Night of Enchantment

"So, what are you doing today?"

Not the most loaded of questions, but it's what they call in Perry Mason episodes "leading the witness." I did have something in mind. "The "witness" was my companion of many years, Katheryn.

"So, what are you doing today?"

We were recently back from Spain where we'd spent a couple weeks hiking across half the north of the country on an old trail famed for religious pilgrimages called "El Camino de Santiago e Campostela" or “The Camino," for short. “The Santiago” being St. James, famous Christian martyr, and “Campostela” being the city on the western edge of Spain where after completing their pilgrimage the exhausted monks would strip off their crusty smocks and toss them into the sea. The story--as well as the journey-- usually ends there, but I can’t help but wonder where those naked monks went to get new clothes. Probably back at the church, which dominated—and stood at the geographical center of—the city.

We did not have to hurl our garments into the sea. A load of laundry and our wash-and-wear hiking gear from Travelsmith were good to go, though at the end of our journey we were weary and flush with our accomplishment. There was the vague idea of getting married in Campostela, but Spain is an extraordinarily Catholic—not to mention famously fascist—country, and given the restrictions “The Church” puts on you in this country (classes, for instance), one can only imagine the sanctified hoops the Church of Saint Jimmy the Moor-Slayer would put you through. Maybe a hazing by the Guardia Seville? No, thanks.

So, we weren’t married in Spain—we had enough difficulty with a taxi strike getting out of the country—that any further travel was out of the question, so we had no desire to, say, do the “John and Yoko” thing in Gibraltar.

So, we came away from this “marriage trip” without getting married—really. We had a certificate to. We got that before we went to Spain, but we had no ceremony. We had no signatures. No witnesses. Just the piece of paper. Folks who live together talk about marriage as “just a piece of paper.” Well, not really. A marriage ceremony is a rite of passage. It’s where you announce to the world “See them? They’re with me!” It’s more than a commitment. It’s a public commitment. You put it in writing and it becomes a matter of public record. It’s not between two people anymore. It’s a matter of state, of government and for those who believe, God.

“So, what are you doing today?”

“Well, nothing, really….” Katheryn replied.

“Ya wanna get married?”

I like delight. I get it a lot from Katheryn. There’s just enough of the kid in both of us, that when those kids intersect…that’s delight. This was one of those moments.

“Sure. Do you think we can?”

“Yeah….there’s gotta be someplace…..”

I went to the phone book, naturally. The Yellow Pages. There was a number of listings under “Wedding Chapels,” but one caught my eye. “Get Married. Fast. Cheap. Painless.”* It was the “Painless” part that sold me. “This one says ‘Painless!’” I said. “Where is it?” “It” was the Double A Vagabond “Enchanted Chapel,” and by happy circumstance it was within five miles of our house.

The A-A Vagabond flyer--I'm sure the prices have changed since 2000.

“I’ll call them,” I said.

I called the number. A child answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi…um…is this the Double A Vagabond Enchanted Chapel?”
“Uh-huh…”
“Uh…well…is it possible to get married today?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask my mom. She’s out marrying somebody right now, but she’ll be back this afternoon.”
“Could you have her call me when she gets in?”

She took down my number, told me her mom would call me back and chirped a good-bye.

I stood there looking at the phone. That was strange.

Katheryn read the expression on my face. “Are we getting married today?” “I don’t know” and I explained about the kid, the mom and the call-back.

“Well, if it happens, it happens,” she said. I think Katheryn was being bravely blase. She wanted to do this—we’d said it out loud, after all—as much as I did, but she wasn’t going to show any disappointment.

I forget what we did the rest of that Saturday—but I’d be surprised if we strayed too far from home—we might have driven to Fred Meyer to get some plants, and almost certainly drove by the place to scope it out. I don’t remember exactly. But later that afternoon I got a phone-call. Introductions and salutations, then…”Is it possible to get married today?”

“I think so…we’re open ‘til 7.”
“Well, what time should we come by?”
“7”
“Uh…you just said you close at 7…”
“Uh-huh. Don’t be late.”

Good attitude. And it promised that I’d made a good choice with this particular place.

