With the morning came rain, a steady, Spring drenching. Rain fell as I dressed. I ran through rain to the clothier to pick up my new suit. I watched rain while I ate a quick lunch.
By early afternoon the front passed. The clouds broke. The sun shown through a freshly washed sky. Wearing my new suit, I drove to the tiny northern suburb of Chicago called Lincolnshire.
In a back corner of a Lincolnshire subdivision, hidden from the main road by rows of trees, sat the home of the Bethrothed's childhood friend and his wife. Caterers were preparing. A few chairs were set outside for the eldest among us. Flowers and cake had arrived. Bowls and platters of various noshables were set about. Most important were the bowls of M&Ms. They were my favorite snack. On top of the cake was a plastic M&M figure holding a heart. I knew the pastry chef who made the cake. He would not have approved of the added decoration.
There in the living room looking at the backyard stood the Bethrothed chatting with her sisters. She wore a knee-length white dress with jacket and white heels. The Bethrothed was beautiful.
Leading up to this day, I had my concerns. Never about The Bethrothed. I had been through a previous marriage that did a header into an empty pool. I could not go through that again. A recently divorced acquaintance had asked why I would want to get married again. Because whatever my experience had been, The Bethrothed was worth the risk.
45 or so guests sipped champagne while chatting, waiting for the couple to emerge. The back door opened. The Bethrothed's heels sank into the rain-soaked yard as we walked hand-in-hand. We stopped under the branches of a tree who had seen more years of life than those gathered around it.
The rabbi began his homily with "The definition of faith is to plan an outdoor wedding in Chicago during May." He came from the nearby Humanistic Judaism temple. Not until watching the video sometime later did we notice that the rabbi did not mention "God" once during his kindly address.
Vows, pronouncement, benediction. Then the moment of truth. The Bethrothed's cousin had sewn a decorative cloth to hold the glass. The rabbi now placed the cloth on the ground, pointing to where the glass (in reality a light bulb) rested. "Pop!" The goy bridegroom scored a perfect stomp on his first try. The Bethrothed officially became Ms. Stim.
Yes, Ms. Stim and I have a mixed marriage. I'm male; she's female. It's worked well for us. For 20 years and counting.