Long post alert - get that coffee first! It'll be worth it! Promise...
We arrive in Paradise today (Prado permitting) to help my
darling little sister prepare for her wedding to V... I anticipate some fun girl-time together, as well as some of the '
fending' for which my sister is renown. She doesn't like being the centre of attention so much (so the whole
bride thing is a little confrontational for her) and doesn't take to anyone
taking over her patch. She also lives under the illusion that her big sister has always had it pretty easy, and actually labelled me "
The Prize Heifer" at one stage (long story, 'nother time).
...
We don't go short on 'personality' in our family (some might call it argumentative: po-tate-o, po-tart-o!) and conversations can get pretty energetic and debate-filled on occasion. We're used to it - lots of talking over the top of each other. It can be a bit much for those who haven't grown up amid it all (hang in there V!). So rather than go over all our anticipated preparations and discussions, I thought I would share my own pre-wedding build up. To illustrate just how far from perfect a bride I was!
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The story starts about eight years ago. I got engaged to my hot hubby-to-be (SSB) when I was working at an internet company. My job was as a photographer and writer for an online women's magazine - a seemingly fabulous job. We worked in a very slick building in the city, complete with awesome coffee room and games area and gymnasium on the ground floor. We flitted around doing fashion shoots, making up questionnaires, grabbing sushi for lunch and researching vital statistics on makeup breakthroughs. Heavy stuff and so worthwhile too!
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Our work Christmas party was incredible - the main conference room in the swishest hotel in the city was booked, and staff (the vast majority of whom were pimply computer nerds aged between 19 and 25) filed in past silver dishes piled high with delicacies such as smoked salmon, honey smoked ham and seared asparagus spears. Gifts were passed out to each and every staff member - ranging from the (then) brand spanking new Playstation 2's to a two-box set of Moet champagne (that was me, thankyou very much!).
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We reeled out of the place gobsmacked at the incredible generosity of our employers. In the next couple of weeks, a soon-to-be-married female computer programmer received a $700 gift from the boss. I could hardly bear to think about what awaited me, as I furiously planned my own nuptials (and used my hard-gained knowledge in a newly created wedding section for our online mag).
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I hand-made wedding invites ...
(from this photo)
I chose a style for my dress (expensive but featuring the most gorgeous heavy cream guipure lace on the bodice) planned and made lists til my eyes blurred. In typical bloke-style, SSB went along with the ride, stipulating only that we stick to the outdoors for the ceremony itself. Pretty much everything else, he left to me to organise. It was a very hectic hobby!
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Then, one day at work (just before lunchtime) we were called into the boss's office. The whole team. We had just put together what we thought was a pretty good edition and anticipated some feedback on the issue. The room fell strangely silent as we filed in, and a feeling of sudden unease gnawed my stomach. I looked at our editors face and she looked ashen.
And hesitating words filled the awkward silence.
"We are terribly sorry...
"It's nothing to do with your talent...
"Have to let you all go....
The quiet words reverberated around the room as we stood there like sideshow clowns. Looking from our editor to the boss, mouths hanging open, in shock. Let us go? None of us had ever involuntarily left a job in our lives. In fact, some had been poached from pretty good jobs elsewhere for this gig. It was incomprehensible. And it was less than six weeks to my wedding. Two weeks severance pay, and then no income. My stomach flipped. The blood drained from my head. The world seemed to slow and become a surreal version of reality.
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I don't recall packing up after leaving that office. I don't recall what we said to those sitting at desks nearby and they looked pityingly at us. It was a bad dream. Had to be. Not now.
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I don't recall what SSB said that afternoon, when I told him. I may have cried, but I don't recall. He must have hugged me and sworn eternal vengeance on my behalf. The things you need to say in such a situation. I pulled myself together, rising above the shame of losing my job and trying to meet the challenge of keeping the wedding on track.
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We were locked into the big expenses - reception venue, dress, honeymoon - so to save money, I decided to try and MAKE as much as I could. Placecards, thankyou notes, bonbonierie, centrepieces... I hand-made candles for every table (130 guests!) and poor SSB hand-made the timber bases for them to go in... I don't hand-make candles. It was a bad sign. Everything became of vital importance to me. It was, after all, all I had to focus on. It was now my job. And it needed, very badly, to be perfect.
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Despite my family's concerns, I seemed OK. On the surface . I was busy, busy, busy. It was really a blessing I wasn't trying to work right up to the wedding. Really. All that extra time to organise things. Organise dresses and decorations and short-cuts to save money. New cheaper flowers sourced and ordered. Phone calls. Organising. Time really well spent.
