Eight years ago...

It was storming - snowing, sleeting, raining, freezing raining, icing over, and generally getting pretty mucky outside. My father, with tears in his eyes, was putting matching bracelets around the wrists of my mother, my sister, and myself. My friend James was playing the harp nearby quietly. He'd arrived 3 hours early, to soothe our savage nerves with music before the ceremony. Robert was just getting in with the camera and film. Anni was arranging the flowers up front. My little cousins were bouncing with excitement in their new blue dresses, and my other cousin was making sure that they hadn't had a go at the cake.

And I was waiting, my hair carefully done, my nails exquisitely decorated, my mom's necklace around my neck, and my dad's gift around my wrist. Mom had carefully arranged her veil on my head, and all that was left before the ceremony were a few pictures. James must have seen how nervous I was looking, because he changed styles on the harp and turned it into the background for a comedy routine. The picture of me with the really big grin? Well, he'd probably just gotten finished telling a really awful joke.

As I walked up the aisle with my mom and dad, I burst into tears - loud sobs, actually, because I could hardly believe it was really happening and then all of a sudden, it was real and you were waiting there under the chuppa for me. We drank together from the cup that, like your grandparents, came to America to escape the Holocaust. We were wrapped in the same prayer shawl for the blessings, and walked around each other. And we each repeated the beautiful words from the Shir ha Shirim, the Song of Songs: "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine." Our wedding contract was read aloud, and you smashed the cup that Mom insisted we get - the one made from glass made to shatter.

A few minutes of yichud, seclusion, where we'd hoped to break fast, but there was no food, so we laughed together, which was nearly as good.

And then, our reception - vegetarian foods that were kosher and hallal so that any who wanted to could come and eat and celebrate with us. And dance music from a ceileidgh band - English country dances, Scots reels, square dances, waltzes, and polkas. Even my favorite, Strip the Willow. (Hey, a good dance should leave you breathless and a little dizzy.)

And then, the hora, where this time I was the one in the chair, holding on for dear life as I was lifted high above the ground and danced about. I have never been so relieved to have my feet on the ground as after that. So you swept me off into another dance.

And finally, heading off into that storm and driving south, with all the mishaps that occurred as we headed for Virginia.

It's been a great eight years, Love. And I'm looking forward to our further adventures together.