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--> --> A ceremony I wasn't exactly dying to do By Scott Dalgarno Ashland It was the only orange and white wedding I've ever officiated at. The bride was a knockout; a vision in reflector tape and hard hat. Her dress was traditional enough, but the state highway department insisted it dictate her accessories. Haley didn't mind a bit. She was a flagger and so was Skip. Twenty-five bucks an hour and triple-time if they worked Sunday's. Great money. It would bore me to tears. They loved it - wind, fog, cranky people in RVs. Nothing fazed them. Said it was their life. Said they didn't want another thing more. Said they wanted to have the wedding right there, smack in the middle of 101 so everyone they knew and cared about could come. It wasn't a ceremony I was exactly dying to do. It was one of those where the bride's mother called, out of the blue, saying that she had dropped her daughter off at the church once, about twenty years ago, for Vacation Bible School and that had been the closest brush with God they had ever known, and I wouldn't be "a dear" and help her daughter "do the right thing?" I couldn't come up with a conflict so, reluctantly, I agreed to see the couple. I ended up being glad because I found myself smitten by them the first minute. They just seemed so genuine. The pre-marital session went well - moments of light and lots of laughter. I told them what crazy jobs they had, nature being what it is; moving from one washed out section of coastal road to another, year after year, dependent on acts of God for their living. Skip said, "You should talk pastor." The young man had a point. The wedding day came - soggy, foggy and therefore perfect, by coastal standards. We did it as ordered, right there on the highway over the broken yellow. Road work went right on from my "welcome" to the benediction, but there were enough walkie-talkies for everyone to hear. Then we partied, Skip's mother ladling the punch and Haley herself cutting little squares of carrot cake for everyone; I mean everyone, including motorists who hung on all through the "I dos." Where could they go? Whatcha doin' for a honeymoon," I asked? "Just a couple days, here at the beach." Haley said. "Haven't made any plans. Never do. Too many friends right here." Honestly, I felt sorry for them, at first. Not even a weekend in Hawaii? But sizing things up, it occurred to me that this might just be all that a marriage was meant to be. That a marriage may not be about two folks, goo-goo eyed at first, dreaming big; and settling for bigger houses, bigger jobs in bigger cities, until they sicken of it all, and one another. No. maybe it might just be about building on what nature has a habit of washing out: hair, and teeth, and dreams you knew probably weren't going anywhere anyway. Maybe it's not about what you come up with sitting with Charles Schwab, talking about your life in forty years; when neither you, nor your spouse, nor the world, will look anything like you could imagine anyway. Maybe it's about what comes up when the storm arrives, as it always does, and the road goes out, and the surf pounds out the side of a hill, and you come to see what bedrock really looks like; all black and shining in the pacific mist like flint. Maybe it's making your peace with the weather' all of it, fair and foul. Maybe it's staying close to the people who brought you together in the first place, and realizing that any marriage worth its salt water is about way more than just two people who think love alone is all they'll ever need. The Reverend Scott Dalgarno is pastor of Ashland's First Presbyterian Church. Email your... Technical questions & comments to: WebMaster Daily Tidings editorial comments & questions to: Editor Visit our other Oregon Newspapers... | Albany Democrat-Herald | Ashland Daily Tidings | Corvallis Gazette-Times | | Lebanon Express | Newport News-Times | Springfield News | Cottage Grove Sentinel | Ashland Daily Tidings 1661 Siskiyou Blvd. Ashland, OR 97520 Telephone 541-482-3456 © Copyright 2001 Lee Northwest Publishing