Redux Defined, and Helpfully Illustrated

Wikipedia defines redux as meaning "brought back, restored," so it quite captures this moment of remarriage. But the concept is best illustrated above, as in, Re: ducks.

Yes, here we are, two lucky ducks (a gift of Deborah and Betsy, Bridesmaids-in-Absentia-To-Be, but more on that later). Suffice it to say this ducky bride and groom were a timely contribution to an already extensive rubber duck collection, which started with baby Nat in the tub almost 27 years ago.

And now we were about to have a second chance at matrimonial bliss.

"'Second chance?'" you ask? "Haven't you been there, done that? Didn't you get... divorced?"

So, yeah, that's right: we did. But I'm fond of saying our divorce saved our marriage. Sometimes you have to grow apart to grow together, and that was true for us. Thus, after nearly seven years of a restored peaceable kingdom here at the Beebe-Whitehill, um, crib (you'll understand later), we were ready to renew our nuptials, contract a connubial connection (hmm, that sounds contagious): in sum, we were ready to honor our hymeneal hopes.

Yeah, right.

It's true, we really did want to do all of that, but in fact this particular occasion was actually a shotgun wedding. No, no, no - there are no proverbial buns in the oven, but our CPA holds the weapon, giving us until Dec. 31st to salvage our reputation as the Most Fiscally Irresponsible Couple in Recent Memory.

You see, our crib, that is to say, our home, for the last seven years, is in my name, but I don't make enough money to get the full deduction on the mortgage interest, and Mark, who pays the mortgage and could really use the tax break, can't deduct the interest because his name is not on the deed.

Indeed.

"Is this a problem?" we asked our CPA. "How much could we have actually saved otherwise?" "Well," he replied mournfully, "Thousands and thousands."

Like Homer Simpson might have said,

"DOPE."

It's true, we've been financial dopes.

Well, dope springs eternal in the human breast. Or is it hope? Of course, Woody Allen said,

"Marriage is the death of hope."

We're kind of hoping it's the death of dope.

Besides, no less than Samuel Johnson concluded,

"Remarriage is the triumph of hope over experience."

In sum, we do remain hopeful, but in our case remarriage is the triumph of federal tax laws over dopey but blissful inertia.

Now the thing was to figure out who, what, where, when and how to make this marriage redux happen. We had about a week.

True Story

We were late for our own wedding, the first time. Yes, anyone who knows Mark knows that Punctual is not his middle name. It isn't even in his vocabulary. The man is an eternal optimist, being convinced that no matter how delayed his departure, he'll still get there on time. And thus, we were so late for our own wedding that he walked down the aisle at Temple Beth-El on May 30, 1981, with his car keys in his hand.

My expression post-ceremony, above, says it all.

It will come as no surprise, then, that even knowing December 31st was our deadline, we waited until December 22nd to apply for our marriage license. I believe it was on December 23rd that it occurred to us we would need to find someone to tie the proverbial knot in a relatively legal way, and some place to do it. Intrepid Googler that I am, I entered "justice of the peace Tacoma" and discovered that there is a listing for Irish Moonservices right here in Gig Harbor. Now there was convenience, and, picturing a charming couple of Celtic clergy, I promptly placed the call.



They never called back.

So I did further research. Turns out that Irish Moonservices is also a (get this) housecleaning service. We took considerable delight in imagining how they would come to our place, vacuum, clean from top to bottom and then put the Windex down, pull off their rubber gloves and have us repeat our vows.

Hmm. Maybe it was better that they didn't call back, though our house could use a good vacuuming.

A Heavenly Ceremony

Well, Google came through again by offering a considerably better option than Irish Moonservices Housecleaning/Wedding Officiants/Front for the Mafia (for all we know): Heavenly Ceremony, voted "Best Officiant Finalist" by Seattle Bride Magazine. The Reverends Kent Buttars and Pat Stimac, married for 34 years and as charming and helpful and kind a couple as you'd ever want to meet, offered their services. They were available for December 29th at 6:00 p.m., so at last we had a "when."


