Compost Studios

March is a month that’s defined by everything it’s not. Not winter, not spring, not predictable, not festive, and definitely not romantic, but March is the month I was married in.

In a perfect world, I’d have had a fall wedding. My second choice would have been a summer wedding, but I ended up with a March wedding because E’s dad, who was living overseas at the time, insisted it was the ONLY time he could come home for a visit.

Yeah right. I should have said “Tough luck” but I was a Good Girl then, compliant and eager to please, so I dropped what I wanted in favor of what was convenient for E’s dad and inconvenient for everyone else.

E and I were married on the first Sunday of my spring break, midway through my second semester of my second year of college. He was a lieutenant in the Army then, stationed in Oklahoma. I was living on campus in Virginia. After the wedding, we had a week together before he had to go back to his base and I had to go back to school. We wouldn’t live together until mid-May.

See what I mean about inconvenient?

I remember waking on the morning of my wedding day to the sound of heavy rain. I had shredded wheat for breakfast and did my own hair and makeup, which consisted of pulling my long hair up into a loose chignon and putting on the same makeup I applied every day at school.

I wore my mother’s wedding gown. At 5’7” and 115 pounds, we were the same size. The gown would have fit me perfectly, but unfortunately, my older sister had worn it first and had it altered to fit her petite 5’3” frame. I had to hold my breath as my mom struggled with the long row of satin buttons up the back, and because the dress had been hemmed, I was forced to wear ballet slippers instead of heels. I remember gingerly walking across our muddy gravel driveway to get in the car and go to the church.

It never occurred to me to get dressed at church and not at home. I don’t know why. I truly had no clue about wedding protocols. I didn’t have a wedding fantasy, a copy of Bride magazine, or an etiquette book to guide me. I was crazy about E but low key about the rest.

While we carefully planned the ceremony itself, we kept everything else simple and paid for it ourselves. No engraved invitations, no decorations in the church, no live music, no wedding programs, no photographer, and a pared down reception.

The rain that marked the beginning of the day turned to ice and then to snow in the afternoon causing a mass exodus during the reception as out-of-town guests hit the road before the weather got even worse. E, struggling to put chains on the car’s tires, nearly lost his wedding band at dusk on the side of a winding mountain road. If I were superstitious, I would have seen all of these events as bad omens.

I’m sure other folks had some doubts. I was barely 20 when we exchanged vows, and I left college, a 4.0 GPA, a scholarship, and the place I loved best to follow E to Oklahoma. By any objective measure, this wasn’t a smart move or an auspicious beginning, but looks can be deceiving. While the wedding may have been poorly timed and executed, the marriage has lasted. Today marks our 25^th anniversary, and while I regret not standing up to E’s dad, wearing those ugly ballet slippers, and spending EIGHT years in Oklahoma, in my mind, marrying E remains one of the best decisions I ever made.

March 7, 2007