17 years ago today at 4:30 pm
on an unseasonably warm day in Indianapolis, Indiana,
Monte and I got married.
Well, it was probably more like 4:45 pm because my brothers didn't realize that they were supposed to roll out the aisle runner before the flower girl could drop the petals and my dad could walk me down the aisle.
When they were finally alerted that they were "holding up the show", they bolted down the aisle so fast
and they were laughing
that the roll kept going off center and banging into the ends of the pews.
Which made them laugh more.
It is on tape. I've seen it.
But all that was AFTER my great-uncle Bob
who married us as well as my parents 30 years before
was talking with Monte in a little room behind the altar
without realizing his microphone was already on.
Guests in the church looked all around and finally up as if God Himself was speaking
directly to Monte.
Again, on tape.
Watched the whole thing.
I could have written a book from the misspellings of the name on our wedding cards alone. You could definitely tell if it was from the groom's side or bride's--just from the spelling.
Rabbit trail: our worst misspelling story was from a piece of junk mail we received while living in Atlanta. The mail was from the Holland, Michigan Bulb Company.
In VERY LARGE DARK BOLD PRINT the outside of the envelope read:
THIS COULD BE THE HARTMANFART GARDEN.
Yeah, it really did.
Two problems came from that one piece of mail.
1). We were out of town when that letter came and our friend was retrieving our mail. So for YEARS after that, our Christmas card came addressed to the HARTMANFARTs.
2). The Holland, Michigan Bulb Company sold the fictitious Hartmanfart name to EVERY company known to man. We got many letters for the Hartmanfarts. I lost it when the phone calls started.
Salesperson: Is Mr. or Mrs. Hartmanfart home?
Me: Listen to what you just said. Are you kidding me?
There is no Hartmanfart!
Monte tried to role play with me to add a little humor to the situation:
Salesperson: Mr. Hartmanfart?
Monte: Yes, but the 'fart' is silent.
17 years ago, we stood before my Great-uncle Bob who pronounced us
once we said I Do
(my name is Karmen, my mom is Karen)
and Monte Hatrack.
That seems like yesterday. Yet so much has happened since.
A big move from Georgia to Ohio sight unseen with a one-month-old.
Lots of house renovations.
So much living.
Yet if I close my eyes,
I can still feel the scratchy beading on the bodice of my wedding dress.
I can hear Vince Vivaldi playing "Christmas Time Is Here".
I can see my 3-year-old niece dancing at the reception.
I can see my dear family members who are no longer walking on this earth.
Like my grandfather, PaPa,
who picked out a new tie for the wedding
so it would match the bridesmaid dresses.
I said 'see', not 'hear'--that's key
"You Are So Beautiful" and trying so hard to hit that high note at the end.
I can hear forks and knives on the plates.
Glasses clanging in toasts to us.
It was all so humbling to be surrounded by so many people that loved us.
But the most important one was the one I said I DO to.
And I say I Do again.