By Laura Carlo
I went to a wedding yesterday. It was a gorgeous October day. The breeze was just gentle enough to rustle the colored leaves of nearby trees, seeming to applaud as the bride arrived at one of Boston’s “grand dames”---a hotel overlooking the Public Garden. Nothing like an October wedding by candlelight. The hotel was the site of both the marriage ceremony and the reception---a decision the engaged couple made in order to accommodate a gravely ill, beloved grandmother, who was being cared for a few blocks away at Mass General. Now she could attend both the exchange of vows and the formal dinner without having to be transported via ambulance in and out of two buildings. The bride, her Matron of Honor and the 5-year old ring bearer (or “bear” as the child pronounced it) had to walk through the hotel’s public tearoom, absolutely unaware of all the stares (and likely approving whispers) at the site of a too-cute tuxedo-clad little boy, and 2 formally-dressed ladies, one in royal blue, one in a wedding gown of her dreams. A string trio struck the lush chords of Ralph Vaughan Williams’ “Fantasia on Greensleeves,” (something the bride said she had loved since hearing it played by a solo harpist when she was a little girl), and the family and friends gathered there stood to welcome the bridal party. Everyone could see that the bride was never so sure of anything in her life.... seeing the kindest eyes staring back at her with a little smile, her handsome groom standing next to his father, his best man. They gave each other homemade, no, heart-made, gifts---she read him a poem she wrote titled “You Are My Music,” and he in turn, toned down his beautiful, booming opera singer baritone and sang her a quiet pop love song because it was her favorite. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Readers...it was the most romantic wedding I have ever been to. And it was just yesterday...19 years ago. Happy Anniversary, Love.
(photo: Boston Photospherre)