Today is the eleventh of October.
Eleven Octobers ago, it was 1994.
That month, R and I got married.

I wrote something for our tenth anniversary last year, but didn’t say anything about the actual event. Here are a few quick memories about our wedding…

How it all began
In January of 1994, R and I were seniors at Rice University. We had been officially together for two years at that point. We had planned to drive up to Dallas for a weekend to see my mother, and while there, celebrate our anniversary with a nice dinner or something simple like that. We left campus on a sunny Friday afternoon and headed north on 59. When we reached the interchange for I-45, R was in the southbound lane. I assumed he was being absent-minded (R? Never!), so I suggested he get over. He persisted, so I suggested, uh, a little more urgently! And still more urgently! He finally said, “We’re not going to Dallas this weekend,” and pulled out a pretty red rose from its hiding place in the backseat. It turns out that he had made plans for us to go to Galveston instead. (He had called my mom and let her know we wouldn’t be coming her way. Surely she must have suspected something!)

Suffice to say, we got engaged in Galveston that weekend. We had a wonderful dinner, then took a walk on the beach. This whole time I was in this strange alternate-reality thing—if I’d really been thinking about it I would have realized, “Duh, he’s going to propose here.” But that part of my brain was switched off, which made the whole thing a nice sort-of surprise. (For Rach and Mindy: we stayed at the San Luis!)

The next morning we were taking a drive along the seawall, checking out the various souvenir shops, and suddenly R said, “Hey, there’s your dad.” We quickly pulled over to find Dad and K, also there celebrating their anniversary. We had lunch together, and Dad was the first person I told in person.

It’s like rain on your wedding day… (or the days prior to it)
We thought we were so clever, scheduling our wedding for October in Houston. “It’s one of the best months for weather in Houston,” we reasoned. The humidity and heat are usually rather subdued. Oh, fie on us and our plans for a perfect, sweat-free day! There were torrential rains the week before, and widespread flooding. Some areas received thirty inches of rain over three days. An oil and gas pipeline over the San Jacinto River gave way, leading to a spill and a fire that burned for five days. Yes, nothing says “best wishes for a long and happy life together” better than the coming of the apocalypse. The Houston Chronicle headline from the day before our wedding whined, “What Next?”

The actual day turned out to be hot and humid, just what we’d been trying to avoid, but at least the rain had stopped.

Stuff only the clergy who read this would care about
It was a very simple service. R jokes that he thanks his lucky stars that I wasn’t already seminary-bound before we got married—I might have gone a little nutty with the service.

Our readings were Psalm 95: “O come, let us sing to the Lord; let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation!…” and Romans 12: “Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection…”

The processional was a Martin Shaw processional which features the hymn tune Lobe den Herren (example: “Praise Ye the Lord, the Almighty”). For years, I never heard that processional again, until I arrived at seminary—it is the traditional processional for the commencement service every single year. Kismet!

Our recessional was a rafter-busting rendition of the Widor Tocatta, in which I finally understood the expression “pulling out all the stops.”

Gender bending
My best friend at the time was a guy, and R’s was a gal, so we each had a member of the opposite sex standing with us (along with my sister as my maid of honor and his brother as best man). It was different, but with its own symmetry. My guy pal got a bit of a crush on his gal pal. He still sighs when he thinks about her…

I don’t know whether this falls under the category of gender-bending, but it’s worth remembering that my dad had a (very nicely groomed) ponytail at the time. And as R and I recessed out at the end of the service, Dad gave me a high-five.

Frou-frou stuff
I didn’t go very Bridezilla with the whole thing, but someone gave me a bridal magazine, and there was a dress in it that I absolutely adored. But I figured it would be way expensive, and I didn’t even bother looking for it.

Some months later, my mother and I were shopping in a consignment store, and I saw the dress. Not only was it affordable, and in my size, but it had actually never been worn (in a consignment store, no less! Zippity do dah!). It ended up needing minimal alterations. More kismet!

R wore dark grey morning tails.

Our color was burgundy.

Reception
Our reception was at the faculty club at Rice, and we served heavy appetizers. We had about 150 people, I suppose. We didn’t have dancing (R’s rather introverted about such things), but a small piano/bass jazz combo. It was very nice.

I am not exaggerating, or biased, when I say that our cake (from the French Gourmet Bakery) was the best wedding cake I have ever had. We didn’t have a traditional cake-top, and even if we had, we probably wouldn’t have saved it in the freezer for a year, because that strikes me as nasty. Now I wish we had. R actually called the bakery on our fifth wedding anniversary to see if we could get one made with the same recipe, but was sadly informed that they didn’t do wedding cakes anymore, and the cake baker who’d worked there in 1994 wasn’t there anymore anyway. Sob!

Getaway, aka R’s moment of shame
Back in 1994 we drove a red Honda Civic hatchback. Our wonderfully creative friends decided to forgo the traditional wedding decorations and dress it up as a ladybug. They attached large black cardboard dots to the top and sides, made decorative “eyelashes” for the headlights, etc. They also stuffed the inside with random tchotchkes, including a plastic plate in the shape of a fish that still makes appearances at most special events in our home.

Now remember how this whole tale began, with romantic, gentlemanly R whisking me off to Galveston. (Just so you know, he is reading this and cringing right now.) He has always unlocked and opened the car door for me, always. Today, however, we ran to the ladybug while getting pelted with birdseed—and that stuff hurts! He hopped into the car, away from the onslaught, and left me to fend for myself. I couldn’t get in on my side because there was a wall of people between me and the passenger door. Oh, the shame! Alas! Alack!

Actually, truly it’s one of my fondest, funniest memories of the day. I kind of wonder whether his introverted side just took over: “OK, I’ve had enough of this center-of-attention thing. Must Leave Now.”

It was a great day. Can't believe it's been 11 years. Man, we were young then.