PRACTICE
I'm going to a wedding tomorrow, the first I've been to this spring. So I thought it would be fun to write about a wedding today.
Write about a wedding, a wedding that takes place in your work in progress, a wedding you've been to, or even your own wedding.
Write for fifteen minutes. When you're time is up, post your practice in the comments section. And if you post, be sure to comment on a few practices by other writers.
Photo by Steve Jurvetson
Here's my practice:
Everyone told me the day would be a blur, that you won't remember any of it, but I was determined to prove them wrong. I took notes on scratch pieces of paper and, later, after it was over and we were in the car to the hotel, on my cell phone, capturing everything I remembered in case it would mean something later. It did mean something later. And it didn't. It's hard to explain.
There were the bumble bees beforehand, yellow and black and dancing across the little purple flowers I don't know the name of. They were just bees, but because I was noticing them, noticing on that day in particular, they seemed to mean something more. Then, after the ceremony and before the dancing, the sliver of a moon hanging pale in the near dusk above the pine and oak trees of her parent's farm—we had an outdoor wedding in early summer. I remember the way my brother in law smirked at us as he carried two full glasses of beer to his table. I remember greeting the long line of people who had come to celebrate with us (although, I don't remember all their names!) as they waited in line for dinner. I remember the way we danced to that first song, the way we danced to all the ones afterward. I remember it because I took notes, like good writers do.
But it's the things I didn't take notes on I remember the most: the way I cried when I first saw her in that dress, the way I couldn't stop crying afterward, and how I felt both embarrassed and glad for my crying, embarrassed because I'm a man and crying in public is still hard, and glad because it means something when you cry on your wedding day. I remember the way I lifted our clasped hands after we were announced, and how I felt something in between, “We did it,” and, “Holy Crap.”
Most of all, I remember leaving, sitting in the back of my Honda while a groomsman drove us into our new life, and realizing everything was different and yet exactly the same. There was no drama, no relief, no mystery. It did not even feel like a beginning, although it was in so many ways. Instead, it felt like Joe, like me, like it has always felt. But also like Talia, because she was sitting right there holding my hand, as she would hold it for the rest of our lives. Yes, it felt like that, like Joe + Talia. I would remember that.
MY TINY, MESSY, BLURRY WEDDING
We talked about it for four years – through most of college and all of graduate school – and planned it in fifteen minutes. I discovered what a wedding-phobe I was and that apparently, deep down, cake and flowers and chairs just didn’t matter. We logged onto the Little White Wedding Chapel’s website and booked a wedding package for a month from the day and informed our immediate families.
A day before we flew out to Vegas, I fell ill. This was further exacerbated by the smoking room the hotel assigned us and the fact that I apparently didn’t think about how hot Las Vegas was in July. My skin sizzled like bacon under the hot sun and after picking up our marriage license (office open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, including Christmas, Easter, and New Year’s) we found ourselves walking block after city block looking for a cab. I coughed and complained and wished I had brought a water bottle.
My now-husband’s stepsisters planned a last-minute bachelorette party. Six of us – me, my mother, future mother-in-law, future stepmother-in-law, and the two sisters – squeezed into a cab and found ourselves at a drag bar filled with shirtless waiters and waitresses in lingerie. There are photos that would never make their way onto Facebook from that night, and I think my poor mother was a bit overwhelmed by it all. Tina Turner and Reba Macintyre looked fantastic.
The day of the wedding I woke up at 4am with a chest cold at 4am, unable to get back to sleep, which led to the extremely poor decision of taking a Nyquil, which left me in a sleepy daze the rest of the day. I remember being dragged under protest by my mother to have my makeup and hair done because “you are only doing this once so you better look good”, grabbing my discount-rack dress that I almost didn’t bother bringing on the trip, and a stretch limo with an empty bar. I remember the tiny chapel where multiple couples were lined up and escorted through one pair at a time, signing paperwork, and deciding to go commando last-minute so my panty-line wouldn’t show through my skin-tight dress.
