I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to write about the wedding. It was the second best day of my life after Roald Dahl Day.
The wedding was a very happy occasion attended by ten of our favorite people (twelve people attended, however two of those are not considered “favorites” – I’ll let you guess who’s who).
When we were planning the wedding, we both felt that we wanted it to be a small, intimate affair… in a world-class international airport.
Yes, that’s right… we got married at Vancouver’s YVR airport.
I know what you’re thinking… we’re both pilots. You’re wrong. We’re not pilots (although I would have made a great pilot because I’m focused, self-disciplined and I look great in Ray-Bans). We just really like the airport.
When the husband and I were first dating, we would hang out near the airport and watch the planes land and take off (when we weren’t busy kissing and canoodling). It was one of our favorite things to do (aside from kissing and canoodling).
The airport seemed like the obvious choice.
So, after contacting the multi-faith chapel in the International terminal, and meeting with the Chaplain, and asking the Fairmont Hotel to use their lobby for 30 minutes… we were all set.
We had our wedding photos taken around the terminal before the ceremony – classic poses like me arriving on the baggage carousel, me answering the security phone, the husband “checking in” for his flight, the husband getting a “pat-down” by security.
We gathered in the Fairmont Hotel lobby on the 2nd floor. A small crowd of travelers and airport staff gathered in a nearby corridor to watch the proceedings.
This was not your typical, average, archetypical, everyday, “normal” wedding.
For instance, my father did not walk me down the aisle.
I know what you’re thinking… fathers should be allowed to walk their daughters down the aisle! It’s a tradition that goes back to betrothals and arranged marriages, and it’s an important rite of passage for both fathers and daughters!!!
Easy now! You’re passionate about established practices, aren’t you?
I just meant that my father didn’t walk. I didn’t either. We were transported on a conveyor device… My father did not walk me down an aisle, he escorted me up an escalator.
At the top of the escalator, my dad walked me over to my then-fiancé (now husband) and we started in with the ceremony.
My Gramps (a retired Minister who is still very tight with the Almighty big G), performed the ceremony, which was (apparently) very stirring. I don’t remember anything after the escalator. My mind was somewhere else (Cuba).
When I came back from Cuba (it’s a metaphor), we all headed to the Fairmont Hotel for lunch. As I dug into my endive salad, I remember feeling kind of sick and happy and dizzy all at the same time (and I don’t think it was the wine coolers I chugged pre-ceremony). I think it was the realization that I was now a married woman… and somebody’s wife (my husband’s, specifically).
Eight years later, I look back fondly on that day… the Second Best Day ever!