My One Good Photo

Saturday, September 6th 1997 - a fairly good hair day.
Mom, me, David, Shelly, Leah (actually, also Dad and Mom)

Probably the only photo of myself in existence that I actually like. And do I cherish it in an album? No, this is just a proof - and a proof that's gotten messed up from being thrown in a box and forgotten about for a good few years. Why? Because most of the wedding photos weren't very good (some were) and I negotiated a bad deal with the wedding photographer (who sent someone else in his place on the day). I've got a few dozen proofs in 4X6 size, and never bothered to order the full-bore Bridezilla wedding package, because frankly I'd already paid $500 for bad photos, and I wasn't about to pay $1000 more for bad photos blown up and mounted in a cheezy album.

It was the only thing - the ONLY thing - disappointing about our wedding day. Everything else was wonderful, and worked out pretty well considering that it was held Colorado, while we lived in Illinois, so all the plans were arranged long-distance. And considering that the rest of the world was glued to the TV watching a major news story play out, it was a good time had by all.

And alas, all the rest of the photos are pretty much like this one, although they're now in one of those keepsake boxes with the hanging photo pockets.

I have a hell of a lot of photos, from different lives I've lived, but most of them aren't worth the bother and bandwidth to scan and upload. A few of them, maybe. So perhaps I'll stash one or two of them here from time to time when I'm going through boxes.

I highly recommend getting married at a bed and breakfast if you have the choice; you can have an afternoon wedding with appetizers, go for a hike or bike ride with the wedding guests afterwards, maybe have a pizza party for dinner, stay overnight, and have breakfast with all your far-flung friends and family the next morning. Why rush off?

And yeah, that's what we did, but it was only 35 guests. I contemplated having a traditional wedding for about a nanosecond, but reconsidered on entering exactly 1 (one) bridal shoppe in a charming old local village. I felt like the proverbial bull in a china shop, or perhaps more like a bulldozer in a china shop. Tulle and organza and taffeta were busting out of the racks all around me and there were mothers and bridesmaids hustling around looking at sheer veils. I suddenly felt enormous, awkward, and utterly out of my element... and then I backed out the door, silently making "beep-beep" noises just to cheer myself up, and I never walked in another bridal shop. I ended up wearing some things I pulled together on my own, along with something my sister made that coordinated with the "junior bridesmaid" dress she made for her grand-daughter (big age difference in the family, don't ask).

I had threatened to get married in hiking boots and shorts at the top of Trail Ridge Road, but we decided the B&B was more practical (also, my mom wouldn't need oxygen).

Maybe someday I'll regret not having a lot of big, blurry photos in an official wedding album, but my wedding was unconventional, so why should the physical evidence be any different?