With a hundred-odd bobby pins sticking into my scalp, two pounds of gel forcing my hair into an artificial waterfall curl, mascara and powder tickling my face, and vision blurred from medication (and also having to take off my glasses), I walked down the aisle. My father didn’t know how to respond to “who gives this woman away” and my now-husband flubbed the vows. All the parents lined up like a firing squad in the gazebo outside afterwards and took pictures until we could all stand the heat no more. We piled back into the limo, a sweaty mess of wrinkled suits and scorched dresses, and headed back to the hotel.
Five years later we still talk about it on lazy evenings, and remember it as what it was – the most perfect day of our lives.
I love this — great writing about a dreadful, wonderful day.
Imagine: Tina Turner and Reba there for your wedding! Wonderful descriptions! Glad you survived the heat and Nyquil!
This line made me laugh and tear up a bit: All the parents lined up like a firing squad in the gazebo outside afterwards and took pictures until we could all stand the heat no more. Very funny, real, and imperfect, just like love.
That you married the right person and had the right attitude are clear even if they are very much between the lines of hair gel and imperfect “performances,” none of which have any bearing on the quality of the actual marriage. Brava!
Practice:
Wedding in the Woods
The rising sun sparkled off the waterfall in our woodsy canyon, shooting a mist of fine prisms into the air. We were breathing the color, bathing in it together as never, in all our planning, we had imagined. We knew the hour would draw the sun to the falls; we knew the little stone bridge, with Stan our Quaker minister at its arch, would draw first one then the other of us to join him there.
We knew old friend Neil would draw the moment closer with Pachelbel’s Cannon resonating from his guitar. We knew that I would be begin the Whitman poem during the last phrase of the Canon, and as rehearsed, we knew the moment for our vows.
What we did not plan is what has sustained us these sixteen years. We did not anticipate the plunderous crash of the falls drowning Whitman and Pachelbel, and even Stan’s high and preacherly tone. We had not foreseen the reverential, mud-soled audience of morning hikers who lingered to clap and cheer when the thing was done. But the color. Neither of us had known such a breathable enchantment: a charged and chromatic atmosphere for I will and I will. We could never have seen it coming.
Later we lit down the trail to our champaign and breakfast and to the years ahead that breathe into this very moment. We live, the two of us, with that color in our lungs, invigorating and linking us for life.
That’s beautiful! You had me picturing everything. But you went beyond the wedding and into the marriage – the important part. 🙂
That colour is all that matters. Great practice!
Beautiful practice. I like the symbolism. The muddy hikers seem to represent the unexpected pleasures that come along in life and marriage. It is after all about the marriage. The wedding is only the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
hear, hear! As my maid of honor pointed out, even if 1000 details go “wrong,” if the two of you and a minimum # of witnesses show up, you will still be just as married the next morning.
I was a muddy hiker once, clapping and cheering at a wedding much like this up by Lake Superior. It was beautiful then and with your telling I can see it again like yesterday.
I guess I’m more prolific than usual today. Here’s my practice.
“Their wedding was certainly not what I would have chosen. Some said it was beautiful, but there are those who think every wedding beautiful and cry at each one to prove it. It takes all kinds, I suppose.
Her colours were plum and apple green. Plum? That’s just a fancy name for purple. And apple green is a lovely colour – but for a wedding!
On the other hand, the dark gowns the bridesmaids wore and the green apples in vases on the tables did look very nice. Far better than what I had pictured, I must admit. The silver touches kept it from looking like it was a teen’s prom nightmare.
I did think that having both the mother of the bride and the groom, as well as the grandmothers, dress in purple with gray or silver hats was a bit much.
Why they chose Rev. Glick to marry them, I’ll never know. That man has no sense of propriety! He was downright irreverent in the ceremony. Do you know what he did? He asked them if they wanted a drink of water – right as they were going to say their vows! The only thing that redeemed that moment for me was the look on Megan Dryar’s face.
