ms. fresh fish


I Lori, take you…
September 18, 2006, 1:21 pm
Filed under: general

… he-who-hates-to-be-spoken-of-on-his-wife’s-blog…

The weather was bad news. BAD NEWS.  We were monitoring tropical storms to see if one would come crashing down to ruin our honeymoon in Jamaica, but instead, Ernesto comes to freakin’ TORONTO… on our wedding weekend! Brutal. The way we saw it was: If it’s going to be bad weather, let it be bad enough to bare a name. No piddly scattered showers or even regular old thunderstorms, instead, name-able bad weather. The kind of weather that meteorological institutes track in fear of serious damage. And that’s what we got: Ernesto. Bastard. While we had resigned ourselves to the worst possible weather scenario, the day before the wedding lived up (or down) to all of our meterological expectations. The wind and rain were torrential and bottoms of pants were instantly soaked and the hair… I don’t even want to get started on the hair.

Nevertheless, we managed to rehearse the ceremony with a core contingent of attendants and observers, go out for beer and appy’s after and enjoy ourselves thoroughly. Then us grrls went back to the hotel to sleep, while the boys went out to play some more.

How foolish was I not to drug up that night?

Four of us in the room – my two sisters-in-law and my best friend Elissa sharing two beds at the Royal York. One sister-in-law was exhausted from fighting with her ill-fitting dress all day and passed out early (she won the battle with her dress and it looked fab, by the way) and the other sister-in-law was, unbeknownst to her, hopped up on drowsy benadryl to get rid of a mysterious skin rash that had appeared two days prior (I ended up getting a flavour of this rash on the last day of Jamaica and now understand her panic). So, two down, two still up. In mid-conversation with Elissa about how weird the whole situation was with me getting married and all, I fall asleep… for maybe fifteen minutes. I’m up, like UP up, from 3:00 a.m. onwards with every possible worst-case scenario running through my head in its entirety. At one point, around 4:30, I hear Elissa yawn. Can people yawn while they’re sleeping, I wonder? I don’t want to risk waking her just to satisfy my boredom and anxiety but when she gets up to go to the washroom, clearly out of boredom herself, just before 6 a.m., I’m up and the coffee is brewing before she flicks off the bathroom light. There, we enjoyed stale bagels and horrid coffee while whispering back and forth with eachother in the near-dark of the hotel room until the sleepy sisters awoke.

At one point, I went to the door to pick up the newspaper and I swear to goddess, the headline read: “THE PRESSURE’S ON!” Cruel, non? I kept the paper in the event no one believes me.

For some insane reason, we all worried about not waking up the morning of the wedding. I now understand how ridiculous this fear was, but at the time, it seemed legitimate. So we set every alarm we had access to and asked for two separate wake-up calls. The orchestra of bells that went off at 7 a.m. that morning was nothing short of hilarious – one proper alarm clock, three cell-phone alarm clocks and the phone ringing. And Elissa and I just watched from our little spot on the mini couch.

Fast forward through hair and make-up (about four hours of primping highlighted by a couple of glasses of champagne bringing the drink count to 2), a flower disaster that I don’t want to live through again (thank goddess for the Royal York, is all I have to say, and particulalry Lou Bloom who serendipitously was the man helping us with the flower crisis), a limo hiccup that led me to tears and a very long, winding car ride to the church in a sweet old Bentley, and we finally got to the church for the ceremony. Holy sh&t. I was silent. Mute. My mom asked me if I had taken an adavan, but I was so anxious that I couldn’t even answer her in words – just a calm shaking of the head.

The bag-piper started, so did the tears, and a really bizarre and uncontrollable flaring of both my nostrils. I readjusted the gaskets on my face, relieved pressure elsewhere (I think through a small amount of tears), got the nostril issue under control and started marching. My face still felt like it was going to explode and so I was secretly relieved when my mama stepped on my train which gave me the opportunity to snap out of it momentarily and turn around and give her a look, which I think she barely saw through her own tears and similarly exploding face.

I took the moment that everyone tells you to take, to take it all in and appreciate all the people in the church there to see you and be with you on that day to celebrate. It was truly overwhelming. Again, this was quickly “dampened” when the officiant referred to us as Katie and David (who I hope to meet one day), and then took the helm and led us through the ceremony.

Our readings went beautifully – Marco’s godmother Joanne and my dear friend Sarah read poems. My friend Melissa, studying to be a preacher, got up there and worked some of her preacher-magic and had the room enthralled.

The rest of the ceremony went by very smoothly and was very relaxed with smatterings of laughter throughout. It felt very natural for both of us, which led us to worry that perhaps it was too natural and that maybe, just maybe, the jokes during the vows would be seen by some as slightly inappropriate. But then again, that’s just us, non?

Would you believe, when we got out of the church, there was not a rain drop in sight? We had an hour of overcast skies (great for photos) and a cool breeze in which to mingle with the guests and allow the enormity of what had just happened to sink into our minds and hearts. The Russian limo driver (Mr. Good Times) popped out the champagne (drink count: 3) and the festivities began.

I’m going to end there for today. Note at this point in the day I had consumed three glasses of champagne. This is a key factor to remember for the continuation tomorrow. But I guess I’ve just given away the ending now, haven’t I? Like ya didn’t know anyway…

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