My Redneck Colorado Wedding

In my last blog issue,  (Episode?  Installment?  Event?  Section? Bloggimentry?) I mentioned a bit about the events leading up to, but not exclusive of. "THE BIG DAY." 

I don't know if I have indicated that I was having commitment issues, but also had a complete disinterest in having a wedding or anything it entailed.  Once I had agreed to marry, I thought we could drag an engagement out for, oh...I don't know.  Five, six maybe even ten years.  The 

further I tried to schedule it in the future, he would retaliate with a date closer to the present.  It finally made sense to me that maybe I should agree to a date myself before his  idea of a wedding date was the week previous to the proposal.  (One of them.)  He says he liked the idea of Valentines day because with it being nationally advertised every year, he'd never have to worry about missing the anniversary.  Really, that's a lie.  He was just going backwards while I was somewhere around St. Patricks day, 1977.  It was a compromise, pure and simple.

I did have $150 and so I dutifully went shopping for a wedding gown.  Found one at a shop in downtown Denver on a clearance rack.  After trying on a couple I decided on the one I disliked the least and forked out $35 for it.  However, the veil I fell in love with and it cost $10 more than the dress.  I told my attendents go pickout their outfits with the only particulars to be I wanted them to wear white also (Um hum, yes I know. Strange choice.)  Of course the accessories had to be red.  I thought the fact I allowed myself to be talked out of wearing black to my own wedding was a biggy.  Although my choices may have been a bit off the wall for 1963, I thought they were beautiful.  

I did pick up some invitations and sent them off and gave the rest of my money to my mom and grandma and said, "Here, knock yours

elves out." They were dying to dip their minds in and do some major planning.  Between the two of them they order the cake, the flowers, the church, made reception plans for the church followed by a big afternoon dinner at my

 grandmothers.  Hey, this wasn't hard nosed of me.....I made happy ladies of the two of them.  Yep, that was all done and to late for me to back out.  Not that I didn't try, but my practical groom-to-be pointed out the cost of the stamps we'd used on invitations, etc. and said reassuring things like, "Are you completely batty?"  Yeah, I really, really was!  It wasn't guilt that got me to the church on time, it was guilt about those darn stamps.  However, sometimes I do make the right choices.  We've often laughed about this picture captured of us after the wedding.  He looks so proud and happy (OK, it was probably still a big of a whiskey fueled haze he was under.) and I look like, "Oooooh crap.  What did I just do?"

If we'd been a somewhat normal couple (I toss the word "normal" around a bit loosely when connected to the two of us) there probably would not have been a wedding ceremony.  Anytime the bride wakes up on a beautiful, warm, sunny day in February and says "Crap!", it's not a good indicator for....oh, most anything.    The groom is a few miles away working on his nervous breakdown and wondering what he couldn't done to lead him into a small town,  meeting the brides  strange family with little of his family there to offer support...and perhaps a few hints on how to get the heck out of Dodge.  

The minister had called the day before to say, "sorry, can't do the rehearsal tonight.  Overbooked myself, too bad!  You'll have to have your rehearsal a few hours before the wedding.  Yay!  That's what we wanted to do!  Have a how- to lesson during the time we'd normally spend getting dressed for our big day.  OK, why not.  Only problem is,  as soon as the bride & groom meet up at said brides grandmothers house, bother were in a wee bit of a thunderous mood.  You take the girl (that was me) with bad, bad, commitment issues and a boy (that would be him) with 2ND thoughts and memories of how fun....till then....his bachelorhood had been, and things were not boding well for the attitude of either party.  Somehow, a big argument ensued between the two of us, so we quite speaking.  We went to the rehearsal in separate cars, 

glared at each other during the very quick rehearsal and left the church in a snit and separate vehicles.

