I promised these two rock stars I would not divulge their names, so I never will. To be honest, I didn’t know what her name was, but I did know him. Whoa! (“Be still, my beating heart,” I whispered to myself. I like his music, but his big dark eyes tore into a place deep inside my soul.) It was about fifteen degrees outside, and my bride and groom were both dressed in rich, cognac-colored furs. (PETA would have been pissed, but they looked like Russian royalty.) They wore matching fur hats; it felt soooo Dr. Shivago! They were magnificent.
The wedding was scheduled for dawn, which occurred about seven in the morning. This is what they had to do to avoid a media blitz. They wanted to be married in peace. My witness—besides the beautiful horse—-was the jolly driver of our sleigh. We sleighed up to the top of a rise, where we were treated to a splendid panorama of a wintry-looking Lake Tahoe. The sky wore every imaginable shade of pink, gold, and tangerine; magically, my fur-wrapped bride carried flowers in tropical colors that matched the sky perfectly.
They were sweet and dear enough that a few tears trickled from my eyes and froze to my cheeks during their heartfelt ceremony. They recited promises from papers that were frozen to their mitten fingers. Toward the end of the ceremony, just after I’d recited the Native American Wedding Blessing, the snow on Mount Tallac blazed bright neon orange across the lake. The wintry sun bolted high into the sky with golden promise. Not every minister would get up in the dark to perform a ceremony in a bitter cold dawn, but it is a memory I will prize forever.
Happiness to all!
Reverend Pamela Camille
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