I Definitely do!

In all the annals of history, there are none so romantic as the love affair that ends happily at the altar. All is indeed well that ends well, and this particular wedding ended, well, unusually, but as well as it could ,which was well for the participants but for the witnesses and spectators,well....

Let me start off by saying I was not a participant in this particular ceremony, but my sister and I were going as invited guests. As neighbors and longtime playmates of the bride and her maiden of honour, we accepted the invitation along with our mother to witness the romantic ending of a well- publicized society courtship. Well publicized that is by the social climbing mother of the aforementioned bride. Now MOB's intention was to tout the impressive engagement of her eldest daughter to what she hoped was an easily impressed and totally awed neighborhood. See, small town culture in the 1950s did not generally run to high society affairs, so Jo (the aforementioned MOB) was determined to make this event the talk of the town and the highlight of the season. Consequently she intended that the whole countryside should know that her daughter was about to marry impressively. The prospective groom was indeed impressive: young, fairly good looking, a college graduate with law degree, with dreams of a place in the legalistic sun, and now about to trip into matrimony with his childhood sweetheart. Or at least that's what mamma said, conveniently ignoring the fact that his family had moved away from our country area and settled in the big city. She must have forgotten too that the young lovers only met again years later accidentally in a mall restaurant where young Aimee ( the aforementioned bride) worked. To hear her tell it, they had corresponded for all those separated years, expressing undying loyalty and affection in every missive. True love wins out in the end!

After weeks of hearing their story, most of us were surprised to receive invitations to the collosal event, but I suspect it must have been because there just weren't that many upper society persons in the area. Most farming communities just don't have too many gentleman farmers or plantation owners. So she had to settle for us common folk to fill the pews. My mother had known Jo in their high school days, and their relationship had been seesaw-- sometimes down but then sometimes up when Jo needed an ear to listen to her praises of children, husband, house, new furniture and so on. Most people just didn't bother, but Mom always thought Jo needed a sounding board to listen and praise her endeavors to rise socially. Even if there really was actually no social place to climb around us. So we bought new dresses, hats ( as daughters of Southern parentage, we knew one just didn't attend a social function like this without a hat), gloves and matching shoes, and got ready for the grand event !

The big day we were ready early before school, so as to get a great seat without needing to go home to change. In this we were disappointed,at least a bit. My mother,who rode with a friend because both of us were still at school,managed to find a balcony seat from which the two of them could look down at the altar. Sis and I arrived later than expected, and thus were taken down the center aisle by the usher, who placed us right behind the MOB's reserved place. To say we were consternated is putting it mildly, because we know that we could not make our usual snide remarks about everything. We looked around, but choices of seats were limited, so we just stayed there. We could see our mother grinning down at us, which did not help at all. Just then the pre ceremony music began. We were stuck !

This might be the best time to explain that this particular church has two aisles leading to steps and then up to the altar area. Usually the bridal party comes down the left aisle but back up the right, giving a good view of the procession to everyone. We checked the area. Decorated in both aisles with black and white ribbons, black and white flowers. Black and white??? Hmmmm.

When the music began, everyone looked at the left aisle, expecting to see the groom with his men coming down. Surprise! They came from the right. Well, okay, so we can just watch the right aisle for the bride and attendants over there. Music shifted to the familiar "Here Comes the Bride," a popular choice for some but ironic to me in that it comes from an opera about pagan rites, but oh well. Her choice. Now the bridesmaids appeared. Dressed in black gowns and wearing black and grey headpieces? Is this a wedding or a coven meeting? They really needed to carry brooms, not black and white roses.

