Montana Wedding, II

Shaine and Chris weren’t actually married in Montana.

Sometime in early July, Shaine gave her parents a call.

“So, it turns out we’re not going to get married in Montana.” It didn’t sound like she was announcing a pull out from the nuptials, nor did she sound like she was making a joke to scare us.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a number of things. It’s just too complicated to get married in Montana. So we’ve decided to go ahead with the wedding and everything on Sept. 4th, but get married, here, in Seattle, a month earlier. In, like a civil ceremony in front of a judge or something.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“First of all, apparently, you have to get a blood test in Montana, and I don’t want to do that. Or, actually, just the woman has to get the blood test, not the man, and I don’t think that’s right.”

That’s my daughter. She isn’t going to do anything just for the sole reason that it’s expected of her. Especially if it smacks of gender discrimination. I didn’t ask what blood test was required.

“And, another thing, you need a birth certificate to get married in Montana.”
“Well, you’ve got one. We have it right in the strong box” – we keep all sorts of valuable papers in a locked fireproof “safe” in my closet, things like passports, car titles, mutual funds’ statements, original Social Security cards, health club registration papers, and a copy of a response to a letter I wrote to The New Yorker magazine 45 years ago – “what’s the big deal?”

“Chris doesn’t have one.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, see, he was born in Canada when his dad was a professor there or something, and now he can’t find the original, or doesn’t know where his parents put it.” Since both his parents died, this was more than a little problematic.

“Can’t you just go online and get a copy? What is he, President Obama or something?”

“No, in Canada it’s not that easy. You have to have two Canadian citizens of ‘upstanding reputation’ or something who know you and can vouch for you.”

Despite Montana being right next to Canada and all, Chris didn’t really know any Canadians, upstanding or otherwise, who would vouch for him having been born there.

“So that’s out, getting a copy would just take too long; we don’t have enough time. Oh, and one more thing – Tester isn’t really authorized to legally marry us.”

“Huh? Senator Jon Testor is a United States Senator, after all. Isn’t that like the captain of a ship, or something?”

“Nope, in the eyes of Montana law, he’s just another guy unless he’s a minister, or Justice of the Peace, or some other named official of the state. You know how Westerners feel about the Federal government – they don’t recognize its authority unless it’s spelled out in the Constitution or something.”

“Wow, so that’s like three strike against you.”

“Yep, we figured it was just too complicated, and I don’t want to do a blood test if Chris doesn’t have to, and we really want Testor to marry us. So we’re going to do it in Seattle when Cody and Annie are here.”

Well, that would present another round of complications, since the overlap of those two – one currently in the Far East, and the other lounging away in Colorado – in the Puget Sound area was highly problematic. To say nothing of trying to fit it in with Cheryl’s schedule, mine, Shaine’s insane 24/7 work life and Chris’ emerging role as a campaign manager for an upcoming Port election.

“Maybe it would just be easier to elope.”

“We thought about that, but … nah, we’ll figure it out.”

In the end, they did manage to get legally married August 5th, and, naturally, I couldn’t be there, although I did make the “reception” dinner afterwords.

So that’s how Shaine and Chris happened to avoid getting married during their Montana Wedding. It really put the emphasis on the ceremony and symbolism, which played into Shaine’s desire to just have a three-four day party, anyway.

Speaking of the ceremony, I had to play a couple of roles. First, despite her mile-wide streak of independence, Shaine wanted me to “walk her down the aisle”, (but not give her away?). So we had a wedding rehearsal the day before. I got dressed up in my best silk shirt I inherited from my father; everyone else wore jeans or shorts. Over and over, we pretended we knew what we were doing as Shaine described the geography of the wedding venue. A small corner lot, Chris’ cousin Jesse’s home, served as the stand in.

Shaine kept trying to get us to imagine the multiple huge cottonwood trees, the grassy field beneath them, the stream behind, and a little bridge over a dry culvert. We all played along, hoping that when the actual ceremony occurred, Shaine and Chris would make it all come out right.

The other spot I filled was to give a little speech about marriage or something. I had initially thought she meant this as a toast, so I wrote something light hearted, with a bunch of quotes from some of my favorite songs. But this was supposed to be smack in the middle of the ceremony, just before another of the Montana relatives would give an emotional vignette about Chris’ parents, represented at the wedding only by lilies on the two empty chairs in the front row.

The families were told to show up at 2 PM for pictures, in advance of the planned 5:30 festivities. So for 3 and a half hours, much of what we did was to wait. Wait while the various family groups (“OK, now just the nukes … next, the grooms’ aunts … and what about Shaine’s sibs … Now, Chris’ sibs …). Wait while Shaine was made up and dressed by her closest friends, or at least the ones who had access to extensive make-up collections and instruments. Wait while Jon Testor was given a chance to go over his line – being a pro, this took all of 5 minutes, of course.