Now we were getting somewhere.

Except not very quickly, on Mark's part.

Going Nowhere Fast

Mark, you see, is a man who goes non-stop. His cheerful, indefatigable energy is legendary, although (as we have established) he's always late. Thus, he's also a man who doesn't shy from a speeding ticket. (And thanks to Pre-Paid Legal, he's a man who never has to pay for one.)

However, it was during this wedding planning frenzy that the coup de grâce for getting anywhere fast was delivered: While proceeding down the driveway for Karma's late-night walk my Dearly Beloved skidded on some moss, bending back his knee, fracturing his tibia plateau, and tearing his ACL and posterior lateral cartilage. He hadn't done that since about 40 years ago after an accident playing soccer.

Talk about hitting the skids. Our nuptials just got "kneed" in the nups.

In the meantime, we still hadn't figured out where we should marry, what we should say, who should come, and, most pressing, what I would wear.

The Bride Wore Black

Well, the "who" to invite by that time was easy. We were down to Nat, Amira, and Karma. In all good conscience I knew that during the Christmas holidays not even the would-be-bridesmaids should be prevailed upon with only two days' notice to drop everything and show up for an impromptu wedding. Besides, we weren't even sure where we were going to have the bloomin' event.

In the meantime, more pressing, of course, was my attire. A wedding dress? That sounded worrisomely like the Call of the Mall. I generally only go to the Mall if national security is at stake, but (fortunately) there wasn't enough time to shop. Besides, did I really need to buy a new dress just to get married?

And the answer, of course, was of course not. My Bridesmaid-in-Absentia, Deborah, had given me a perfectly lovely dress a couple of years ago that I love. So it was black. Big deal. As soon as someone reassured me that Sarah Jessica Parker wore black at her wedding, I knew I was good to go.

I mean, I do wear a WWSJPD (What Would Sarah Jessica Parker Do) bracelet.

Okay. Not quite. I haven't even seen her movie or TV show.

My wedding dress, forthwith.



Add to it the sterling silver dinosaur pin fiercely extending its heart, as pictured below, and given to me by the other Bridesmaid-in-Absentia, Betsy, and I was good to go.


(And no, I didn't wear the cat mask, although I would have liked to.)

Ceremony Options

So we've got the dress, we'll figure out where to do the deed at some point, and that left how to do the ceremony. Kent and Pat had thoughtfully passed along some wedding templates, each with charming designations such as the Petunia, the Moonstone, the Topaz, and even, somewhat oddly, the Nicotiana, (pictured above, and a dubious inspiration for a marriage template if I ever heard of one, though I suppose if you're a nicotine addict Flowering Tobacco has its matrimonial appeal).

I, on the other hand, had a more refined inspiration for the occasion, and one morning I woke up here at our crib (that's hip-hop for home for all you wannabe gangstas) channeling... um, rap.


Yes, rap. So much more than words. I think there is also sometimes a beat. No music, though. Forget a memorable tune. And though words are involved, many of them are unintelligible, and the rest of them are either insulting or otherwise offensive. (Jay-Z, Tupac, Mr. BrainWash, Kanye West, Lil Wayne, 50-Cent, NO-Centz, 'NGlorious Basterd, Notorious B.I.G., and Infamous A.B.C. - feel free to include your own favorite rap artist here - notwithstanding.)

It's true, I have heretofore failed to grasp rap's appeal (try saying that fast three times).

Sorry, Nat.

But that didn't stop me. It all started with "It don't take no tax accountant" rolling around in my head, and the rest followed, as follows.

