There is so much to record in relation to my experience of getting married that I am going to have to split it into sections. This section will take you up to the altar and into the arms of my awaiting groom.
I was out of bed before the alarm even went off. As I noted in my last blog, I didn’t sleep very well the night before the wedding. I don’t know of many brides who do. My friend Karen was apparently up doing her nails at 4am. Unfortunately I didn’t spend the night doing anything quite so practical – just worrying and wondering!
I woke up and knew I was tired, perhaps I could go so far as to say I was drained, already! I had got married 30 times during the night so what do you expect? I knew I had to eat a big breakfast as fuel for my panic stricken body was needed. The panic was by no means fear of getting married or of the future – nothing so dramatic. It was stress related simply to my perfectionist tendancies and worry that maybe something would go wrong on the day. Control freak is a term with which I am fairly familiar.
Nena and I went down to breakfast and joined my Mum, Step Dad, Dad and everyone else who passed by the table to wish me well – including the Groom! I know you are not supposed to see the Groom before the wedding but he didn’t know that – being Spanish and laid back. I wasn’t too fussed about that tradition anyway. I was happy to have been able to see that he was here, well, not hung over, ready and excited.
A few problems started to arise, such as: my Bridesmaid Heather refusing to stand up and translate my Father’s speech into Spanish (she lives here in Spain also and it is through me coming over to her birthday party that I met Jose Ramon in the first place); my mother in law refusing to have her hair dried in the hotel due to their not being air conditioning, and telling everyone else on the list for the poor hairdresser enlisted that their hair was going to look rubbish. I busied myself solving these hick ups for a while and then set off to the salon for my appointments accompanied by Nena and my mother in law. My mother in law was coming to try and get an appointment in my salon and Nena was continuing to be amazing and was coming with me to keep me company. By this point I was really regretting not having asked Nena to be my bridesmaid, as I had been doing for months. Nena was so naturally taking on the bridesmaid roles, and not through duty but through friendship and the big heart that she has. My other best friend Jo (Juanita Banana to avid readers of this blog) would also, without a doubt, have been amazing at helping me in these ways, but she was stuck in San Francisco unable to attend for fear of deportation from the United States (long story!).
The hair and makeup sessions went really well. Nena was great at helping to make all the vital last minute decisions – individual or strip false eyelashes, height of bun in my hair etc etc. I looked fabulous by the end of it even if I do say so myself! We then had to dash back to the hotel in the rain ……..but my fantastic Mum had popped down with an umbrella mid session to save us – she was thinking of everything.
A few of the men from in law family were gathered in the hotel reception so Nena expertly diverted them whilst I legged it to the elevator, adamant that they shouldn’t see my hair and make up. I was going for maximum impact at the big entrance at the church doors!
Upstairs in the honeymoon suite we were joined by my Mum, sister, the photographers and with not very long to go Heather. The photographer was snapping away as I climbed into my dress and prepared myself. If you have been married or have seen a close friend’s photos then you know the routine – dreamy looks out to the distance, posing on the four poster bed, shots of the shoes, the tiara ……. Throughout all of this my legs were starting to give way. They were seriously trembling. I’d have given Elvis Presley a run for his money. No one noticed because they were hidden by my enormous dress but I seriously wondered how I would walk with these rubber pins. My stomach was starting to become a problem also. The old washing machine effect was beginning to make an appearance. At one point I had to tell my Mum to get everybody out and then to help me get myself to the toilet whilst still in “the dress” – which had a personality all of its own. It was somewhat of an accomplishment to lift the weight of that dress above my head whilst jammed in at one side by a wall. I know that it is quite normal for a toilet to be positioned alongside a wall but honestly how inconvenient! Honeymoon suites, at least, should not present this design fault.
It was nearing time to set off to the church, but we could still here Spaniards outside in the street below my terrace. Heather yelled to them in Spanish to get to the church and hurry up. “Why?” was a response I heard from one of them! I don’t think they understood that I would not be leaving the room until they were sat down in the church. In Spain they often wait outside the church to see the bride arrive. No way Jose, maximum impact at church doors remember!
The guests finally cleared off and I was able to make my descent to the hotel lobby, where I was cooed and wowed over by random women down there. One Scottish lady reminded me to swap my engagement ring over to the other hand. Thank you that lady!
Dad and the chauffer squashed me into the back of the vintage car and off we went, accompanied by cheers, applause, beaming faces and thumbs up all the way through the streets of Harrogate. I felt like a film star!
When we turned into Robert Street, we could see that Jose and his ushers and bestmen were still outside the church. I panicked that they would see me. Dad covered my face at the window and ordered the driver to drive on, fast, and hide at the end of the road. They seemed to get the hint when the car sped past and they made there way in which enabled us to come out of hiding and pour me out of the car.
The two ushers at the doorway seemed to just be staring at me. They didn’t say “you look lovely” or anything like that. They just stared – but there expressions told me everything. They hadn’t seen me like that before.
After a few photos at the church doors with my Dad, I told the ushers to open the doors. Dad and I were standing there facing the aisle and as the doors opened there were camera flashes going off like a movie premier. As we stepped forward out of the sun and into the church there was what every girl wants to hear – an audible gasp from the women and some of the men. Suddenly, the rubber legs turned to legs of a race horse – strong and agile and wanting to go forward. The washing machine stomach settled and I began to float. I enjoyed walking down the aisle so much. I took in where everyone was, smiled at people, enjoyed the music, even had a little comedy wiggle of my bum to the melody ……. but all the time I was heading for my man and meeting his eyes and matching his emotion. He was radiating such happiness but also looked like he was going to cry. He was, at this point far less in control looking than I was. Overawed I think was how he described himself.
It was a defining moment when my Dad took my hand and placed it in Jose’s hand. Both men looking each other in the eye to acknowledge the seriousness of what they were symbolising by this action. From that moment, and more so throughout the ceremony, we were joined as a unit which will never be broken.
I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.
S xx