And then the guests started to arrive. But instead of being allowed to mingle with them down under the cottonwoods, and maybe get a little taste of the Kir Royale my sister had cooked up to loosen their tongues, we (the wedding party) were sequestered up in the “bridal suite” (one of the outbuildings of the ranch/venue.) The idea was to generate a bit of mystery, keeping the bride out of sight until the Big Moment, I guess. It seems to happen at all weddings – but not at ours, 32 years ago. (That might be worth a tale, sometime, I now realise).

So while they all mingled, and had fun, we drummed our fingers, kept glancing at watches, and tried vainly to keep the flower girls from eating all the mints. Finally, after Annie and Anita had started their violin intro, we took our places along the gravel path above the stream and meadow, maybe 300 yards away.

Chris and Cheryl went first. He had the biggest grin on his face, and Cheryl looked pretty good herself. Then, as they passed out of sight between the tack shed and the trees, Shaine and I started up. You know how all eyes turn to see the wedding party coming down the aisle? Well, imagine the aisle being outside, and basically starting down the block and around the corner.

Just as Shaine had insisted at the rehearsal, Chris and Cheryl emerged in the opening between two trees, and that was our queue to glide down the hill and over the rickety bridge into the meadow proper. I had on my Indiana Jones Pendleton wool hat and Tifosi photochromic rimless cycling sunglasses, accenting my starched white button down shirt (only about 22 years old) set off by my nearly new Nordstrom black wool pants and one-of-a-kind Big Island M-Dot belt buckle.

When it came time to drop Shaine off with Chris, I broke from the script and gave her the biggest, longest hug I can ever remember sharing, followed by a really big kiss. We both welled up a bit, just practice for what was to come, I guess.

Luckily, Testor was having none of that, and he proceeded to keep the audience/congregation in stitches for five minutes or so until apparently it was my turn to entertain the folks. (My advice: don’t ever follow a US Senator who is coming up on a critical re-election campaign.)

I hauled my iPad up there with me, noting that, after all, it was the second decade of the 21st century, and I saw no need for paper anymore. Here’s what my notes say I said:

Here we are … Out with the truckers and the kickers and the cowboy angels and a good saloon in every single town. [Uh, that’s from a 1973 song by Gram Parsons, “Return of the Grievous Angel”, one of my all time favs.]

I know Shaine at least as well as anybody in this room … including Shaine. You can’t spend years trying to fool your parents and not have them end up knowing a little bit about how your mind works. So when she started telling me about this guy she’d met, Chris, it was obvious from the git go that he was the right guy for her. Not because of who he was – I didn’t doubt for a minute the quality of Chris as a person, simply because my daughter being such a strict judge of herself, she applies equally high standards to anybody she let’s get that close to her. More, it was the way she talked about him

Smiles [This was supposed to be a reminder for to ad lib about Shaine and Chris’ natural talents for smile, and how their smiles got even bigger when they talked about each other.]

I never knew Chris’ parents. Mike and Holly, but one thing I do know about them is they must have been the warmest people ever, cause Chris is a world champion smiler.

I’m over my head, but it sure feels nice. [1976 Fleetwood Mac song by Christine McVie] The world is changing right before my eyes. But when we’re hungry, love will keep us alive. [The Eagles, 1994.]

Every inch is packed with dynamite. Her hair is blond and curly, her curls are hurly burly.  [Rogers and Hammerstein, South Pacific, 1949] With her long hair falling and her eyes that shine like the midnight sun, she’s the one. [The Boss, 1975.] [Ad lib something about: After he asked me for her hand, he said] Heaven can wait, I won’t look back. Let the altar shine. [Meatloaf, by Jim Steinman, 1977.]

After they’d got done singing each others’ praises, I got to thinking, Well, maybe they’re in love. And isn’t that what makes life grand? When two people have love for each other, than literally anything in life is possible.

Life – the most powerful force on the planet. I’ve lived through earthquakes, fires, hurricanes, tornadoes, volcanoes, and have seen how quickly life pushes itself back after what seems like total devastation. But you know, it’s love which gives life that force. There’s nothing that says “love” more than a man and a woman finding each other, recognizing their inevitable link, and deciding to go forward, together.

So, Shaine, Chris – I’d like to leave with with some thoughts from a few of my favorite poets – Bono, Tom Waits, and a couple of more obscure guys.

Here’s to the future… the only limits are the limits of your imagination.
Dream up the kind of world you want to live in … dream out loud … at high volume. Take it to the limit. [Comments prior to I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For, 1989.]

And if you find someone, someone to have, someone to hold, don’t trade it for silver, don’t trade it for gold. Cause I have all of life’s treasures, and they’re fine and they’re good, but they remind me houses are just made of wood. What makes a house grand ain’t the roof or the doors. If there’s *love* in a house, then its a palace for sure. [Tom Waits’ The House Where Nobody Lives, 1999.]

And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. [The last thing the Beatles ever recorded, 1969.]