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Page Two

We were about to leave for a late April visit with my four sons and their families in northern California when I finally got up my nerve. They’d all be together that weekend, a perfect time to make an announcement. The night before we left home, I asked Rich if he’d like to get married. Without pause, he accepted my proposal. We decided we’d do it before the year’s end.

All hesitations behind us, we proceeded with confidence that we’d waited for the right time. Even though I’d planned the wedding more than once in my mind, reality unfolded in its own way. Rich wanted a simple ceremony, but no wedding, short of elopement, ever turns out to be simple.

My brother Alan and his wife Judy were coming to visit us in late May. As the only immediate family members of our generation left, it seemed right to ask them to be our witnesses. They agreed, but that meant we had less than a month to get ready. By the end of that first week, we’d already ordered our rings and purchased a marriage license. We agreed I’d keep my last name, the one I was born to, which I’ve used since my second divorce.

Getting married at the courthouse by the county clerk or a judge seemed like a simple plan. We wanted to do it on Friday afternoon before Memorial Day, but the clerk wasn’t available. The judges scheduled weddings at 8:00 a.m., a decidedly unromantic time of day.

When I told my oldest son we planned to have only our witnesses at the ceremony, he protested. He, his wife and two toddlers wanted to be included, and so did my third son, his wife and two kids. They easily convinced me, and I convinced Rich that a small family wedding would be perfect. My other two sons had plans for that weekend and no one from Rich’s family in the Midwest could come.

A nondenominational minister agreed to perform the ceremony on Saturday afternoon in our home, giving the two families more time to get here after their work and school week ended. We liked the idea of getting married at home instead of crowding all 12 of us into a county official’s office.

In the next weeks we selected wedding announcements and addressed them. We met with the minister to talk our ideas for the ceremony. We didn’t want the traditional vows, although the words we chose reflected their meaning. We ordered a white cake with apricot filling and white frosting, just the kind of wedding cake I remembered loving as a child.  Our dinner after the ceremony would be catered by a restaurant renowned for raising its own organic vegetables. We ordered flowers, including flower baskets with ribbons for my two granddaughters, our flower girls.

The day of the wedding dawned cool, windy and partly sunny, Oregon weather. We’d picked up the cake, and the flowers arrived by noon. We had only to wait, chatting and watching the children around the back yard. By afternoon rain drops moved us inside to the sun room.

We had set the ceremony to start at 4:00 p.m. Instead of a tardy bride or groom, we had a minister who showed up with only five minutes to spare. My oldest grandson wanted to hold the rings, and he stood with his little sister and cousin beside us. Their parents and the youngest grandson comprised our audience. One son recorded the event with his video camera, and the other one read a Neruda poem that their absent brother had selected.

It took us five minutes to get married after all those years of waiting. In the next weeks, we basked in the attention that newlyweds receive from friends, family and even strangers. We hadn’t expected to feel any different, but we do. We noticed right away the deeper sense of togetherness that marriage brings. We like not having to stumble over the words to describe our relationship anymore. Rich is simply my husband and I’m his wife.

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©2008 Margaret Cullison for SeniorWomen.com

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