IT DON’T TAKE NO TAX ACCOUNTANT

You call this a shotgun weddin’?
It’s more than that, you’d best be bettin’
Sure, we gather on this fine day
At the behest of our CPA
But it don’t take no tax accountant -
Bring the debt – our love surmount it
Take your dollars and go figure
We got love that’s gettin’ bigger
We got time that’s gettin’ shorter
With what’s left we will cavort, or
We’ll just revel in our doldrums.
When you think, y’know it all comes
Down to this, if you got kisses -
You got Mr.’s, you got Ms.’s -
You got kids you want to teach to
‘Bout knowing how to each do
The whole business of relationship -
Well, it ain’t easy, you gonna trip
You gonna struggle, could divorce
But just remember: there’s a force
Even stronger than your ego
It controls us, wherever we go
Shows the lesson, if you learn it
Gives the blessing, if you earn it
The best in you, the best in me
Will help us find our Destiny.

It’s not about no damn tax table
It’s showin’ y’all that we are able
To grow together, and apart:
To split yet find we share one heart
A life that’s blessed with you and me
A life that’s birthed this fam-i-ly
(Including that old canine charmer
Right here now – the one called Karma)

Looked like this was all just practical?
Turns out it is more didactical
A chance to share a philoso-“fee”:
The love starts here with you and me
We can add or subtract, we can sure save money
But this here’s a fact: it’s all good…with my honey.

By golly, we were just about ready for this affair.

Hotel Sorrento

Everything else seemed to be falling in place: the who, the what, the when, the how. I had an idea of what to say in the ceremony, beyond the requisite, "Do you take your awful wedded yada yada" required by law to legalize the occasion. And we had our duds planned out: I had the dress, and Mark could wear the black cashmere v-neck sweater that Amira gave him for Christmas. We were mostly all set, but where were we going to do the deed? The Right Reverend Kent had offered that we could marry at his and Pat's home in Green Lake, but Mark really wanted Karma there, and Pat is allergic to dogs.

Well, Google to the rescue once again. I did a search for pet-friendly accommodations and Hotel Sorrento came up. I love old, elegant hotels, and the Hotel Sorrento with its ancient brass elevator the size of a telephone booth was just the ticket. I called, and it turns out they had a suite, wouldn't charge us an arm and a leg for Karma, and even upgraded our room just out of the sheer niceness of the reservation desk person.

We finally had a plan.

The Blessed Day Arrives

It was Wednesday, December 29th. The plan was for Amira to drive down from Bellingham and meet us at the hotel, where we would arrive having picked up Nat at Southcenter. We packed up Karma and an overnight bag, and set off on I-5N in rush-hour traffic for the Big City.

When we first moved here and Nat was about four, out-of-state friends came to visit, and as we approached Seattle one lovely afternoon Nat said, "See that city. I made it."

Miracle of miracles, we arrived on time, I in my Sarah Jessica Parker black, Mark looking dashing in his black cashmere, cautiously shuffling along cane in hand, Karma tugging eagerly at the leash, valet attendants attending to our every need, and Most Marvelous Mira just minutes away. We could not have timed it better, and were not only punctual, but had even arrived half an hour early. It was a glorious moment indeed.

Our suite was lovely,


and we were met with a fine bottle of champagne and some chocolate-covered strawberries from Mark's colleagues at the practice, the Inestimably Wonderful Amy Ross and family and Paula van Pul.


The Rev. Kent arrived promptly at six p.m. and proceeded to charm and reassure us with his warm and dignified presence, towering over us by about 2 feet but bringing the necessary ambience of sobriety and dignity to the occasion, contributions that Karma made surprisingly few efforts to undermine, as demonstrated in the photo below.


I managed to redeem myself in the seriousness department by using the occasion to thank Mark for the past 31 years of wonderful things I've taken for granted, a tribute you can link to here.

We then signed the legal documents, and, appearing at last to have restored our fiduciary reputation (at least where our CPA was concerned), I offered up my rap song to the accompaniment of a You Tube Hip-Hop Love Instrumental on Mark's laptop.

Nat was not impressed.


