7 anni e volare

On this day* seven years ago, Terry took my hand in marriage.  I cried (while he laughed) through the course of our vows in the small chapel of the church I attended as a child.  We rode to the Carter Center for our reception in a haze of unbelief.  The day had finally arrived.

By the time we pulled up to the Center, we were escorted again by 2 bossy wedding specialists in 2 different directions.  The dreaded moment for our first dance debut was imminent.  And in true Italian-American fashion, we would meet each other on the dance floor after our bridal party like a Broadway production, and the musician would cue the sacred sounds of this magical first song.

There were 3 big problems, however:

1. We're not Fred and Ginger.  While we had danced before, it was usually separate and ugly.  And we're certainly not the types to rehearse dancing beforehand either.

2. We kinda didn't want the over-the-top Italian-American thing.  Concessions were made (for my grandmother and the many other older Italian family and friends who would be present) for Italian wedding cookies, a non-fondant cake due to the "numbuh of diabetics who'd be theyuh", those wrist pouches that brides are to wear on their thrones when accepting the Italian cash gift, certain menu items that I could have gone without, having it held indoors because "no one wants to remembuh your day with bug bites, Deruh" (and when our hall overlooked the most beautiful gardens in Atlanta!), the flower toss and awful garder thing, and... the first dance.  So already, bad attitude about the whole thing.

3.  Our biggest request (requesting because my mama was shelling out for all of this, by the way) was that we had a real band (good music) there instead of a DJ that would spin Celene Dion, Kool and the Gang, and Richard Marx.  No offense to that music or the weddings that played them, but we just wanted different.  And so, we hired a friend and his band who could be trusted. But, every wedding has it's snafus, and our wedding's snafu was that our friend's band wound up being only our friend, the solo act, that night.  He did pretty well considering he was short 3 guys (and had to rent a PA system an hour before the reception), but he was not ready for that first dagnabbit song.  This ultimately only made the awkward even more awkward.

Let me paint this doozie of a picture for you.  This moment, by the way, is my favorite memory from that entire day:

While the guests (or my Broadway audience) sat waiting for the music to begin, and as Terry and I stood in the most awkward embrace of our life, what was probably only 30 seconds felt like an eternity.  And in swooped the most unsuspecting super hero.

 

My great aunt Diana (on the left), in her 70's, whose body was failing from emphysema, who was small and frail only in appearance but who's intoxicating personality was bigger than anyone else I've ever known... she stood up and belted out:



Aunt Diana saved the day, and it's oneof the last memories I have of her before she passed away.  Terry and I think about it often, and the song has a special place in our hearts.  Viva la guido weddings!

As for the original song, we decided on this:



The song eventually came, and it was good. Our first dance/songs were memorable to say the least.

(Terry is going to kill me, if he finds out I posted these.  He always said that these first 2 photos appear as though I was teaching him how to walk for the first time.  Can you feel the awkward?  Oh, and forgive the quality... nothing like taking a photo of a photo in an unlit house.)

 

(Yup. Still awkward.)

As the night progressed and cheeks became ever more cramped from forced smiles, the champagne cured my ailments. We had the most amazingly beautiful day, thanks to my parents, my extended familia, Terry's mom, friends, and the groom... who has yet to forget our anniversary, sohelpme. We left the reception late into the night under a canopy of sparklers, hopped into our tiny VW unscathed, and drove off into newlywed bliss (drunk and fast asleep on our wedding night.)

Keep liking me, Terry.


*pretend like this is October 5, 2009.