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The day before my wedding, I noticed a sore spot under my arm. And one in my nose. Strange, I thought. I hurried on.
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The day of the wedding dawned, and we gathered in a hotel near the city for the Preparations. My hairdresser - a wonderful country girl who had become a friend too - arrived with one of her off-siders to coiffure-up Jeanie and I (and three very cute flowergirls). They were very quiet, but after the first coffee, admitted they nearly hadn't made it. They had been held up at gunpoint the night before, at their shop. I thought they were joking initially. The robber had actually directed the gun right at Pam's off-sider. They were both in pretty bad shock, and their hands still shook as they tried to make us beautiful. I was torn between horror at what they had been through and relief they had still made it to help us. I felt utterly selfish having them there.
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The remainder of the few pre-ceremony hours vanished - makeup and getting dressed and fussing over each other and the little girls. And the whole while, I felt uneasy. Guilty. Weird. My nose tingled. I looked in a mirror. Tilted my head back to see inside the nostril. Red swelling. I looked under my arm. And I saw them. Two boils. Red and angry. I stared. Not exactly fairytale bride stuff. Tears welled. I felt as ugly as I have ever felt. Despite everyone's efforts. Selfish and ugly.
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I swallowed it down. My photographer friend Kaz arrived. And I dutifully posed for photos. Semi-unclothed. Feeling ridiculous and ugly. Kaz did a great job, but was utterly conscious of my boils. I kept my arms jammed to my side and felt the throb in my nose. You cannot see the sores in the images taken that day, but you can see the self-conscious tension in my face.
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We piled in the be-ribboned Land Cruisers (hey, I'm a country girl) to head to the ceremony at the gorgeous New Farm Park. Dad was quiet beside me - never much of a small talker anyway, the prospect of 'giving away' his eldest daughter perhaps a little overwhelming. Mum chatted brightly to fill the silence. I looked at the gathered crowd filled with my friends and family, amid the bobbing white balloons festooning the rotunda. My stomach fluttered with the balloons. My armpit and nose throbbed up a storm.
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We climbed from the cars and arranged dresses and flowers and flowergirls. I could hear the murmuring of the wedding crowd. I looked for SSB but couldn't see him for balloons. My stomach lurched. Music started and we began to walk - me between Dad and Mum - along the path with 130 guests watching. Suddenly the celebrant darted from the rotunda and up to us.
We're not quite ready, can you start again? I blinked at her.
Not quite ready. Go back to the start?
Was she serious?
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Apparently she was, so we turned around (in full view of everyone) walked back and waited for our signal. I was suddenly angry and embarrassed. How dare she? I pushed these ugly emotions down hard. This was my wedding. I had worked hard to make it perfect.
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And the throbbing of my boils beat a wedding march percussion as we waited and everyone watched, murmuring.
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Finally we were given the signal, and retracing our steps down the path toward my waiting bridegroom. As I mounted the steps into the rotunda, I finally saw him. His handsome face set and still, those
clear blue eyes looking straight into mine. I paused and then noticed the nervous sweat beading his brow. And then he gave a tiny smile. Eyes crinkling in welcome and joy. The most reassuring look of all.
And I was OK.
Suddenly, I felt beautiful.
I could see it in his eyes.
And the photos taken from that point on show the happiness and celebration of the things that mattered most that day. (How gorgeous is my Best Woman? Hello Jeanie!). The goodwill and love of those around me suddenly buoyed me, lifting me above the panic and unease that had so afflicted me just minutes before. The murmuring fell away and sweet silence took over as we faced each other and made our vows.
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It became clear and simple. Something that should have been clear to me much earlier. And something I always say to those nervously preparing to get married. It's not about the dress. Or the shoes. Or the cake. Or the bonbonierie. It's about a couple. Who choose to celebrate their love and commitment with the people who matter in their lives. And it will be a great day, not because of the extraneous decorations, or the detail of the ceremony, but because the love was present and infectious and real.
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Of course, you won't find one photo of me as a bride with my arms above my head.
And two nights later SSB helped me burst and clean up my each of my festering boils.
Now THAT, my friends, is true love.
To her "laughing cavalier", V. 
And then we had visitors galore, amongst whom were my 
I don't know 'bout you, but this image fairly stopped me in my tracks. An old silky petticoat hitched over one shoulder with velcro, a piece of netting, way-too-big gloves and a white material posy... and my three-year-old hellraiser is transformed. 
Oh... oh dear! 
