How it all began
He was a bachelor musician in a three-story walk-up apartment. She was a chronically injured actress with a job in IT.
They both had pledged to remain single for the rest of their lives.
Ha!
Having been facebook friends for over three years, they finally had a conversation for the first time after a series of unfortunate events. He found her funny and smart. She kept inviting herself over to his apartment. He said he loved her on the first date. She proposed after a week. Together over the next five years they navigated chronic conditions, terminal illnesses in their families, family drama, work drama, school drama, long tours on the road, the loss of some of their greatest supporters, property ownership, dog adoption (and training and poor health and love), two property moves, finances,
and
how to love one another and how to be loved.
Then he asked her father for his blessing to marry her. While she was sitting between the two of them on the couch. And everyone was a little tipsy. Almost one year later, he proposed, without fanfare, while she was ranting about the state of the homeless in our society and how everyone they love is dying, in a French restaurant, in the city they call home.
***
We are partners. We work well together. We laugh even better together. We care. Above all else, we value and promise:
Affection. Kindness. Honesty.
Be affectionate. If you cannot do that, be kind. If you cannot do that, always be honest.
*and avoid pandemics when making plans whenever possible*
“F&@$ 2020. F&@$ COVID. F&@$ it. Let’s do this.”
We had planned a 250-person full-day event with our loved ones on Friday, October 2nd, 2020. We were going to pass a pleasantly warm and sunny afternoon with games and swimming and snacks. We would have babysitters so the parents could relax. We were thinking about a popcorn machine and cotton candy. Around 5:30 (so that any who had to work that day could make it), in the cool twilight, we would have our ceremony. It would be swift, poignant, funny. After, our guests would enjoy bbq and crowd-sourced pies while we took a yichud with Guinness. Then those who wished for an early night might leave, if they desired, and the rest of us would light a bonfire and sip scotch, play music, crack jokes. It would have been a lovely day.
Instead, a global pandemic made it impossible for 250 people to gather anywhere short of a football stadium. So we pivoted. Again. And again. We played "wait-and-see" with the government, and prayed for the marriage license office to open, and up until the week before we were calling local officials trying to make sure we could still do this safely with any amount of loved ones present.
Finally, the 10th version, with Jim Gordon's blessing (head of bylaw), began with 26 of our nearest and dearest: we had a bbq, wretched catered pie, and Guinness and wine and whiskey. We had a ceremony and no reception on a cold, wet afternoon.
And it was perfect. Except it was missing you.
And the rest will be history
Without you we couldn’t have gotten here, and we rely on you all get to wherever we’re going. We need you: we need to thank you all, and to cherish you all, and to pledge support and partnership with you all. We love you. We miss you. Let’s eat.
