July 17, 1999. Thirteen years ago today, James and I married. I remember waking up tired, because I'd been up late (talking to Jacquie and Renée? or just going over preparations?), but excited. I drove to St. Vital Unisex for 8:00 a.m. so Maria could style my hair and work in the floral wreath. She absolutely refused to open the shop any earlier for me. My flower girls, Allison and Breanne, arrived around 9:00 a.m., I think. Allison's hair cooperated, Breanne's not so much. I hurried back to the apartment to do my makeup, put on my dress, and get to CanadInns as fast as I could to pick up my groom for pictures at the Manitoba Legislature. James, by all accounts, began to panic that I wouldn't show. I was maybe--maybe, I say--running a few minutes late, but I thought I'd explained that I was at the mercy of my hair stylist, and my ETA would depend on that appointment.
We and our attendants and our families somehow transported ourselves downtown and Michele, from Photography by Michele, took photos inside and out on the grounds of the Leg (short for "Legislature" and pronounced "ledge," for those unfamiliar with it). That was kind of a blur, to be honest. Having seen many more wedding photos in the years since then, I regret that I didn't put more thought into poses we might have tried. But hey, it was our first time being two halves of a bridal couple. And we do have many great photos. There's one James is particularly fond of: we're standing in front of a lamp post, gazing each into the other's eyes, with water fountains in the distance. Tarzan made it into that one. Yes, that's right: the original captured a deeply bronzed shirtless man in satiny blue shorts sunbathing on the park benches behind the Leg. When James first noticed an addition to our wedding party, he was oh-so-very-not-impressed. (I found it amusing.) Fortunately, Michele was able to paint him out of the 5"x7" reprint. (Yes, paint. I saw her use a little brush and bottle of something that looked like white-out. I believe she switched to digital shortly after. Probably for the ease of removing Tarzan and other wedding photo crashers of his ilk.)
We sent everyone else back to the hotel, and then we headed to the St. Boniface Cathedral for Michele to take photos of just the two of us around the old walls of the basilica. We chose St. Boniface because of its beautiful architecture. I originally had considered the St. Norbert Monastery Ruins as a potential backdrop. Shakespeare in the Ruins used to perform there, and with the wreath of baby's breath and ivy in my hair, I felt transformed into the sort of woodland nymph who might inhabit the ruins. Practicality, however, suggested that St. Boniface would cut down on transportation time. And I've never regretted that. It's even more appropriate in hindsight, given James's Métis ancestry and the fact of St. Boniface's connection with Louis Riel and the Métis.
We returned to CanadInns for the ceremony at 1:00 p.m. Our guests were seated at the round luncheon tables in the Ambassador F Ballroom. We had an extremely small wedding party: just one attendant each and two flower girls. As my dad escorted me down the aisle to James, I remember feeling very calm and absolutely certain that I was making the right decision. My uncle officiated, and by way of our request, kept the ceremony shorter and sweeter than could possibly be imagined. The pastor of my church at the time, St. Vital EMC, said a blessing, and the meal was served.
Afterwards there was a very short series of speeches and then my groom and I served cake. It was a means of greeting everyone, but avoiding a formal reception line with all the handshakes and hugs. My aunt and a friend were kind enough to have picked up the cakes and delivered them to the hotel. I hadn't seen the point in a traditional tiered wedding cake, so we just had two large slabs of marble cake from Foodland in St. Norbert. A friend's sister worked there at the time, and I'd asked her to ice them in a peach and pale blue. We said our goodbyes, suggested if anyone wanted to party they could head on over upstairs to Alley Cats Piano Bar or Celebrations Dinner Theatre, and hightailed it out of there.
For years I said I wouldn't have done anything differently. From my perspective now, of course, I'd make a few alterations, but maybe not as many as you'd expect. (For example, I look at the photos of the ballroom where we held both ceremony and reception, and wince at the dusky rose-colored chairs._ If it sounds, through all of this, as though I didn't permit my groom much input, rest assured that I did my best to involve him, but he didn't voice many strong preferences, and he wasn't so much interested in the details as in the big picture. (Not long after we got engaged, we had dinner with James's sister and her husband, and casually chatted about wedding plans. Michelle asked a few questions, and was surprised I had the answers. According to her, James had sounded quite bewildered about next steps. In low German, I'd say he was majorly febleft.) And that is one of the reasons we're good for each other: our strengths complement each other.
We're compatible and companionable. We're not lucky; rather, we're fortunate. (See Peter Dinklage's distinction here, last paragraph.)
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