Maybe we’re hanging tough because we did it twice that day.
By three thirty in the afternoon Oliver and I were technically married in the eyes of the German government. This point is where many people in Germany stop and go have dinner. The rest go to church and do the religious version. We did neither. Our second ceremony, that took place later that same day, is one that often occurs in the USA and is practically unheard of over here. Working together with a ‘theologist’ that we’d found, we planned a second ceremony that took place in the ‘central park’ of Bremen, on a stage right next to our reception site.
Now, when looking through the photos in my flickr slideshow please know that Oliver’s mom gets all the credit for the location, flowers and decorations. It is amazing what that woman accomplished using one Best of Martha Stewart Weddings magazine, some vague babblings in pigeon German from me, and a hell of a lot of determination. With such a setting as she created, there was no way the rest of the day could be anything but perfect. Which it was.
My parents, by the way, get oodles of credit for their part in giving us a wonderful wedding that they didn’t get to have the fun of planning, and they managed to fly to Europe twice in less than a year (the second actually reclining their seats).
I’ll spare you the details that probably only matter to me. Two months later I have the following residual images still floating in my head:
-Hearing my mother recount how my brother and his wife missed their connection in San Francisco, where they were supposed to join my parents to fly to Germany and realizing she came close to storming the cockpit to hold the plane
-Standing in the hotel lobby, ready to go, realizing I hadn’t printed my vows and hastily scribbling down what I could remember on borrowed paper, ignoring interested gazes of patrons checking in
– One of the hits of the evening: My father’s speech / slide show presentation in which he shared naked baby pictures and lingered for a very long time on a particularly authentic image of me dressed up for a Pimp n’ Ho party in college (Mom was so proud she’d had it framed).
– The best man’s speech (thankfully in German) telling how Oliver and I met, taking some humorous liberties with some of the facts at the expense of my reputation (coupled with the hooker pic, it seemed pretty believable)
– My Uncle Dave , the dancing champion of the evening, at one point his moves were so impressive that one guest took off running for home and was never heard from again
– Receiving a Red Rickshaw from India (including shipping to Munich and the US for vacation)
– One of the other presents caught fire
– At least three guest couplings occurred, a particularly proud point, as this is the sign of a good wedding
– My cousin David, the Romeo of the evening, having several women throw themselves at him, and then doing his very best to fend them off
– The snack wagon rolling in at 2:30am to administer Döner and Currywurst to fortify the guests still standing
– Dancing on the bar began at about 5 am
– Walking back to the hotel in full daylight at 7:30, with the hardcore group who partied with us through the night.
Almost two months later and I still have nerve damage in my feet and toes from wearing heels all night. I don’t care if no one saw them but me, they were cute and Oliver’s tall. Good times, great party, see for yourselves!