Scenes in the making

Weddings are wonderful events, but much like the arrival of a new baby, nobody wants to hear about it every day. I like to think I’ve done a good job of holding myself back from making it the central part of any conversation. (As they say, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.)

Though we had originally thought of just eloping, Mark decided that we should at least extend the invitation to a few friends and family who might want to join us. We sent out about 20 invitations. It should be said that DC is not a place either of us have been to. We have no friends or family there, and it’s not an easy trip for most of the people we know. Our expectation, then, was that it would be just us and our Reverend. It turns out now that we will have at least the minimum number of witnesses it takes to form an aisle to walk down…well, past.

Just preparing for the wedding has generated its own stories. Here are some of ours.

The sisterhood of the traveling cake

My sister, Linda, is coming to our wedding, thanks to the generosity of my dear Aunt Trudie and her oldest son, Scott. About five minutes after calling me to tell me she was coming, she called back so we could have the following conversation.

“Do you have a wedding cake?”

“No, I thought I’d look up a nice dessert place, and we’d get cupcakes or something.”

“Would you like a wedding cake?”

“Well, that would be nice, but—”

“You’re not listening to me,” she interrupted as only an older sister can. “Do. You. Want. A. Wedding. Cake?”

“Yes.” (Because I wasn’t going to tell my soon-to-be husband I said ‘no’ to cake.)

This is not a very unusual request or offer for a wedding, but my sister lives in Texas, we live in Georgia, and the wedding is in Washington, D.C. Not being able to do much in the kitchen that qualifies as cooking (though I do make a mean oatmeal), I wasn’t sure at all how this was going to work. We are now in the possession of two different flavors of frosting and some raspberry filling. And, if it gets past the TSA, the cake itself will be traveling under the ample posterior of the person in front of my sister on the plane.

We’ve offered to bring knives for slicing and a cake spatula for serving, but Linda tells me she has a tool kit and won’t need any of those items. This, of course, has me wondering which aisle in Home Depot has the tool kit for cakes.

The grandparents. Two of our guests.

Unique guests for a unique day

We may have guests we hadn’t planned on, and I’m not talking about the random onlookers from the DC monument where we’ve arranged to have our ceremony. My cousin Elaine messaged me a few weeks ago.

“Last night, I dreamt that I talked to Granddad, and he and Grandmother plan to be at your wedding, so I am RSVP-ing for them. Won't that be great? After all, you will be writing a new and unique page of family history.”

It's true. As the only known gay person in my family, past and present, this is uncharted territory. My family has been wholly loving and supportive. Being gay has been a nonevent. Getting married to the person you love is always a reason to celebrate.

It’s my day and I’ll cry if I want to

It’s no secret, I’m a crier. I tell people, ‘I cry at red lights because everyone expects them to change.’  It’s true, happy events, sad movies, touching moments…I cry. With that in mind one night, I brought a box of tissues into the living room and sat down at the coffee table while we watched TV. I opened up a tissue, and then folded it in half lengthwise. Then I folded it again. I made a stack of five folded tissues, stacking them one on top of the other. I then took the stack and folded it over and tucked it inside a plastic baggie. I made two more stacks of five just the same way and put them in the baggie with the first.

Mark, who had been silently dividing his time between watching me and paying attention to the TV, finally asked me what I was up to.

“These are for me to give to our guests.”

“They’re not going to be crying all over the place.”

“These aren’t for them! They’re for our guests to give to me when I run out of mine.”

You see, it’s not a question of ‘will I cry?’ It’s ‘when will I stop?’

At this moment, we’re ready to pack up the car and drive to DC. Sadly, that means we’re a few days ahead of schedule.

Excuse me, I think I need a tissue.