There was a wedding when the Rag Doll married the Broom Handle. It was a grand wedding with one of the grandest processions ever seen at a rag doll wedding. And we are sure no broom handle ever had a grander wedding procession when he got married.

There are several posts I want to write about the first two years of my relationship with BWB, posts which have been percolating for a long time.  I suspect I’ll end up writing them gradually and peppering them in amongst the current events, flashbacks until we’re all caught up.  It can be like Lost, or at least what Lost was like when I watched it, back before my Tivo ate the episodes and I didn’t have the patience to figure out what I’d missed.

In any case, this isn’t one of those posts.  This is the end of the story those yet-to-be-written entries will tell, and the beginning of all of the rest of the stories for the rest of my life.  (How’s that for dramatic?)  This post is about my wedding.

Blue Wind Boy and I were married one week ago, Halloween 2009, and it was awesome.

I’m not putting any “IMO” caveats on that, it was just awesome.

It was awesome because there were no major catastrophes the day of.  Everything went pretty much as planned, and the things which bobbled were so minor as to be not even worth mentioning.  Months of planning and stressing and going back and forth between my mother, my fiance, the site coordinator and the day-of planner all came together perfectly.  There were enough candles to make all the centerpieces and go around the fountain.  There was enough candy for the candy bar.  It did not rain.  The DJ was incredibly talented — as one guest said, he kept the party going without being the party — and the music was just what we had hoped for.  I am told the food was fantastic. (I didn’t eat more than a few bites, but am hoping for some pictures.)  I’d been prepared for that one disaster everyone says will happen, and it just didn’t.  For that, I am eternally grateful.

It was awesome because the dual-faith ceremony we labored over and negotiated with the priest and rabbi was everything I could have hoped for.  That’s saying quite a bit, because prior to about, oh, two years ago, I thought the biggest negotiation about my wedding ceremony would be whether we’d be having communion with the mass or not.  Joke’s on me, right?  You’d be surprised.

One of the reasons that I wanted to write this all down is that in the process of explaining my faith to Blue Wind Boy, I have come to deeper understanding of why the things I do are important to me.  This ceremony was not the one I had been dreaming about since I was a little girl, not the one I would covertly flip to in the Book of Common Prayer during less than inspiring sermons on Sundays and imagine how I would sound saying the words on that onionskin paper.  We did not get married in a church, thus negating years of evaluating churches based on how they would look in wedding pictures.  (I have other criteria too, people, I’m just saying.)  This was not the wedding ceremony I always thought I would have.  This ceremony, my ceremony, was more.

I told BWB early on in our engagement that even though we could, technically, have an Episcopal wedding (the rule is that only one of you must be a baptized Christian), I wouldn’t want to because it would be like negating him from the ceremony.  I think at the time I didn’t fully grasp what I was saying, but last Saturday I truly understood why that would have been incomplete at best.  Every word that was spoken during our ceremony was chosen because it was meaningful to us, to my husband and me.  Having both of our faith traditions embodied in the priest and the rabbi made me feel more keenly that this was truly a joining, a coming together of two people, two families, two cultures.  We were married in the eyes of God, with the support of both of our communities, and that was humbling.

That’s the other reason the wedding was awesome.  It was just plain fun.  There were people there from every phase of my life, from the town I grew up in, the SCA group I participated in as an early teen, my college years, and each frame since leaving college.  The look in my parents’ eyes was full of love and pride, my sister looked like a movie star, my bridesmaids were glowing, and my flower girl proved that it is not, in fact, possible to twirl too much when you are five.  My friends danced and laughed — every time I looked around, people were smiling and laughing.  My grandmother-in-law called my parents’ house a few days after the wedding and ended up speaking to my sister.  She had come down with a stomach flu the day of the wedding and was unable to make it, but she said she had heard nothing but high praise from the family when they returned to the hotel, “and we’re a very critical family, so that means something!”  If nothing else had gone right, if the candles all wouldn’t light and there wasn’t enough candy and it poured down rain and the food sucked, if everything had been totally haywire, I would still be happy with the weekend knowing that my loved ones all somehow had a good time.  As it was, I am ecstatic.

The point of all this isn’t to say that my wedding was sooo much awesomer than anyone else’s.  You’ll note that I have just said it was awesome — no -er.  Or -est.  The point is just that I am so incredibly grateful that I got to have such an amazing evening, one which still makes me glow when I think about it.  The love and support surrounding us was simply astounding.  This wedding, the one which was nothing like the one I thought I would have, was everything I could have dreamed of and more.  I fervently hope and pray that every woman, every person in the world really, gets to feel as blessed and happy as I did that night.  I can’t imagine a better way to begin a marriage.

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