The formalities finished, papers signed, we then went to dinner at our family's favorite restaurant in Ravenna, Salvatore's. I say our "favorite" not only because the food is so good but because the last time we had gone there our very cute waiter was so smitten with Amira that right in front of us he not-so-surreptitiously handed her a note telling her how beautiful she was and leaving his cell phone number. We admired his good taste in young women.

I'd say more about the dinner itself except owing to an excess of champagne, I don't remember anything else. I'm sure it was delicious.

The Newlyweds Return Home

It was a lovely drive back home the next morning, and wouldn't you know it, there was a heart shape in this cloud above I-5. I've got the pix to prove it, and even Mark concurs.

Though, of course, if he didn't he'd be in deep trouble.

The sweetest thing was returning home to this:




The aforementioned Bridesmaids-in-Absentia, Deborah and Betsy, had conspired with Amira and snuck over to our house the night of the wedding in order to leave us this treasure trove of matrimonial whimsy and wisdom. Rilke, John O'Donohue, Shakespeare, e. e. cummings, Kahlil Gibran, W. B. Yeats, Mary Oliver, Goethe, Rumi - in sum, every conceivable beautiful and wise statement about relationship was therein captured on beautifully printed cards strewn across the table. The banner with its quote from Rilke reads as follows:

Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole before an immense sky.

Some of other pearls of wisdom are included here.

The sum which two married people owe to one another defies calculation. It is an infinite debt, which can only be discharged through all eternity. (Goethe)

We come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly. (Sam Keen)

The moment I heard my first love story I began seeking you, not realizing the search was useless. Lovers don't meet somewhere along the way. They're in one another's souls from the beginning. (Rumi)

A good marriage is that in which each appoints the other guardian of his solitude. (Rilke)

I do not know what is is about you that closes and opens; only that something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all the roses. (e. e. Cummings)

What a glorious return home, from a glorious wedding, and as our dear friend Judy Hall's mother notes,"You only get married for the second time ONCE!!!"

Once and for all, may it be, and may each of you reading this have every bit as many blessings in your own lives.

Post-Wedding Reception

          

So here they are, the rubber ducky wedding reception. There's RoboDuck, "Peeking" Duck, Devil Duck, and Devil-May-Care Duck; the Triplet Ducks, and Flirty Duck; Wanna-Be Duck (check out that fish) and Coy Duck and several Mama Ducks; there's Lord Love A. Duck (cf. James Joyce’s Ulysses: “Paddy Leonard eyed his alemates. Lord love a duck, he said. Look at what I’m standing drinks to!”), "The Original (and evidently Hapless) Rubber Duck,"Punk Duck, Glum Duck, and (Too) Sweet Duck; there's Dumb Duck and Mutant Duck and Miss Congeniality Duck; and finally, there's the Wedding Party Ducks and Children in the front, with, of course, Karma pretending to be a duck.

                                      
Meanwhile, the family (in its non-anatine embodiment) celebrated with a Teatro ZinZanni post-wedding reception on the Sunday following the wedding. What better way to celebrate than a performance at Teatro ZinZanni! It may be kitsch, but we thought it was spectacular - funny, exhilarating, lively, and even awe-inspiring at moments. If you haven't been to a performance, you need to go.

A good time was had by all (as we used to say we shouldn't say in the newspaper business) but we have a post-post wedding reception planned for the near future. Stay tuned.

Post-Post Wedding Reception and Heifer Charity Event

We'd like to invite you to our Post-Post Wedding Reception and Heifer Charity Event, and in lieu of wedding gifts (after 31 years and two separate households, believe me, we've got everything) we're hoping you will contribute to Heifer International. More information about it can be found here.


This is an organization wherein you can contribute to the purchase of any number of provisions that can support entire families, even whole villages.

So here's the plan: Sometime in February (we'll send an invite) from about 7:00 until, well, the cows come home, we will have an open house, with music and champagne, dancing and revelry at our, er, crib.


We hope to see you there and wish you could have been at the wedding!