You know, she was furious about their marriage. She’d had her eye on Steve for years. I purposely made her angrier by calling her “Meg”. She hates the nickname, you know. I decided she deserved it for coming to the wedding looking like she hadn’t eaten anything but lemon’s for a week. If thwedding made rs miserable, I don’see why she came at all. And dressed like that!
You wouldn’t believe the tiny skirt she was wearing. What did she think that her legs would give Steve second thoughts? He dodged a bullet with that one, let me tell you.
Though, I suppose his mother wouldn’t have allowed very much to happen with Megan anyway. The girl wasn’t good enough for her son. She put Amy through a hard time, you know. They say the girl had to stop using Twitter!
But there she was, smug and preening as though the match had been her idea. She’s fortunate Amy is such a sweet soul.
As they say, all’s well that starts well. I was very happy for them and you have to say their wedding was a roaring success compared to Jeff and Karla’s. Remember how that awful Kyle Mordin went around at the reception and put a rock on every table? And his mom saying they were presents for everyone. Of all the nerve!
Well, I’ve got to go put the towels in the dryer. I don’t like to leave them in the washer very long – they get musty. You know, I heard Keila Shepard leaves her load in the washer overnight sometimes! I don’t know what the world is coming to.”
Thoughts from a wedding guest. Love it. We do that don’t we, imagine how we would do it our own way?
I love it! so down home and cozy. I feel like we’re best friends having a gossip session over the phone. 🙂
I haven’t been to many weddings. I attended a few when I was very young, too young to understand the raw beauty of a person’s wedding day. When I was twenty four, my cousin got married. I remember driving in a hot car to the church, feeling slightly uncomfortable wedged in with all of my family. When we finally arrived, I saw that the church was beautiful, clearly an older one, and it had beautiful gardens, something I thought was rather rare for it’s downtown location. I remember finding the inside just as beautiful, and the whispering voices of guests as we began to find our seats. And then the bride was walking down the aisle, her head high, a beautiful, happy smile on her face. And I saw my cousin, the groom, standing up at the front nervously, but as soon as he caught sight of her, he smiled too, and it was clear then that for them, there was no one else in the room. His nerve seemed to calm. When It was was time for them to exchange their vows, both of them radiated so much joy and love that I was moved to tears, the first time that’s happened to me at a wedding. I knew I was witnessing them make irrevocable promises of love and life long friendship to one another. Their eyes sparkled and they seemed to drink each other in. It was probably the single most romantic, and honest moment I’ve ever witnessed.
A wedding is certainly a blessing to more than just the Bride and Groom. Thank you for sharing.
Glad you enjoyed it!
How special. I like how you capture your ability to feel the authenticity of their love. It sounds lovely.
Thanks! It was lovely to see them so much in love.
Practice: I remember a ceremony part of my uncles wedding.
I was in India. The traditional drums were beating as we all dance. The groom, decorated in traditional Indian clothes, was sitting on a white mare. All friends and family members are dancing in front of the horse – time to time requesting of playing a famous Bollywood song. Life in full volume! All dancing like there is no tommorrow. The funny thing is that we are all WALKING to the bride’s house. Walking by the roads. Nobody really minds, in fact, more strangers join in the party. Although the bride’s house is half an hour away by car it takes us atleast 2 hours to reach her home, due to the numerous stops for dancing. The hot, humid air kills me. But I’m still enjoying. Its not like you get the chance everyday to exhibit such culture. Being an Indian who has lived most of his life in a foreign country, this wasn’t a new experience. I had viewed this many times in movies. After alot of partying and walking we finally reached our destination. After dining heavily and chatting with alot we all left the bride’s home and left for our place. Although everyone was tired, everyone, or atleast the youngsters, continued celebrating on the way home. After trekking the busy main roads we finally reached home and decided to call it a day. My house was swarming with guests. Everyone deciding where to sleep, some placing a matress on the floor some taking the beds. I quickly claimed three spots: one for me and two for my cousins. I lied down. While laying down I rethought of all the fun I had experienced. A voice from my mind then said “This was just the beginning, now begins the real celebration!”.
