Elopement in the park: Returning to the scene of the crime
These two photos sit just like this in a frame on our mantelpiece. Those feet, that green, green grass and those roses, that plate of cheese and crackers and fruit decorated with honeysuckle flowers. That's our wedding, right there.
On a Friday afternoon while most everyone else was at work, my (then) Lovely Man and I drove into town, stopping at a flower store to pick up a bunch of roses in whatever colour they had available. The florist clucked like a hen when I told her I was getting married and promptly pulled the simple bouquet apart and laced it with baby's breath. Fifteen minutes later, I sat at my father's kitchen table and pulled it all out again.
In the park, it started to rain, so we moved into the Rotunda, the same one where my Dad and J had been married many years before. Our minister friend conducted the ceremony and his lovely wife was my witness, taking these lovely photos with an old SLR camera.
I wore a green dress and Lovely Man wore a white shirt and khaki cargo shorts. We both wore flip-flops.
We recited a short set of vows. We exchanged rings. And when we kissed, two older ladies walking their dogs clapped and cheered.
Afterwards we kicked off our shoes and wandered down to the gardens where the early blooms were only just beginning to peep through. Lovely Husband and I made awkward models, smiling and making each other laugh as best we could as a camera click clicked away behind us.
At Christmas, I took Dear Boy back to the park, and we crawled and ran barefoot over the green, green grass. The flowers were an explosion of colour and the ocean behind us a crystal blue, calling us down to the beach.
This marks the end of the Blog Every Day in May challenge. And I can't believe I made it all the way through. No late posts. No forgotten posts. No mixed up posts. If you've found your way here through the link-up with Story of My Life, then I hope you'll stick around and see what's coming next.