked us to join him at the table. Dad gasped as Husband's oldest friend stepped forward in a tuxedo, wearing black and white saddle shoes. No, he wasn't in the wedding party but one of our witnesses for the Ketubah (Jewish marriage contract). Dad relaxed. A little.

Best Man signing, Saddleshoe wearing witness waiting his turn, Rabbi

The Rabbi, an old hand at marrying nervous couples (including my parents and two of my sisters, plus he'd officiated at my husband's and both his brothers' bar mitzvahs), reviewed the Ketubah with us. No matter what you do afterward, once you sign that, you're married. It's large, opens into three sections, all written in tiny, tiny Hebrew.

After we all signed, the Rabbi pointed to a section in the center. "This is extremely important," he said, "It contains the secret to a happy marriage." You could have heard a pin drop. We all waited expectantly. "It's my wife's recipe for chopped liver!"

 

We burst out laughing, groaning at what must be a tired old joke to him, but it worked, tension broken. Until we went downstairs to the chapel. Everyone got ready. And quiet.

The Wedding

The wedding music started. First my husband's two brothers, my younger sister's husband and older sister's son carried the chuppah (Jewish marriage canopy) to the front, opened the beautiful old lace overhead, each holding a pole (another Jewish custom). Then Husband-to-Be's parents walked him to his place just before the chuppah so he could wait for my parents to give me over to him.

Already under the chuppah was our best man, the mutual friend who'd introduced us. They joined him there. My sisters, one after the other, moved smiling down the aisle and took their places underneath too.

 

Then it was just Mom, Dan and me, standing in the doorway, waiting for our cue. NOOO! I had a flash of panic so sharp I almost doubled over. I saw all my friends and family, so many smiling faces, so genuinely happy for me. I wanted to be a gracious, smiling bride.

But it seemed the room went suddenly dark. All I could see was soft light glowing around Husband-to-Be, my True North. My eyes locked onto him like a lazer beam.

The feeling was otherworldly. If I can just get to him, I thought, I'll be okay. I don't remember walking down that aisle, but here's a close-up so you can see the panic in my eyes. 
 

 
Oh yeah, I'm a deer caught in the headlights.

It was a beautiful religious and personal ceremony. Rich with ancient tradition in a modern setting. The Rabbi who knew our families so well, spoke from the heart. Continuity. Belief. Faith. Love.

And it was a great party too. Went on until past 2 AM.

 
Thanks, Mom. I love you.

An after-party migrated back to the presidential suite. Family, friends, Husband and I still talk about it. Especially this time of year. Especially today.

Why Today? Today, January 23, 2009 is our 27th Wedding Anniversary.

I can joke about the panic now. I can laugh about that picture, it's in our wedding album. I truly enjoy all the wonderful wedding memories. Because I took that huge leap of faith. And we're still married after all these years.

Humor. Continuity. Belief. Faith. Trust. Love. In the end, that's what it takes.

Here's my advice post from last year on how to maintain a lasting, happy marriage: Mating for Life, Simple as 1-2-3 - Sally Swift - Open Salon.

And I think I'll stay a bride, at least on my profile, just for this weekend.