Suddenly, over the processional, came a new sound-- a childish voice screaming "I won't go down! I won't.You can't make me!" Over and over. Startled, I turned around to see the little ring bearer, pulling his arm from the grip of a bridesmaid and screaming at her. "I won't! I won't!" He threw the little pillow on the floor,broke away, and ran,I suppose to his mother because I never saw him again. The flower girl put the pillow in her basket and kept throwing flowers around. I expect in a few years she will be an excellent pitcher, a boxer or a bowler, because she had a powerful left arm. Flowers flew into pews on both sides of the aisles -- but the bridal group used the left one,not the right side that the groom used. So we quickly turned to see the bride. The music reached a climactic crescendo for her to make her entrance. Unfortunately it was a bit marred by the organist setting her left arm from elbow to fingertip on the lower register,creating an unusual,highly startling, and not so effective entrance for the bride.

To give her credit, Aimee wore a gorgeous gown. Grey satin, I think, with lovely black lace covering the bodice and down the skirt in what I would call ripples if lace. The effect was unusual and striking, but not as striking as the black mascara and liner on her eyes, ending in a sort of batwing beyond the eyelid. The touch of glitter added a subtle shock as well. And so did the black and white bouquet,accented by black ribbons fluttering down the length of the skirt.

As she and her father glided down the right (really the left, but it was the right,meaning correct, side to come down) side aisle, I took a peek at my mother in the balcony. She had both hands over her mouth, and her friend had buried her own face in my mother's shoulder. Not a good sign. I didn't dare look at my sister.

Roughly halfway down the aisle,disaster struck. I suppose nobody had told the little page holding her long veil that it needed to be held on BOTH sides, not just one side. Before anybody could move to grab it, the veil had wrapped itself around one of the bases of a pew and just stayed there, jerking the bride backwards and nearly off her black clad feet. Oops. She stood up again with her father's help, straightened her glittering black headpiece pretty well for not having a mirror, and then waited while he unwound the veil from the pew. (Remember we are all still standing all this time,watching the show ). Can anything else happen??

Apparently it can. Aimee reached her groom without any more distractions, and they stood waiting for the minister who had been standing behind the potted palms until she reached her man. They waited. And waited. We all watched and waited too, watching to see if he could fight his way through the palm forest. When he finally overcame the elements, we could see the problem. The palms stood perhaps five feet high ( high enough to cover the unused choir area) and the minister stood about four foot six . Poor man had to fight his way out!!

The reverend was of an unusual appearance,which those if my generation will easily recognize as what I call the Cupie doll look. That means he, like the little Cupie doll he resembled in both heighth and appearance, was entirely bald except for one curl in the middle his forehead. I couldn't even glance my mother's direction, because I already knew she would probably be rolling on the floor. He introduced each part of the service with the voice of a circus barker. "And now the vows;". "And now the rings!" as he held them up for everyone to see. Except that even sitting most of us were taller than he was,so we saw very little beyond the bride and groom.When he announced "And now a special solo," I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew the soloist, knew she would do a good job. She, or somebody, had chosen "You'll Never Walk Alone," a beautiful and appropriate song,full of meaning and also full of impressively timed verbal pauses for effect. It became obvious during one of those pregnant pauses that the organist had not rehearsed it with the soloist, because when she stopped singing, the organist did not stop playing, and raced through the music like a house afire. Needless to say, the poor soprano had to skip a lot of words to catch up. My sister is a soprano,and often sings in church, and I play the organ or piano for choir. I didn't even glance at her at that point.

After the solo the newlyweds partook of their first communion together. Most of the spill was covered by the black lace. I hope it comes out of her dress. Maybe the minister should have put less in the goblet or at least warned them it was

that full.

I think we all shared a sigh of relief when the final prayer was said and the by now rattled organist started the recessional. I did glance at my mother. She was back in her seat,pounding on her friend's back. She looked down, rolled her eyes and grinned.

As the people started to head towards the reception, Aimee's mother,with tears in her eyes, looked at us and said "Wasn't it all just beautiful? It was lovely. Don't you think it was beautiful? Don't you think it was the hit of the year? People will be talking about it for months. Don't you think so??"

In a choked voice and trying to suppress a laugh I got out a sort of hiccup. "Yes,Jo," I managed, "I really do. I do."