What a privilege to be a part of a wedding like that!
Thank you! I wish I could have expressed my feelings better by writing in a more concise manner. I am not really used to writing under a time limit.
wow, now that’s a wedding! I can just imagine the celebration!
Why did we choose to marry in January rather than June? It was cold and snowy in New Jersey, but we didn’t want to wait. The pre-wedding stress brought my weight down to 98 pounds which meant alterations to my gown. I was proud of the gown I’d sewn myself, silk overlaid with lace and hand-sewn with hundreds of pearls.
My brother had volunteered as our photographer and I forgot to unlock the door to the church so he could begin his task. His brotherly love was tested as he huddled in the cold but we were ready, one bridesmaid and myself. Flowers were perfect: white roses for me and three white camellias to represent the South of my husbnad’s origin. I was nervous and trembling as the prelude began on the organ somewhere downstairs.
I began my descent of the staircase and searched for my 78-yr old Dad who was to escort me to the altar. No Dad to be seen. Oh, no, did he forget? At the last moment he appeared from an adjacent room, calm, elegant, handsome and smiling. Good ole Dad, the rock in our lives.
The rest was a blur of ceremony, family, friends, music and a cake with a cherub topper used on my parents’ cake years ago. The gold band has been part of my hand for 42 years.
Love the last sentence.
42 years, congratulations, that’s quite an accomplishment! (Assuming this is actually your wedding!) It sounds like a sweet day, despite the cold!
It was the real thing and, yes, it was sweet!
This is sweet: I remember the way I lifted our clasped hands after we were announced, and how I felt something in between, “We did it,” and, “Holy Crap.”
So here goes my practice:
Nine people total. It is my husband’s favorite number. He’ll refer to it often. Like, “Hey, after wearing that shirt nine times son, you ought to throw it in the washer.”
We threw it together in two weeks. No invitations– there was no time. Flowers cost me all of 30 bucks. The cake was topped with a Precious Moments bride and groom. My dress was tea length with a sheer back. My white gloves were longer than my train. I made the headpiece out of a lace doily folded in half-pinned under a ballerina bun.
I walked as gracious as I could, unescorted, into my mother-in-law’s living room. He beamed at me as if I were the only one alive.
Sometimes I think about that. Walking down the aisle with no Dad.
It’s not so bad though.
We are born into this life, naked and alone. Hopefully we are greeted into a loving family. I entered kindergarten, all by my big girl self. I had earned it on my fifth birthday. I moved away from home to study the real world. I knew no one in Orlando. Then I met Rob. He was there waiting for the wife he’d prayed for and had the Bible verse engraved on the inside of my wedding band: “If a man finds a wife, he finds a good thing, and finds favor with God.”
I have birthed each one of our children, most of the work being my own, with a bit of hand holding and ice chips.
I am now a writer. This is a decision that I made, on my own. I spend a lot of time alone, and the irony being, “in order to communicate.”
One day I’ll leave this life, hopefully with my kids around the bed, praying and loving. I will step into eternity with courage, naked and alone, but I will still be blushing.
This is beautiful Susan.
nice. finding favor with God …. this is special.
The groom stood at the altar; black tux, rose in lapel to match his cummerbund, sweaty hands clasped behind his back.
The organist played through the hymn book. Rock of Ages. Nearer My God to Thee. Faith of Our Fathers.
The congregation sighed. Coughed. Whispered.
A fly buzzed in the stained glass window, dyed blue by the dove of peace.
Until the priest knelt, said a brief prayer at the altar rail, and left the sanctuary, trailed by two small altar boys.
Joe, I loved your entry! Especially the last two lines. I also liked how you referenced yourself within the text as a good writer, saying, “I took notes, like good writers do.” That made me smile.