Move ahead a few hours and I'm getting dressed, pictures taken by a photographer that was really getting on my last nerve, and a information that 5 minutes before the ceremony was to start, the groom was not there.  Hmmmmm.  Maybe this was my chance to make a break for it.  No such luck.  He showed up about the time the minister was about to send the hounds out looking for him with....hello?  My dad and older brother, who deemed it necessary to take the poor jerk...sorry, meant to say...groom, to a nearby bar and loosen him up a bit.  Well, they all three entered the church completely loose and smiling.  A lot.  

The organist began playing the wedding march, my inebriated father started to sob  before we even started walking down the aisle.  While he was walking he had a firm grip on my arm to pull me along in his wake.  My legs were wanting to go backwards and out the door.  After the longest walk I'd ever taken (or so it seemed) I was brought front and center to see my groom, 

my love, the man I wanted to kill, standing there with a slight weave in him posture, as though he might tip over at any moment.  He had a silly, silly grin on his face and looked happy as a lamb.  My dad is sobbing rather loudly at that point, my mother is wearing her, "For crying out loud! expression and next to her my grandfather, loudly said in his OWN drunken voice, "Our Kay has slimmed down rather nicely, hasn't she?"  followed by equally loud "sssssshhhhhhssss" from my mother, my grandmother and two aunts.  

Did I mention before my grandfather was an alcohalic and my grandmother a tee-totaler?  Their marriage lasted 20 some years and caved in after he proved he was still fruitful and gave her a pregnancy she had not planned on when she was in her 40's.  Back then, 40's were actually 40's, not the new 25-30 like that age is today.  Between him being so fruitful and not willing to take trips to the hospital to go through "the cure" seriously, she kicked him to the curb.  Too bad, because he was quite enjoyable to the rest of the family.  Happiest drunk one could ever know!  The man was a prince; funny, clean, always in a good mood.  Great twinkling eyes.  I'm betting he was a leprechaun in a previous

 lifetime.  

Anyway, back to the drunken groom, the drunken father of the bride and the REALLY drunk grandfather.  Oh yeah, and the brother of the bride who was a drunken usher and I'm sure ushered some of our guest right out of the church.  He wasn't a friendly drunk.    At this point, I just wanted the whole thing to be over so I could go home.  Any ones home, I wasn't particular.  At some point during our "I do's" my grandfather who apparently was becoming confused about what exactly was transpiring asked....loudly, of course.....if this a catholic church?  Seventeen people hissed, "NO!"  Apparently he'd been gripping a handful of change in his fist and a bit later inquired (you got it....loudly!) when were they passing the plate.  At this point, I think I saw my grandmother wrap the handle of her purse around his neck while my mother stuffed HER purse in his mouth.  Could be it was only her wallet, but it certainly looked like a purse. My head was starting to throb.  The grooms weaving was starting to look more like a bit of jerking, like he might be losing his ability to stand in one spot much longer.  Poor baby.  NOT!

Could anything about this wedding possibly get worse?  Are you kidding for even asking?  Of course they could!  The wedding photographer who had the same sense of timing our over-booked minister had was still taking pictures of us as the reception in the basement of the church was taking place.  My older brother, the one that was already on my ****list, decided the "party was dragging a bit, so he proceeded to pour a rather potent bottle of something into the punch bowl.  I was to understand later that it actually was quite good and one couldn't even taste the kick in the punch.  Only experienced the effect.  Yes, we had a rather sotted minister and several hyper children running around that couldn't get enough to drink.  Hmmm, was this not giving anyone clues?  By the time we finally made it downstairs to cut the cake, nobody seemed particularly interested in us.  Thank goodness this was the period proceeding the tradition of smearing wedding cake on the mug of ones new spouse, because that would have really put my foul temper over the edge.  As it was, my new husband must have thought I had a terribly big mouth.  See photo:

The only remaining problem we had left to hurdle (Oh please, if you believe there was only "One", I have a bridge to sell you.)  was who was going to give the minister his due.  His payment.  His gratuity for making it through this mess.   I'm not sure, but we may have palmed the money into the hand of my beleaguered grandfather) who, I think we found passed out behind a pew, and convinced him the minister had the plate he'd been waiting for.  

Wait till you read about the honeymoon!