It's Always Sunny . . .

I always swore I wouldn't plan an outdoor wedding. I knew myself too well. I was well aware that, throughout the months of planning, my visions of sunlight sifting through my veil to sparkle on the surrounding greenery would be have to jockey for position with crazed checks of the weather forecast. I didn't want to build a fantasy only to have it crushed beneath the white plastic flaps of a hastily-erected tent.

And then somehow during my engagement to Tay, the worrywart melted away, leaving a zen bride-to-be I nearly didn't recognize. We planned a ceremony that required blue skies not only for the twenty or so minutes the nuptials would last, but for enough time to transport the entire wedding party and all the guests up and down the chairlift. In May we decided to bank on June 26 - of the following year - being sunny.

Why was I so comfortable with this scenario? Risk-averse, double-no-triple-check-everything me? At that point, my calm was due to the fact that we had a back-up plan that would also be beautiful. We decided that, if the weather were inclement, we would marry in front of the huge windows in the Gate House Lodge, where the reception was slated to be held anyway.

In the month leading up to the ceremony, I was guilty of frequenting weather.com every day or two. I watched the little illustrations in the forecast toggle between a little yellow sun and a gray cloud emitting miniscule raindrops, but my observations were colored more by interest than emotion. I was honestly just curious to see down which aisle my father would escort me.

By now, however, the reasons for my composure had shifted. Sunshine or thunder, mountaintop clearing or base lodge or even a private room somewhere with just a few witnesses, I was about to marry Tay. There are no words to express how happy I felt to join my life with his.

Wedding Weekend (yes, it's a proper noun in my mind) arrived with a flourish. I took the boards and Tay and I cleaned up the mess of books and study materials that had littered the condo for the previous three weeks just in time for my parents' arrival. The last-minute details that required only a few words to describe turned out to require more than a few hours to complete; we stuffed welcome bags, affixed tiny crystals color-coded according to entree selections to seating cards, tied bejeweled ribbons to paper lanterns, and met with the videographer and wedding planner. On Thursday a shipment of 300 pieces of baklava arrived from Turkey, compliments of Tay's father. In addition to blessing us with their presence at our wedding, my parents' close friends the Hacketts, who had traveled from Arizona, gamely rolled up their sleeves and helped us form an assembly line. We packaged the baklava into favor bags tied with silver and purple ribbon and affixed little cards highlighting the charities to which Tay and I had made donations in our guests' names. (They also gave me the huge gift of revealing that, in fact, my blog has a wider readership than just my parents and Tay. Thank you so much, Mr. and Mrs. Hackett!)

The rehearsal the day before the wedding occurred up on the mountain in bright sunshine, which lasted throughout the welcome dinner. Descending the stone steps on the side of the lodge to be met with so many loved ones from so many different times and places in our lives was surreal, almost confusing. The party lasted until Castlerock Pub closed, then spilled over into Clay Brook hotel for a few more hours of revelry.

June 26, 2010, dawned with tentative sun and emphatic reassurances from all around that the weather would cooperate. A jog with some of my closest college friends, followed by hours of hair, makeup, and estrogen-fueled fun in "Salon 106" (as my hairdresser, Richie, dubbed my hotel room) helped me to remain calm. When raindrops began to spatter the pavement visible outside my window as I sat in a high chair having my makeup applied, my stomach relaxed a bit. At least now we had an answer.

In yet another uncharacteristically calm and spontaneous moment a few days prior, I had agreed to change our rain location to Timbers, a restaurant with breathtaking woodwork that we frequent whenever we are at Sugarbush. Conveniently attached to the Clay Brook hotel, it allowed the bridal party to simply walk through the halls of the hotel to reach the foot of the aisle. As we drew near the entrance to the restaurant, I glimpsed Tay before I even registered the music or the guests, and the tears lasted from approximately that moment through my first dances with Tay and with my dad at the reception.

Most of the rest of the experience was different than most people had predicted: Tay and I actually ate our dinners, we visited with every guest during at least once (but in most cases, several times) during the weekend's events, and the night didn't fly by. It was not a blur but a series of moments that were alternately breathtaking, exhilarating, and serene. And of course, no one other than our family and wedding planner could have predicted the fireworks at the end of the night. :)

My husband and I have now stolen away for a few honeymoon days. We are spending the long weekend at a bed & breakfast in Newport, Rhode Island. It includes gourmet breakfasts and daily wine & cheese as well as a resident bichon frise. With an uncharacteristic lack of interruptions and to-do lists, we are enjoying one other's undivided attention and the inviting conglomeration of shops, eateries, and architecture. We are married and we are happy. Oh, and the sun is shining.