The first time I got married, I wasn't exactly blushing, but I certainly marched down the aisle in full regalia. I was married at Heinz Chapel, which is an 18th century reproduction of a 16th century church in Europe, somewhere. It's got gorgeous stained windows, six feet high, depicting what I can't quite remember, but it seems to me that blue, deep dark blue is the prominent color. You'll forgive me for my sketchiness of details: it was a long time ago and I was really just a girl then, full of hope and dreams and fantasies about what my marriage would be. That it wasn't could have been predicted at the moment, but how was I to know that.
The second time I got married, it was in my parents living room. My sister played me in to Here Comes The Bride on my dad's electric organ, and the only people present were those family members who were my nearest and dearest. I wore an elegant silk suit in a champagne color, size 7 if you please. We drove to Oregon to honeymoon, and perhaps the result of that marriage might have been predicted by the sight that greeted me the first morning: dead moose heads in various stages of decomposition jammed on fence posts.
I thought of the difference between my two weddings this morning when I sat in the lawyer's office and listened to her tell me the drill. It didn't sound familiar, even though I must have gone through it once before. I couldn't figure out why and then I thought of how Marriage Number One came to an end: not with a bang, but a whimper. I left the marriage but didn't divorce until some, oh, say, about ten years later when a friend who was a lawyer could not stand it anymore and prepared all the papers for me. All I had to do was show up in the court room and respond to the judge's "is-it-true-that-irreconcilable-differences" spiel in the affirmative.
This time promises to be somewhat different. I really will have to be engaged in the process, which is ironic considering that in #1, I engineered the breakup, and now in #2, I haven't. Another irony: big fancy wedding>puny little divorce; puny little wedding>big fancy divorce. I'm not sure what, if anything, to make of that.