When the wedding reception was over (complete with musical numbers from students) we went to my friend’s house to change out of our wedding garb and into something comfortable. Then we got in the car and set off with the sun setting behind us. We stopped at a restaurant where Harry enjoyed a turkey dinner (his favorite meal). Harry alleges that I also had food, but apparently it was not terribly memorable.
After dinner, we continued to drive east toward the coast. We had a reservation in a hotel in Ocean City, NJ. Harry had asked me where I wanted to go on our honeymoon, and I opted for the beach. He asked me to choose another destination and mentioned the Bahamas and Florida/Disney World. I was surprised when I learned that this was not just our honeymoon, but also “deputation,” otherwise known as finding people to support our ministry in Portugal. We spent time with some of his extended family and with friends along the way.
Today the rest is a photo post with some snaps of our journeying.
First day: the beach in Ocean City, NJHarry dealing with our rented bicycles.River Boat, DisneyOutside the Tiki HutHarry in the stocks. Please note that no chains or whips were involved.Dolphins at Sea WorldShamu – at least, one of them.Cyprus GardensDucks at Cypress GardensCypress GardensCypress GardensOrchids growing in Cypress GardensOur last stop on the honeymoon: Central Oaks Heights, an old Methodist Campground. Our cabin looked over the swimming pool
The rehearsal was Thursday night. On Friday, Harry and I had our suitcases packed (he almost made it out of the house without his sister throwing rice into his suitcase). We dropped the car and suitcases off at the apartment of one of my teaching colleagues for safety’s sake.With a LOT of help, we were ready for the big day. I had read that there is always something that goes awry, and I determined to stay calm no matter what.
The Mirror Photo
Saturday morning, I got up early to get my nails and hair done. I picked at some food and in an eternally short moment it was time for my dad to take me to the church. The gown in the car? Check. Engagement ring on my right hand? Check. Harry’s wedding band? Check. Then we took the longest five-minute ride to the church that I can remember.
My bridesmaids helped me dress, and the photographer took the before pictures. Harry was down the hall and when he left the men’s dressing room, his sisters filled his clothes with rice.
The wedding was set for 1 p.m. and it was about half past noon when one of my attendants announced that the flowers had not yet come. Music played. The soloist sang. Still no flowers. My friend made phone calls. Repeatedly. I was breathing and in my happy place. Finally, at five minutes till one, men dressed in T-shirts and cutoffs carried potted plants lumbered down the aisle.
The groom and groomsmen entered the church, and the organist began playing Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring. The bridesmaids began to sway down the aisle. My sister, my maid of honor went next. Our sweet flower girl and ring bearer followed her. My dad hugged me with tears shimmering in his eyes, and offered me his arm while he pulled some nitroglycerin out of his pocket. I don’t know exactly how he managed to give me away and perform the ceremony afterward. I do know it was a labor of great love.
From the photos, I can see that there were many people there that day. Students from three years had dragged their parents to the wedding. My nephew, who was then five months old, had something to say during the ceremony. One of my students asked his mom out loud if I was married yet. But Harry. How shall I say this? Harry looked like he was about to bust out laughing.
I had opted to have the attendants wearing crowns of baby’s breath. Unfortunately, the baby’s breath was of the unruly and wild sort. When Harry
Wedding Party
saw the bridesmaids walking down the aisle, he thought (as would any good Scot) that Birnam Wood was approaching the castle.
My mom with my nephew, JamesCutting the cakeThe cakeSome of my studentsNearly overMy FamilyHarry’s Family
Around 2 a.m. on June 27, 1979 I woke up from a sound sleep and sat straight up in my bed. My eyes were wide open and my heart was pounding. In approximately 84 hours I would be standing in church in front of God and everybody to plight my troth. How well did I really know this man with whom I was promising to spend the rest of my days? I was planning to move just HOW many miles across the Atlantic Ocean away from my family and friends? What was I thinking? WAS IT TOO LATE TO CANCEL?????!!!
I sat there for about half an hour or so mulling over my predicament. I remembered my friend who had asked me if I was SURE I wanted to marry Harry. Did she know something I didn’t know? I dismissed her concern since I knew she was not happy in her marriage. My mom always called me Miss Independent. Could Miss Independent become Mrs. Interdependent and handle the marriage yoke made for two? My grandfather told me he never expected me to get married; he thought I was cold and distant. I dismissed that because I had good reason to so be around him.
Then I thought about Harry, and how our friendship had evolved over decades. We’d already gone toe to toe on issues, worked through them, and moved forward. Eventually. He was thoughtful, steady, dependable and kind. Harry liked me as well as loved me. He was a can do kind of guy, and he had a sense of humor. I realized then that if all else failed, our God-given gift of humor would eventually pull us back to sanity. I decided it was a go.
I was, however, still wide awake, and it was heading for 3:30 a.m. So, I gathered up the clothes I would be taking on our honeymoon and went downstairs quietly. I got out the ironing board and iron and pressed everything, then packed my suitcases. I made a to do list, and around 4:30 a.m. I crawled back under the covers and quickly fell asleep.
“What was I thinking?”
The other day I told Harry about writing this post. Then, almost 34 years later, he ‘fessed up, too. He said that when he woke up on our wedding day he stood in his bedroom and asked himself, “What was I thinking?” But, he showed up anyway. Because he’s like that.
The Portugal Years 