The school year had ended. Our tiny rental cottage, in
vacation country, was now being reclaimed by its owners once again and we were
officially homeless. (The rents skyrocketed during the summer months so it made
sense to just leave and begin anew in September). ... The
nomadic life seemed the only alternative, at this point, so we continued with
the theme and travelled out west to visit my fiance’s family and friends. This
trip would help fill in the two-month summer hiatus. Deciding to get married at the end of the
summer made sense. Making my wedding
dress while camping did not!
The journey across Canada with our recently rescued and
adopted ‘daughter’ was a new experience for me. ... (Free Kittens, Puppies For Sale-6/2012) Making a wedding dress while
camping, was an even newer, almost comical experience. There seemed no other way to be ready to get
married later that summer than to have the dress made by the time we returned
to Toronto, where I was born and raised, where family lived and where we had
met- the previous year- in a bar, my former workplace. (It was a good decision, albeit a hasty
one.)
The fabric had been chosen before we left for the cross
country trip. Hopefully, I would be able to understand the pattern directions
for making my wedding dress, a simple frock with a hood and lacy trim. Looking back, I am stunned that I thought
making a wedding dress while camping was a wise decision. But it was. In
hindsight, it still was!
Today’s vast array of reality shows about “The Dress” gives
me pause. I have never known such
thoughts about ‘the dress’. .... I
worried about other things more attuned to who I was: finishing my education,
starting my teaching career and simply living life. My ‘homemade’ dress was not even close to
being ‘The Dress’. It was not elegant. It was plain, a shortened version, in length,
unadorned and boring. But it fit. I was satisfied. It was
an accessory, a garment to wear on a special day uniting two people.
What was I thinking back in 1972? With very little money but much time on my
hands as we drove out west, I could make my wedding dress, I realized. The
pattern pieces were cut when we camped and had sunlight. Basting the pieces together could be done
anytime, in the car, by hand. (The dress was lined so everything had to be cut
twice). ... I had already made the most
important decision in my life: the best life of my life partner who thought the world of me. Could I ask for more?
The wedding rings were purchased, in quick fashion, from the
jewellery store whose discount card I had been given years earlier as a student
of Ryerson Polytechnical Institute, now university. As my fiancé waited in the car- in a no parking zone, on Yonge
Street, the longest street in Canada, I walked into the store, bought two wedding bands and walked out with the salesman,
in tow. He followed me into the car to measure the ring size of the man behind
the wheel. A straightforward transaction had been
completed.
The engagement ring never happened. No thoughts about it. No
money for it. Ten years later during a particularly cold Canadian winter week, with
snow falling all day, every day, my husband returned after 5 days from a business
trip. He presented me with a token of his appreciation: a ring for all my work,
tending to the flock: our boys, three and under, our two retrievers and shovelling snow, several
times a day, for five days. We looked at
this special ring and called it my engagement ring. Considering the week that
had just unfolded, it truly was.
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