My brother and his wife married thirty eight years ago today. The day was warmish, but gray. The ceremony took place in the Good Shepherd Church- the building is round. They chose to have a small wedding party. I sat with my parents for this one.
For some reason in the receiving line, I cried like a crazy little girl. I wore the yellow dress that Diane wore in Paula's first wedding. I'm sobbing at not quite thirteen at my brother's wedding with no idea why, feeling foolish as people filtered through the receiving line. Soon though, I overcame the weepies.
The reception at the Knights of Columbus was a lot of fun. A spring wedding, we, women, donned sandals and fancy long dresses. These were the days before weather channel or twenty four hour news. Saturdays we didn't watch much TV during the day, especially with a big event to attend. The snow storm came as a great surprise.
We all tromped through the inches of snow. Someone chose me to ride with Hank, the best man. He was a Marine with Danny, a gator man from Florida, loved his chew. My brother-in-law, Thom, laughed that it was like the blind leading the blind. I rode home with Hank, in his big Cadillac, him chewing and spitting into a beer can between his legs, talking fast with that southern accent in the blizzard.
We made it the six miles from Sharon to West Middlesex safely. My brother is still married. When people always talk about the St. Patrick's Day blizzard, I remember the March 23rd one.