When I’m talking with a couple about their upcoming wedding (the Internet is magical, and click-click-Sarah’s-a-minister, if of the Interweb variety; regardless, I talk to couples about their upcoming weddings—and then I marry them. Seriously, I’m pretty darn good at it, too.) I do repeat a line someone said to me about my wedding: It’ll be the best wedding you ever go to. And that should totally be the case.
It still holds true for me (and I’ve been to some stellar weddings; in fact, I realize I love weddings). Seventeen years and about three weeks ago, we got hitched, the dear husband and myself on one of those golden autumnal New England afternoons with the robin’s egg blue skies and the rich leaves cascading ‘round and the air that went from crisp with sun to cold at night. The brisk tinge that makes a person feel exceedingly aware of being alive, it was like that in the late afternoon.
If I put myself back there, I remember the flock of friends and family and family friends—240 in all—creating a mood that was so very upbeat, like we were being carried on a sail through the entire event (we were carried on chairs for the Hora). The details, those I remember but hazily, the flowers, absolutely, the dress, the birthday cakes for two friends along with the larger cakes. I remember the circle of arms holding up our friend Andrew Harkins, who was losing his life to a brain tumor, and how much having him there and having our friends make it so he could be there meant to me.
In a way, it was just a day. In another way, the day reflected some things about our lives—the importance of community, the inclusion of children in the mix, the importance of laughter, the willingness to savor what’s beautiful about where we live—that really, in fact, represent our values still, these years later. It’s almost impossible to imagine putting that much effort into a party just now, with all that goes on in any given day (if you read this blog, you get the idea, kids, more kids and then everything else too).
When I’m talking to a couple about their upcoming wedding, I’m aware of how much the details matter, not so much which band plays or which dessert is served or which poem is read during the ceremony but how those details get determined: does one person—a bride, a mother of the bride, a wedding planner make all the decisions or do the couple share in making them and how easily can they sort out their shared likes and dislikes from the ones that may bring some disagreement to the fore? A wedding can provide a little exercise in communication. It can be like a warm-up for marriage.
It can also just be a day. A party. A celebration.
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We—my dear husband and myself—like to say that twenty years ago (October 24th) we went out to dinner and he moved in. Of course, we didn’t know it at the time. I was nervous about the date, and eager. He was cute, and pretty clueless (his description, not mine, although I’d have to agree with his assessment). My good friend’s father, upon hearing about the upcoming date with Leonard Baskin’s son—phone conversation fodder from a daughter without enough to say during the weekly phone call—told her he hoped that LB’s son would be a “charming dinner companion.” That phrase served as amusing mantra beforehand and good advice afterward, doled out to many before first dates. Thing is, he was a charming dinner companion—and he still is.
Our life together lacks enough romance and certainly enough couple time of any stripe. It’s filled with family, friends, work, community, soccer, schools, neighborhood… it’s filled, period.
And that’s where the charming dinner companion part remains so apt—and so important. He’s the most super-duper friend a person could have (well, that I could have). He’s matured into a better and better husband (that’s to say, like something that gets better over time, wine, although I don’t drink it, you get the idea, he was good but he’s truly gotten so much better; he rocks it) too. He’s a terrific papa. He’s all that jazz: good son, good friend, and friendly neighbor; he’s the real deal. He does keep me amused and laughing and he’s interesting. His mama gave me good advice before the wedding. She said that you want to remain friends with the person you marry and you want to always find that person interesting (she spoke from experience; she certainly had an extremely interesting husband). She’s right about a lot of things, and this is certainly one of them.
So, that evening twenty years ago, in a way, it’s much more dear to us than the wedding anniversary. Because the companionship was so very charming and led to this incredibly rich life we are sharing.
