It would not be a traditional ceremony. That much I knew even before embarking on the journey to Prince Edward Island, steeled for the prospect of several days in "The S&M Wedding Week Extravaganza."
Lest you get the wrong idea, S and M were the bridal couple and the architects of an event that promised to be a first in my experience.
I've been to my share of weddings over the years and enjoyed them all. This one, of my younger grandson, I faced with certain misgivings. Everything pointed to a service that flew in the face of tradition and I, at 84, am schooled in the ways of Emily Post.
His proposal itself was unconventional. Not that anyone these days drops on bended knee, but holding up hand-lettered signs in an airport waiting room? Her exuberant "Yes!" initiated plans for a wedding also uniquely theirs.
There were hints, as the months passed, that the forthcoming nuptials might hold surprises. Guests were alerted in January to hold the date in July. The medium for this advance notice was a card picturing the happy couple and promising, "You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll hurl." Was I the only recipient who didn't know the current meaning of hurl or recognize in the image a takeoff on Wayne's World?
Then came the "formal" invitation in May. No elegant engraving on ivory-coloured stationery requested the honour of my presence. Instead, a pale-green poster heralded in inch-high letters that on "one day only" the couple would "get hitched." On the back was a hand-drawn map of downtown Charlottetown, renamed here "the City of Love." A big red heart indicated the hotel where all would unfold. Included were tickets to "the Event of the Century" and a multiple-choice reply card offering six options, from "gladly attend" to "think you are just trying to wrest a gift out of me."
As if that wasn't enough to have Mrs. Post rolling over in her grave, other details emerged through the planning process that were also, shall we say, unusual. There was no question of replacing a matron of honour (or "best woman" as she was billed), who would be in the late stages of pregnancy by the wedding date.
Bridesmaids? They became "bridesmen" when the roles were assigned to four brothers. The flower boy would, it was hoped, be capable of a walk down the aisle at the ripe old age of eight months. And all to the strains of music from the current canon recorded by the groom.
My daughter, his mother, kept reminding me to "relax" and "go with the flow," even expressing delight that a local pub had been chosen by the couple for the "traditional" rehearsal dinner.
With every expected guest from away, many, like us, decided to make a holiday of the wedding week. The bride and her family, summer residents of the island, made sure it would be unforgettable. A schedule of events greeted each one on arrival, together with a who's who of fellow celebrants. There were golf and Scrabble tournaments, beach picnics and poker games, sightseeing and horseback riding. Fireworks and glow sticks capped a delightful kitchen party on the last free night. By then, almost everyone knew everyone else, rare for a wedding.
The old pub proved a perfect venue for the rehearsal dinner. Along with spouses and significant others, attendance reached 30 people, all chatting animatedly while consuming hamburgers or fish and chips. In a final nod to the unexpected, each member of the wedding party left with the gift of a pair of running shoes to wear the following day.
My reservations were starting to subside. Still, the best - or worst - was yet to come.