Ha. Thanks Jenna. 🙂
To look at her now you wouldn’t know he had found her in rags. A child, abandoned and abused, he had flung his coat around her shoulders. Paying a steep price for her freedom he had brought her to his home to be cared for. Even though he had servants he himself had washed the mud from her hair and doctored her bruises.
That was years ago. Now she was a tall, graceful woman. Poised, with a gentle, confident smile. She hadn’t forgotten the muddy, wayward girl. How could she ever forget? Even if she could she wouldn’t want to, forgetting what she had been would be forgetting her Love’s generosity and compassion and she certainly could never do that!
Though she wouldn’t forget what she had been the old, ugly behaviors picked up from neglect and fear had long ago slipped away. Coaxed from her heart by constant faithfulness and honor was a beauty other women could only wonder at and attempt to mimic.
Today she wore white. An incandescent white that frothed at her feet as she walked through the warm stillness to meet him. Round pearls kissed her long neck; a string of perfection encircling her as did his love. Pure joy leaped in her heart and a song burst from her, uncontainable. A song she had been rehearsing for so long. She smiled as she sang and walked.
She stepped into the grand marble hall of his house, from a garden in full bloom, and a quiet fell more intense than a lack of sound could ever be. It was the day he had waited for. His eyes smarted with tears of pride and love born out in patience.
It was his pure linen and pearls that clothed her, his faithfulness that had prepared her, but it was trust shining from her eyes that made her irresistible.
As she took her place by his side, smiling into his eyes, silence exploded into a deafening song. The guests went wild with triumphant celebration. Stars, mountains, every animal, the wind, thunder and waves all echoed the song she had sung. The sound was beyond what could be contained in one universe. The wedding day had come!
Joe, loved your entry; loved the way it conveyed a feeling of being carried along, as if in a dream. Beautiful!
Thanks!
Before I got married, I
attended a handful of weddings. They were a little boring to me. I was
even IN a wedding. (I was actually in two, but one was when I was 8,
and for these purposes I don’t count that one.) The one I was in as an
adult wasn’t as boring as the rest, but it definitely didn’t make me
cry or anything. I did shed a tear before the ceremony, but that’s
because in attempting to attach some ribbon or something to a wall I
fell into the baptistry. It had nothing to do with the sweetness of the
wedding.
Ever since I got married, I have cried at every
wedding I’ve been to. Starting with my sister-in-law’s wedding a month
after mine. I really sobbed at that one. I think I just wasn’t prepared
for the different feelings that assaulted me. Then I went to two the
next year, I went to my brother’s, I was IN my sister’s, and all the
way to several weekends ago when I went to my friend’s sister’s
wedding. Man, that’s a lot of crying! I barely knew some of those
people! What was wrong with me?
My
husband said it’s because now I understand fully what the wedding
symbolizes.
At my wedding, no one came to me privately and showed me
their keys and quietly asked if I was sure of what I was doing. Had
anyone asked this bride that important question, or was she walking down
the aisle with a fake smile because she didn’t want to make a scene and
change her mind at the last second?
On my honeymoon, I grilled, well, questioned
my new husband for all the reasons he knew we were meant to be
together. Will this bride need the same reassurance? Once we got our
lives settled, and we had a baby on the way, and we got over the
horrible hump of my stroke, every day it really did get better. Will
this bride be as fortunate as I was? I was warned after I got engaged
that in 5 years, or 10 years, my husband would no longer say “I love
you”. He would no longer kiss me when he got home from work. He would
not open my door for me, or tell me that I’m beautiful. Really? Is that
normal? He still does and says all of that, but we’ve only been married 7
years. He still has 3 years. 😉 Will this new bride’s new husband stop
all the sweet stuff in 5 years?
Are my tears those of joy,
knowing that two people found each other and get to spend the rest of
their lives with someone who treasures them? Or are they tears of fear,
because I know that my marriage turned out awesome, but there is no
guarantee that theirs will be as good?
Maybe there’s a little bit
of both. Miracles happen every day. Who’s to say this new couple that
just said “I do” will still mean it in 10, 20, 50 years down the line.
