It'll be easy

“It’ll be easy,” Richard said when I told him that he’d set a task for the 2 of us today, meaning his suggestion for us to write something pithy and heartfelt about the other and recite it during our wedding ceremony today at 5. Yes, let it be easy, usually a good maxim for me and my penchant for rigid perfectionism, but hearing Richard saying it this morning gave me the urge to reply “Oh, yeah? Sez you!”

Yes, we’re getting married, we’re making it official, taking advantage of Vermont’s right to same-sex marriage. A lot of people feel that the right to get married was the compelling pull that drew us here in the first place, but no, not true. The pull that brought us and keeps us here is still a bit of a mystery. And marriage has never been a thing I’ve been that excited about, whether it’s heterosexual or homosexual. I do admire those who are passionate about it. I do love being in these heady times where that right may very well be argued in front of the Supreme Court of the United States later this year. I often feel as if it should mean more to me. And who knows, maybe it does. Maybe there’s a disconnect between what I say and what I feel, the head and the heart.

The other day when the Justice of the Peace stopped by to go over the script for the ceremony and I read it out loud, I was amazed by how I potent these simple words were. I thought ‘Oh, this is something important, this thing we’re about to do.’ It was a bit of a déjà vu. I looked over to Richard and smiled, wondering if he was thinking the same thing I was thinking, namely, our commitment ceremony in Los Angeles in March of 1999. It had taken us/me a while to get to that day. We’d been together for 5 years. We’d taken baby steps of commitment - moving in together, buying rings for one another; however, I had balked at the idea of a ceremony to cement the relationship. Cold feet? Perhaps. But coupled with that was my indignation that the act had to be politicized, that I couldn’t simply do it because I loved Richard. A future guest at the ceremony would later say, “This had to be about love because you certainly weren’t getting anything from the government by doing it.” But despite all my inner wranglings over whether to do it or not, one morning I surprised Richard by asking him to – what? I didn’t ask him to marry me. What did I say? ‘Wanta have a commitment ceremony?’ It couldn’t have been that, that sounds so lame. And I know it sounded good. It was well thought out for perfect dramatic effect, a nice balance between simple and heartfelt and WOW. The same balance I hope to conjure up for today. Well, I can’t remember exactly what I said back then, be that as it may. Richard was bowled over, happy, and we dove into plans for the big day. And there were invitations and a cake and showers. We decided to have the ceremony at our home, outside, weather permitting, on March 27th. We invited 75 of our closest friends to attend. And we invited our families. My sister was my Best Person. And my mom and dad, divorced for 25 years, both came. “Who would’ve thought that the event to bring mom and dad back together, “ my sister wryly intoned, “would be their son’s gay wedding.” And that’s what many mistakenly called it, a “wedding.” There was a last minute push by our activist minister presiding over the rite, Mel White, to make the day political; he wanted us to publicize it, have tv cameras there, but no, we didn’t feel it was fair to our invited friends (my mom would’ve probably loved it). And it was important to both of us that it be about our love for one another, first and foremost, that nothing over shadow that. The day was exquisite, sunny and warm, perfect. We’d had a spate of soggy weather preceding the day so we really lucked out. We set up chairs in rows on our front lawn which magically appeared around tables for the reception following a quick reception line through our living room. There were a few little snags – our photographer didn’t show up (Richard’s brother Mike came to the rescue and now takes wedding pictures as a profession) and there was an accident out on the Hollywood Freeway which held up the proceedings for an hour, forcing our dear friend Patrick to wear his fingers to the bone playing the same 3 introductory songs on his harp over and over again in slightly different tempos and keys to give a little variety. Finally we began and as we stood there under our huge camphor tree, out under the clear California sky, in front of our supportive family and friends, uttering those words that had been said in so many ways by so many people in love throughout time, the power of the act filled everything around about us. You could see it in the expressions of our friend’s faces, the tears in their eyes, you could feel it in the air, you could almost touch it. This mysterious something. We honored our parents for being there and gave them each a red rose and embraced them. More tears. Various friends spoke passages from plays or prayers, some sang, one smudged our rings with sage invoking a Navajo blessing. And we spoke our love for one another through the agreed upon liturgy. We’d memorized our rites. Richard went up on his lines, just a bit, but it felt good saving him, as if it were a performance, looking into each other’s eyes and giving one another strength, being present in this miraculous day, with our love for one another, aware that we both had decided to take our relationship to another level in the presence of the people most dear to us. At the end of the ceremony we faced the congregation and were introduced as life partners. And then we partied. Richard catered the reception dinner himself. Wine and champagne and cosmopolitans flowed generously. A jazz band played on the side patio. It was a grand day.

So we’ve had our party. We’ve had the presents and the do. And now it seems fitting to New England and to Vermont to have a simple ceremony at the Town Meeting Hall, in the presence of a Justice of the Peace and 9 of our local friends and tie the knot. It also seems appropriate that this desire to get married, like the decision to move to Vermont, came a bit out of nowhere. There’s mystery and magic in it. We were moved by a friendly force beyond our ken and control. We’ve come to expect that here. And that’s fine, letting something be easy. There are enough difficult things that life (or a New England winter say) will bring that we will have to contend with; we don’t have to manufacture difficulty. Why not focus on ease and grace and enjoying the ride. And Richard certainly continues to help teach me that.

I’m going to start writing the words for Richard now. Wish me luck.
No, wish me ease and grace and an effortless simplicity in expressing myself, in expressing my heart.

I intend a fantastic day with my husband and our dear friends.