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St. John's United Methodist Church has a smallish chapel on the side of the main church that's perfect for tiny weddings--white trim, organ, could probably seat about 300 if you crammed them in.
We didn't have 300: I don't know that we had 50 altogether. My best man, who had his own tux which fit him at the time, was dressed better than I was, coming from the Sears formalwear rental department. Mrs. Cwabs had a dress that was colored "candlelight" or something similar, which is a nice way of not-wearing-white-but-still-wearing-white. She wanted her children to give her away--I told her that since they didn't provide for her, and they'd be moving in with us, they couldn't technically give her away, but whatever she wanted the ceremony to say was fine with me. I'd added some words in the wedding vows to promise to take care of the kids, to love them and bring them up right--and in the interim I've tried my best to live up to that. Technically, I'm the only person on the planet who's made a vow in front of God and those assembled to take care of them, which should put me ahead of their biological father, but I doubt very seriously if they remember what happened on that day.
The wedding itself was over in a flash: I can remember almost none of it--only snapshots. Mrs. Cwabs appearing at the back of the church. Slipping a ring on a finger. Staying for a moment afterwards for photos.
The reception was at Strings & Things, which is a sort of shopping mall containing nothing but musical instrument stores. They had an atrium, with a fountain, and a coffeeshop, and a brick floor that provided a lovely ambience, which they let us have for cheap, as we were the first couple to ever suggest having a wedding reception there. Unfortunately, they locked the kitchen to the coffee shop prior to the reception, so all of our warm hors d'oeuvre were room temperature. The wedding cake was a squat dense square ziggurat, the first by this particular young lady, who did a fine job of the cake but had no experience transporting and setting up, so it half-collapsed its cardboard by the time it had made it to the table and had somewhat collapsed on one side. My best man was dying to be the reception DJ--we'd preselected a CD or two's worth, and were done with the reception after about an hour.
On the way to the car, instead of thowing rice, the guests blew bubbles at us. Thankfully, the car decorations weren't a total disaster: In college I was a groomsman at JR's wedding, and someone attached a condom to his car antenna which broke it off as he drove away. He never spoke to any of us again after that.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bigbrownhound's getaway vehicle had birdseed attached to the windshield via Elmer's glue.
We stopped by Buster's Liquor store on the way home, man and wife, still in tux and wedding dress, to pick up some champagne. The staff at the store was thrilled, and gave us a discount on the Veuve Cliquot Ponsardin.
Six years have passed: good times, bad times, dull times, shouting, wondering what's next, exhaustion, jealousy, travel, work separation for weeks at a time, trouble with the kids. But her eyes still light up at the mention of a Fino and French Onion Soup, and she still endures my natural distance and distraction.
We didn't have 300: I don't know that we had 50 altogether. My best man, who had his own tux which fit him at the time, was dressed better than I was, coming from the Sears formalwear rental department. Mrs. Cwabs had a dress that was colored "candlelight" or something similar, which is a nice way of not-wearing-white-but-still-wearing-white. She wanted her children to give her away--I told her that since they didn't provide for her, and they'd be moving in with us, they couldn't technically give her away, but whatever she wanted the ceremony to say was fine with me. I'd added some words in the wedding vows to promise to take care of the kids, to love them and bring them up right--and in the interim I've tried my best to live up to that. Technically, I'm the only person on the planet who's made a vow in front of God and those assembled to take care of them, which should put me ahead of their biological father, but I doubt very seriously if they remember what happened on that day.
The wedding itself was over in a flash: I can remember almost none of it--only snapshots. Mrs. Cwabs appearing at the back of the church. Slipping a ring on a finger. Staying for a moment afterwards for photos.
The reception was at Strings & Things, which is a sort of shopping mall containing nothing but musical instrument stores. They had an atrium, with a fountain, and a coffeeshop, and a brick floor that provided a lovely ambience, which they let us have for cheap, as we were the first couple to ever suggest having a wedding reception there. Unfortunately, they locked the kitchen to the coffee shop prior to the reception, so all of our warm hors d'oeuvre were room temperature. The wedding cake was a squat dense square ziggurat, the first by this particular young lady, who did a fine job of the cake but had no experience transporting and setting up, so it half-collapsed its cardboard by the time it had made it to the table and had somewhat collapsed on one side. My best man was dying to be the reception DJ--we'd preselected a CD or two's worth, and were done with the reception after about an hour.
On the way to the car, instead of thowing rice, the guests blew bubbles at us. Thankfully, the car decorations weren't a total disaster: In college I was a groomsman at JR's wedding, and someone attached a condom to his car antenna which broke it off as he drove away. He never spoke to any of us again after that.
bigbrownhound's getaway vehicle had birdseed attached to the windshield via Elmer's glue.We stopped by Buster's Liquor store on the way home, man and wife, still in tux and wedding dress, to pick up some champagne. The staff at the store was thrilled, and gave us a discount on the Veuve Cliquot Ponsardin.
Six years have passed: good times, bad times, dull times, shouting, wondering what's next, exhaustion, jealousy, travel, work separation for weeks at a time, trouble with the kids. But her eyes still light up at the mention of a Fino and French Onion Soup, and she still endures my natural distance and distraction.