In my personal opinion, any two people who want to make it work can. So
many people just don’t want to make it work. There’s enough heartache in
this world as it is without people entering into marriage half blind
and half committed.
There are so many reasons to get
married. Love, security, shame. Regardless of the reason, if two people
are going to actually take their vows seriously and make it work until
death, that is an amazing thing to cry about. And if not, that is certainly something to cry about, also.
So
normally after I write about something that I’m not sure of my motives,
through the course of writing about it, my motives come to the surface
and I’m able to figure out the why behind what I think or do. Not so
much this time. I’m still not sure why I cry at weddings now, but let’s
just say I’m romantic and like to believe that this wedding will have a
happily-ever-after ending, just like mine.
It had been 50 years since they got married. ‘Was it a good marriage?’ Matt often wondered as he walked down a street as fast as his weak legs would carry him.
He thought back to how beautiful Carla looked on their wedding day. How the sweet smell of honey pervaded the air of their backyard, where the ceremony was held. He thought how happy and innocent they were in the first years of their marriage. The birth of their only child, the sleepless nights caring for the baby, the many tiffs they had concerning the well-being of the baby; he thought about it all, and wondrously everything seemed so fresh his memories, as if it had happened just yesterday.
It was early morning and the raindrops from last night’s shower still rested calmly on the leaves. One or two cars passed the old man as he walked towards his destination. He took a left turn, off the main road, and kept walking past the scores of trees. Dark clouds began to cover every last bit of the blue sky and a distant sound of thunder could be heard in the air.
‘I sure do hope David (his son) visits sometime. He says he will but he never truly does. Even when he comes over he’s busy with his phone and e-mails and whatnots’ he thought.
Matt slowed his pace and came to a stop. He bent down and kissed the grave muttering ‘Happy anniversary, babe. I still love you as much as I did back then. How about you?’
A slight drizzle began just as the church bells rang, welcoming the new day with open arms.
After almost 24 years, I still can’t decide which wedding
picture is my favorite.
There’s the one in which I am hurrying toward the camera,
almost at a run in my pre-worn-too-carefully-to-actually-break-in wedding
shoes, , my mother behind me straightening my veil. In this picture my
confidence and my certainty about what I was about to do glimmers from beneath the glossy finish. I had never, and still have never been in a righter place
and time. Maybe the most beautiful part was that I knew that at the time, and
that blessing is almost as rare as marrying the right person the first time
around.
And there’s the anti-cliche one, in which Joe and I feed
each other raw oysters. (Yes, we did it with the cake too, but the oysters are
the better picture.) Maybe it’s just a different cliche: surely that day, the
world was our oyster. Our mouths are open: Little Points and Marriage,
“Just bring it on!” But the truth of good marriage is that it’s much
more like oysters than like cake. The briny, earthy, complex flavor frequently
packs surprises. The best ones, in my opinion, are the ones with subtle sweet notes – like all the little things one spouse does for the other just because. Oysters might be sophisticated, but you can’t be too fancy or pretentious when you are slurping them.
Finally, there is the photo that we are not even in. Young
children with eyes wide and hands raised overflow with amazement. They were
watching a magic show which was the most excellent wedding gift of a friend.
Their faces show a feeling that snuck up on me. I came to my wedding, after
knowing Joe for 11 years and living with him for 1 1/2, hoping against hope
that marriage wouldn’t change our wonderful relationship. But the magic is that
of course it did, starting right there and then, and all for the better. Under
the chuppah I felt the pull of a deepening closeness that took my breath away
and made me almost afraid to look at Joe’s face for fear of bursting. The
physical presence and tactile joy of our friends and relatives almost made me cry.
It isn’t just symbolic, that part of the service where they vocalize their
support for the union; I felt it as a bridge that carried us right over to a
special place where our amazing private relationship was now part of the
community’s well-being. Real marriage makes a huge difference. How can we want any less for couples that just happen to have 2 brides or 2 grooms?
