Because 25 years deserves more than just a Facebook status update.

Hard to believe it’s been a quarter of a century.  I’ve been married to Frank longer than I wasn’t.  We were just kids:  I was 24 and he was 26, babies by today’s standards.  Most people didn’t know we were already married – a quick courthouse ceremony to satisfy immigration requirements.  This was the big church do:  white dress, tuxedo, flowers, cake, friends and family.

And they came from everywhere.  His parents had never been on a plane before.  In flying across an ocean to be with us, they missed the birth of their first grandchild.  (My niece Lisa has the dubious distinction of being the only relative whose birthday I will never forget!) Her parents came nearly as far both in distance and in mindset:  her mother had finally come around to the master’s degree marrying the mechanic.  It would be just a few short months before she gave the bride the motherly advice of “you’ve got a good guy there – don’t blow it”.

Because there were so many out-of-town attendees, the rehearsal dinner was more like tailgating before the big game.  In a small room at the famous Brickskeller restaurant, they gathered for drinks and camaraderie.  By the time we arrived at the church the next morning, they would be fast friends.  She got up extra early for the big wedding hair and make up appointment.  It would be days before she got all the hairspray out of her hair.  He had to deal with some slightly hungover groomsmen.  They arrived at the church to be greeted by a march against homelessness through the tony streets of Georgetown led by the famous activist Mitch Snyder.  The church was the one that Kennedy had attended.  It held ten times as many people as would be in attendance that day.

They would be wed by a professor of economics at Georgetown University who was also a Jesuit priest.  The conservative priest in the church near their apartment wouldn’t marry them because they were living together.  The fact that immigration rules required it wouldn’t sway his judgement that we were building our house on sand and not stone.  So we opted to be the fifth couple the economist had married and since 3 of the 4 couples were still together, he thought he was doing pretty well.  They had a full Catholic mass, not because it was something they wanted but because that’s how it worked out.  Readings went off with out a hitch, everyone behaved.  No fodder for reality TV here.

And then the celebrating continued.  Even though it was a morning wedding, the party lasted all afternoon and well into the evening.  They survived the DJ botching the bride’s name (as if Frank would marry someone named Sharon!) and they did the traditional dances. And some not so traditional ones – I haven’t yet been to a wedding where there was such a response to “Take the Skinheads Bowling” on the dance floor. Her mother was having so much fun that she didn’t want things to end and ran around writing checks to people to stay “just one more hour”.

Then it was done.  The months of planning, hours of consultations, gallons of wine, and gardens of flowers had contributed to a wonderful celebration.  And those two youngsters are still together – not so young in age but in spirit.  They have built a fabulous life together, raised two wonderful and amazing children, and have another half century or so to look forward to together.

To our family and friends who were there to celebrate with us that day: thank you for helping us this life off to a great start.  To those who have enriched our lives since then, thank you for helping us continue what they started.  It’s been an amazing ride and we can’t wait for the next round.

And to my beloved husband and best friend, there would be no life without you.