Six years ago today, I married the perfect woman for me. I never have liked that “I married my best friend” thing. I don’t see me marrying Eugene or Paul or Jon. But, she is my best friend in many ways, just differently. She is my life’s partner. And, there’s nothing that happens in my life that I don’t tell her first or consult with her for life stuffs. We aren’t the same crazy kids that ran off and eloped in Scotland today, and life is far from perfect — 2020 or otherwise — but she’s perfect for me. Keeping with the plan, I’m going to repost the post about the anniversary of the honeymoon itself.
Well, here it is, the second part of the honeymoon posts. Can you believe it!? Within a few days’ time. It’s almost like a real writing gig or something. I will say this post is picture intensive. Now, where was I? Oh yeah…
Alright, it’s time for the wedding story. So, The BCPF had stuffed her wedding dress into a vacuum bag and sucked the dickens out of the bag until it was a brick of white mess. Of course, I had to take her word for it because I didn’t get to see it. As I mentioned in the last post, I already had the kilt and had to do the “hiring” of the accessories. She unleashed the dress and handed it off to the concierge (or the castle’s equivalent) and they sent it off to have it pressed. So we were set. We got up, had breakfast (more haggis and black pudding), and then went back to the lobby to wait for what-happens-next.
We had hired a wedding planner, Kimmie Brown of Litú, which was a treat and a lifesaver for us. Kimmie handled getting all the paperwork put together, she and her husband, George, served as our witnesses, she got the piper, Andrew, hired the photographer, Michaela Waddell, and lined up and directing us through the process of the registrar. Priceless, I tell ya, priceless. Also, we had already pre-selected our vows and ceremonies. So when the time came, we were pretty much prepared. I put on the kilt kit that turned into a much more involved procedure than putting on a tuxedo. The kilt shirt, first. The kilt, next. The waistcoat, the socks, the flashes, the ghillie brogues (shoes), and then the sporran (the man purse of awesomeness), which held it (mostly) in place. The Prince Charlie jacket was next to last and then the sgian-dubh (pronounced skee-un-doo) which is a small knife that rounds out the ensemble. I’ve lost a bit of weight since I was originally fitted for the kilt so it was a bit loose. Tradition says that I don’t wear a belt with the Prince Charlie jacket, but in the future, I certainly will wear one (I have already purchased one to wear once back home). And the part everyone has asked me… yes, I went unbreeched. Aye, that means I didn’t wear anything under the kilt. If you’re gonna do it, do it Scottish, I say.
I wasn’t allowed anywhere near The BCPF while she got ready, but when it was time for the wedding (noon for us in Edinburgh, 7pm for our friends back home), the piper piped me downstairs to the “gun room.” The gun room doubles as a chapel for the religious ceremonies and we used it as a location for our civil, non-religious, ceremony. The registrar talked with me a few minutes and then Andrew piped The BCPF down to the door and then after making sure she was ready, piped her down to me. She was BEAUTIFUL. I don’t have pics of her at the altar, just yet, so we’ll have to wait until the photographer sends me the collection. I cried, no shame in telling. We exchanged words, vows, and rings. We kissed. We signed the paperwork. Michaela shot us all over the grounds of the castle and that was it. It truly was much more glamorous than I just described but without pictures, I can’t do it justice. It was simple but wonderful. She was my wife, my bride, my life’s partner – which she already was. Dang, I love that woman!
But, as is the story of our lives, there was no rest for the wicked. We had to jump out of our formal wear and into civilian clothes and run back into town to get our last-minute shopping done. We bought stuff for 3B (my 12-year old son) and my mother. We had reservations at the castle for dinner so we headed back and took our place in the Library Bar, drank some complimentary champagne, talked to a slew of Americans who were also taking holiday, and then went down to the Dungeon Dining Room to have our wedding supper.
We started with an amuse-bouche which included a mushroom mousse and bread. The BCPF had a chicken pate and I had beef carpaccio. Our minds not being still and sound at the time, I forget what the actual dish was, but there is a picture of it. For the main course, she had a slab of pork and I had venison with beet sauce. I’ve never been big on venison (or beets for that matter), but man this was delicious. For dessert, I had a raspberry flan dish, and of course, Grand Marnier. A truly lovely food experience.
Up early the next morning as we had a train to catch from Edinburgh to our next destination, London. The train ride was a four and one-half hour ride. I spent plenty of time on the WiFi updating the website for that week’s The Less Desirables. But, I have to say, First Class is the way to go. We got to choose our breakfast (Scottish for me, please…) and all the tea or coffee or water you can stand. The ride was not bad at all.
And, here we are. Stephanie, I love you more than I ever have. We have something others only dream of. It’s far from perfect but I’m perfectly happy. I’m still alive because of you and I am so thankful for everything you are that makes me everything I am. Happy sixth anniversary, baby.
Until tomorrow, Dear Reader, same blog channel…
“Marriage has no guarantees. If that’s what you’re looking for, go live with a car battery.” – Erma Bombeck