I know I am a day late, but I hope someone will read my story and give back some constructive criticism.
I once went to my best friends wedding and I still always will wonder what went wrong. I was helping her get ready and she seemed very happy with no doubts. Everything seemed perfect on this sunny, cool Paris afternoon. I told her good luck and went to stand onstage. The flower girls were walking down the aisle,but no one walking behind.
After a couple minutes of conversation and confusion I left the room to go find her. When I checked the dressing room I found her sitting there writing something down. She then handed me a note that said I need to call the wedding off and never call her or contact her ever again. Also that when I come back in this room she would be off and somewhere nowhere near, just to start her life again.
I still will always wonder what happened. I found out she moved to Nebraska and is married with nine kids. Guess it was meant to be.
Hope you liked my story! Also, just to tell you none of it was real. Thanks! 😉
Well, you convinced me! It wouldn’t be the first time a bride changed her mind, leaving the wedding party and guests in utter confusion. I did have a question about the nine kids in Nebraska? I’ll consider that a sense of humor!
I had a question for the two people that replied to mine (Ellazibeth). My daughter loves to write and I was wondering she didn’t write the wedding one, but if she did do that in 15 minutes being a sixth grader and only 11, would that be good or above level. I was just wondering what you think. Thanks! 😉
Nice story — a story like this bears finishing! It is the beginning of a novel (certainly the end of a relationship.)
I had a question for the both people that commented on mine (Ellazibeth). My daughter loves to write and if she wrote the wedding one, which she didn’t. Would this be good or above level for her being a sixth grader and only 11. Just wondering, but thanks! 😉
I have never been in a wedding, other than my own. I think that everyone should get a chance to be an attendant at least once. It’s good practice. What i remember of my wedding day began with my mother’s hair appointment ( and not mine too? ) and my maid of honor ( not her hair either ) puddling around the house with me in preparation to leave for the church.
I am not demonstrative about important things, like a wedding. I am a private person. Parading up the aisle on the arm of my uncle took all of my cool and swept it away, leaving a raw nerve. I chose the basic ritual of my church, the no frills vows, which i was told would take ten minutes. It took no time at all and down the aisle we walked down the aisle, married and ready for a reception line, refreshments, and life.
If i had it to do again, I would get a prettier gown, add an attendant, and have more fun. as it was, the whole day was long and dreadful (my mother was in a horrible mood) and it should have been memorable for something more than that. Incidentally, the music was great: pre-wedding music was by J S Bach, the processional was by G F Handel, and the recessional was nice too. Beethovan? There is nothing like a big church, a fabulous organ, and wall to wall Bach.
They said it’s be a day to remember. They said it’d be the best day of their lives. Oh, it was a day to remember.
Lilly. She had been planning her wedding for years. Every little detail was perfectly mapped out, from the lilies in her bouquet, to the colour theme. The only thing missing was a partner.
Every night, she prayed for the perfect guy to come along. For five years, she continued to do this. She faithfully believed he would arrive. And he did. Sam Rowe was her perfect guy. They dated for four years, and every day, he would give her a lily. By the end of the week, she would always have a beautiful bunch of her favourite flowers. Then he proposed. He was sweet, and she couldn’t help but say yes. After all, he was her perfect guy.
A year later was their wedding day. She was extremely excited to be finally marrying him. She made sure to follow all the rules so there was no bad luck – he couldn’t see the dress until the wedding day and she had something old, new, borrowed and blue. She wanted it to be perfect.
Too bad nothing is perfect.
She was on her way to the church in the shiny black limo she had booked, when another car came out of nowhere. She never arrived.
To this day, Sam Rowe takes a lily to her grave at least once a week. And by the end of the week, there would be beautiful bunch.
It was a day to remember. Too bad it was for the wrong reasons. Lilly, the girl who loved lilies, died on the day she was to marry Sam Rowe, her perfect guy.
A great thing to have at a wedding is wedding bunting it is definitely something I would recommend.