The Weddings
There are weddings and weddings. There are weddings at five o’clock in the morning and weddings at eleven o’clock at night. There are weddings in the pastor’s study, in the pastor’s home, in the bride’s home, in the church building, in a friend’s garden, in a boat and in an airplane. They are married in overalls, in print dresses, in satin and orange blossoms, in tuxedos, in white flannels, with coats or without coats; with ring and flowers, without ring and flowers, and sometimes with the proverbial shotgun. They come on foot, on horseback, in taxis, in ancient and complaining Fords, on motorcycles, and in the latest, slickest and most expensive cars.
The pastor’s home is expected to be open at all hours to any wedding party. It is rather disconcerting at times, say on a Saturday at noon, and the children dirty, with liver and onions cooking for lunch and the odor penetrating through the whole house, and the entire place in the throes of Saturday’s baking and cleaning, to have a couple arrive to get married without any previous announcement. How hastily does the harassed Mrs. Oswald shut the onion smell into the kitchen, shoo the children into the back yard, slip a clean dress over her head with one hand, and with the other do a sleight-of-hand with the mop and other obscene house-cleaning materials, all the while making a mental note that this job should be worth a five!
Whatever chaos may exist in the back part of the house, the living-rooms always must be swept and garnished for “we might have a wedding.” There is no discrimination as to the day; they arrive on wash-days as well as on Saturdays or Fridays. They come when one is beating up an angel-food cake, or ironing the best linen table cloth, or when one is taking a bath, or canning ten gallons of blackberries. All at once they are there. So there is nothing to do but put on a smile, pull up one’s socks, and beam with delight. Sometimes one does get a five!
Anything, Oswald, may happen at a church wedding; so be prepared for any contretemps. You, yourself, may be the tragic victim of circumstance. One preacher, to my certain knowledge, went to a sunrise wedding, at five o’clock on a Sunday morning, wearing instead of a collar button a Boy Scout thing-a-ma-jig to hold his collar to his shirt.   In the dim light of early  morning his collar button rolled away to parts unknown and in sheer desperation the clergyman borrowed the above-mentioned thing-a-ma-jig from his small son. The ceremony was performed with none the wiser except the preacher’s wife, who had an unaccountable nervous manner all through the service.
Now, Oswald, I want to give you the real dope on church weddings.
Like home weddings they may occur at any hour, day or night. The type of clothes worn is uncertain. The wedding party may be in street clothes or in sports clothes or in the most correct formal attire. The bride may wear any kind of dress or hat or veil and carry any sort of flowers from gardenias to sunflowers.
Sometimes the groom forgets the ring or the license, or the bride is late. The pianist will make a false start or two, or the soloist will achieve a gurgle instead of a true soaring note. The soloist will sing anything from “O Promise Me” to “God Will Take Care of You.” Two of the candles go out. These minor matters are forgotten as soon as the bride begins her long, slow glide to the altar. The groom slips out of the side door like a scared rabbit coming out of a thicket, preparing to make a dash for freedom. Only he never does. There are those in the audience who speculate on what would happen should he attempt it and hope sometime to see it. The best man stumbles. The groom is in a trance. The bride fondly hopes that she looks like the celebrated Cara Blow. The bride’s mother is wondering if the ice cream will hold out and if Bridget will remember to thin the salad dressing, and if they made enough salad. The bride’s father is conscious of next month’s bills and thanks God his last girl is married. Another splurge like this would put him in the poor-house.
The minister looks the very acme of dignity. However, he is not musing on dignified nor heavenly subjects. Far from it; his mind is occupied wholly with an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach and he wonders if coffee could be causing his indigestion and notes that his coat is getting too tight. He feels sure that if he should stoop the thing would split. He resolves to breathe gently just to be safe and immediately struggles with a desire to sneeze.
To go back to the bride: She advances down the aisle looking like an angel in her flowing white. The audience gently exhales in admiration. The groom slowly comes to meet the bride. Her lips move. The spectators suppose her to be counting, one—two—one—two—one —two—. What she really says is, “That darn fool is out of step!” referring to the groom. He, poor soul, comes forward on leaded feet. His  thoughts are so muddled that they resemble a composite picture of the illustrations of “Alice in Wonderland.” His most coherent thought is strangely of the old swimming hole back of the pasture, out on the farm, and he decides he’d rather be there in its cool depths than anywhere else in the world; he notes idly that the preacher has an inordinately big nose; then realizes in desperation that the tall thing in white coming to meet him so inescapably is no one he ever saw before. She seems not to possess a familiar feature. How terrible; there is some mistake; he is resigned to marrying a complete stranger. Perhaps it IS Sue after all; but they have done things to her hair, and to her face with powder and paint.
They gather at the altar. The ring is dropped. The replies are inaudible. The bride is a vision of loveliness and dainty girlhood. She seems to be a celestial being, fit only for heavenly places as she turns and floats down the aisle on the arm of her husband. As she nears the door, she opens her lovely mouth to speak. “This damned corn is killing me!”
And the food at weddings! There are proper repasts of correctly served dainties; and there are refreshments, especially at home weddings, calculated to throw one into mental spasms just from the effort involved in trying to figure out why soda pop and bananas are considered appropriate, and by whom; or why cheese and chili, or ham sausage and dill pickles, or why salmon mayonnaise at six o’clock in the morning.
They will always ask, “Now what do I owe you?” and will pay you anything from a cord of wood to $25. Often you will receive a dollar from which you must deduct the cost of the certificate with which you present them, leaving you the nice sum of sixty-five cents for your trouble. They will ask you to drive them twelve miles in your own car, and promise to “see you Monday” and then forget all about it when Monday comes.
Oh, yes, this business of weddings holds about it the thrill of the unexpected. So, Oswald, get yourself a nice long-tailed coat, and memorize a ceremony or two (which you will never be able to remember but must always cling desperately to your little black book) and put your living room in order and await weddings. Sometimes they come slowly, but sooner or later they come! And each one will be different and interesting, and a rich study in human nature.
Posted in CHAPTER SIX
You may try to persuade yourself that this is an ordinary book — in order that you may find comfort in the persuasion - but you cannot do so and be fair to facts.