How We Got Here

First and foremost, thank you all so much for the many congrats on Mr. M’s and my marriage! It’s something that has been in the works for awhile, but I haven’t shared because the path to the courthouse was twisty and turny. We knew we wanted to get married in October, but we couldn’t have told you back when we got engaged that we’d be married in a courthouse in Louisville. Life is pretty crazy sometimes.

Here’s why: after we got engaged last November (I know!), life has taken us through some illnesses, a layoff, job-hunting, job-finding, and moving out of state, making it impossible to plan anything definitive. I didn’t want to have to keep saying, “Yup, we’re still engaged, but we haven’t set a date yet!” Trust me, I said that a LOT to a few persistent people in real life (no one reading this, I assure you), but I would have felt bad to string you kind souls along.

For the curious, though, here’s how the wedding finally came to be. There is much detail, because I also am going to use this as a reminder in years to come. To read at anniversaries and such. (Out loud. At a restaurant. Loudly.)

In early October, when we were finally settled in Louisville, we were able to start making plans for a wedding. At that point, we didn’t have time to really plan anything more than a courthouse wedding if we wanted to stick to our desired October wedding month. So I called the Marriage License office in Louisville, and asked “Who do I call about a courthouse wedding?” I was given the number for a judge. I called, got his machine, and left what had to be the most convoluted message ever. (When faced with major authority figures like judges, I tend to panic and babble). The judge called me back, and we settled on the 17th. Truly, it sounds like I could have picked any date at all.

Here’s my favorite part – when we were discussing the time, I said that we were very flexible. “Name a time,” the judge said. “How about 10?” I suggested.

Judge: “Well, let’s see, our dockets usually start at 9. We could do it before that, or after the docket is completed [note: he said that in appropriate judge-talk, I just can't remember the exact wording].

Susan: “Hmm, we’d rather not come in too early. We could do it afterwards, but what time would your docket be done?”

Judge: “Oh, if we start at 9, we’d be done around noon.”

Susan (to self): Wow, we really aren’t in Chicago anymore. (to Judge) “OK, then, how about 1 o’clock?”

Judge: “That’ll work. I’ll see you at 1 o’clock on the 17th in the Hall of Justice.”

Yup. The Hall of Justice. How awesome is that? I immediately imagined Wonder Woman and Superman as our witnesses. Or maybe the Wonder Twins.

That settled, we called up our families and let them know about the upcoming nuptials, and assured them that we were just keeping things low-key and didn’t need them to attend. Everyone lives so far away, and not having lived here that long, we weren’t in a position to entertain guests. This was going to be a very quick, low-key ceremony, and Mr. Martini and I were just fine with that.

Now we’re at the week before the wedding.

Tuesday:

We get a message from on the machine from the judge. He needs to change the time for the ceremony.

Judge: I have a doctor’s appointment at 1, and I just can’t change it. Would you be willing to move the time of the ceremony to 12:30?

Susan: Sure, that’s not problem with us, we’re flexible. But will that give you enough time to get to your appointment?

Judge: That should give me plenty of time.

Susan (to self): Well, that just proves that this is going to be a super-fast ceremony. Woo-hoo!

Wednesday:

Mr. Martini and I need to stop by the County Clerk’s office to get our marriage license. We’re about halfway through the process, when the fire alarm goes off in the building. Not just any fire alarm – think “WHOOP! WHOOP!” like you might hear in an old WWII movie, warning that the U-Boats are approaching. It was one seriously serious alarm. Hence, the 10-minute licensing process turns into a 45-minute event as the entire building is evacuated. During the evacuation, Mr. Martini and I take a walk, and get a coffee at Starbucks. When we get back to the woman’s desk, we joke about “Wow, I hope that’s not an omen!”

Louisville Couny Clerk’s Office

Thursday:

In an awesome display of awesomeness, the women I work with send me off on my weekend with a HUGE gift basket, filled with chocolates, candles, champagne and champagne glasses. We managed not to pop open the champagne that night, but the chocolates were not as easy to resist.

Friday:

The big day! We relaxed in the morning, sleeping later than usual. We hung out, played with the cats, and finally got ourselves ready to go. I had shopped fruitlessly for a new outfit to wear in the weekends prior to the wedding, but found nothing that I liked as much as an outfit I already owned. Mr. Martini had had his jacket and slacks cleaned and pressed, and even though we didn’t buy anything new to wear, we looked pretty darned good. We left a little later than I had planned, but we didn’t have any problem with traffic or finding parking, as I had imaged in my “prepare for the worst” mentality.

We arrived at the courthouse at 12:20, and as we walked through security, we were approached by a tall, silver-haired man who looked like John Slattery’s younger brother. It was our judge, who had not problem picking us out – I believe because we were probably one of the few people going through security who were relaxed and happy to be at the Hall of Justice on a Friday afternoon.

Meanwhile… I made that joke way too many times.

As it turned out, the courtroom we had reserved was still in use. Why? Because the building had had a BOMB SCARE that morning, and all of the morning trials or whatever were still in session. We laughed, and told the judge about the fire drill earlier that week. “It’s like the universe is trying to see how serious we are about this!” we joked.

The judge managed to find a free courtroom, and he rounded up a couple of witnesses for us (being so new in town, the only people we could have brought to be our witnesses were the lady who rented us our apartment and the guy who sold us our car – so he said he would find some folks for us). A be-suited lawyer and a casually dressed woman were brought in.

The judge donned his robe, arranged Mr. Martini and I in the proper positions, and went through the ceremony. The judge did a great job – he must have done this a million times, but he didn’t rush, and said everything very distinctly and clearly and with heartfelt meaning and just did great. Mr. Martini and I repeated our vows, exchanged rings (purchased at Jeweler’s Row in Chicago before we moved), I managed not to giggle or cry (although I did get teary), and even got to kiss at the end. It was really, really sweet.

Afterwards, the witnesses wished us luck (I even got a heartfelt hug from the lawyer-dude) and I looked at the clock. We arrived in the courtroom at 12:22, and the entire ceremony was done by 12:32. Not bad.

The judge filled out our license, and we took it back over to the County Clerk’s office to get our official certificate. It was only then that we realized that we hadn’t gotten any pictures with the judge or the witnesses. In fact, after we got our marriage certificate, the only pictures we got were from a passer-by as we stood in front of a fountain on Jefferson Ave. Just 2 pictures – enough to remember the occasion, but not quite nice enough to post here (sorry!).

From there, we went home, and changed out of the fancy clothes. To celebrate, we went out to dinner at a nice restaurant (North End Cafe – Mr. Martini had the duck, I had the scallops, it was FABulous). We stopped at a bakery on the way home and got a few slices of cake. Back at the apartment, we had cake and champagne.

All in all – it was a really, really nice day. As I said to my parents, “It wasn’t a super-fabulous, sprinkled with glitter and sparkles kind of day, but it was a really, really, really good day. Which is exactly what I wanted.”

As I’ve said – for us? This was the absolute best way to get married. I would have hated planning an entire wedding. The thought of just planning a dinner party scares the crap out of me, let alone a whole wedding. We’re very lucky that our families understood that this was what we wanted, and didn’t try to steer us in a different direction. Our $40 wedding means we’re just as married as those folks that spend $40,000 for the perfect event, and that’s fine with us.

Since I don’t have any actual wedding photos, I’ll leave you with a photo of Mr. M and I taken at an apple orchard in NH, way back when we first started dating in 2000. Those crazy kids – who knew what they’d be getting into 8 years later!