We were going to go the complete casual route—jeans and such. But I just couldn’t do it. I put on a white shirt and black slacks and jacket. Katheryn looked disappointed when I emerged from changing. “You’re dressing up…” “Nah, not really…I just couldn’t do this without a suit…” She disappeared into the bedroom. It was getting close to the time we had to leave (and, of course, we couldn’t be late!). I stressed and paced quietly in the living room. She came out in her black dress, looking sweet. And we set out for the A-A Vagabond “Enchanted Chapel.”

It was dark when we arrived, but it should be noted that, at the time, the Enchanted Chapel was pink. Hot pink. We were greeted at the door by the Rev. Zady Evans. “Right on time,” she said. She started to talk us through the procedure, but it was a little hard to pay attention. The chapel was busy with all sorts of sights to see. The front of the chapel was dominated by plate glass windows that looked out over the vast (and industrial) Rainier Valley, which was full of flickering lights. In front of this vista was an impressive arch covered by ivy of a questionable cellular structure to encourage photosynthesis (though, hanging from the arch were buckets with draping live plants) and festooned with what seemed like a million little lights. Burbling discreetly nearby was an elaborate water “project” with equally questionable rockery.

As one peeled one’s eyes away from that sight, one noticed the back of the chapel, which served as a staging area for photo ops, complete with props. To further the already-established theme, the ice in the perpetually-full champagne bucket was of the same cellular structure as the ivy and rockery, as was the perpetually intact wedding cake sitting nearby.

The Rev. Zady Evans was very real, though, and warmly guided us, googly-eyed though we were, through the formalities. She asked for our paperwork and handed us a white binder of various styles and lengths of wedding ceremonies starting with the “Soul of Brevity” 30 minute script, on up to the full-blown 60 minute Extravaganza.

The Rev. scampered off to get witnesses’ signatures (presumably from her family, who remained unseen, though they were witnesses—I imagined them sitting around the dinner table—eating pot roast, in my scenario—while Mom passed the marriage certificate for the kids to sign “Aw, mom!” “Sign it, Jimmy, and be sure to eat all your carrot rosettes or you won’t be excused from the table!”), leaving Katheryn and I to go over our reading material and contemplate what wedding ceremony to “go” with. Reading was easy as both our eyes were wide as saucers at the surroundings. We wanted to nose around and gawk, so the decision-making was pretty perfunctory.

“So….,” I said. “Which one do you want?” “The first one. It’s the shortest.” I agreed, which gave us lots of time to snoop.

The "first one"

I wandered over to the bulletin board which was crowded with pictures of beaming newlyweds radiating happiness, and using the props in the back. Gosh, it looked like they were actually getting married—right where we were. Then and there any worries about a faux-wedding ceremony flew right out the arch and out the plate-glass window, presumably onto on-coming traffic making their way up the hill to South Park.

Reverend Zady emerged in minister’s robes, and asked if I had a camera with me. I did. A disposable. “It’s still got five or six shots in it,” I said. She gave me a look. Five, huh? She’d have to make ‘em count. She herded us through the metal chairs going unused for our ceremony to the arch-way

Time for the ceremony to start. The Rev. clicked on the cassette player, and to the burbling water-project was added Slow Elvis and Hawaiian music. I don’t remember much of the actual wedding ceremony other than it was sweet, and Rev. Zady was quite adept at officiating and taking care of the picture-taking duties as well, bobbing and weaving to get just the right angle as she read from her text.

And before you knew it, Katheryn and I were pronounced man and wife. Snap! A last picture of us, looking like an Armenian couple—the scruffy tailor and his lovely wife—the first picture of us as a married couple. The cassette switched over to “Goin’ to the Chapel (of Love)” and it was time for our exit. A gratuity to the minister and we made our processional.

And true to their advertising, it was cheap, fast, but mostly….it was painless.

That’s the story of our wedding, October 21, 2000. Check your calendars. That was six years ago…today. **

Happy Anniversary.

* I recently looked up the Yellow Pages ad for the "A-A Vagabond 'Enchanted Chapel'" and it now reads "Fast. Easy. Romantic." *sigh* It was the "Painless" that sold me.

** Paper is the first anniversary. Gold, the fiftieth.
The sixth is plexiglas or something.

Coming Up: One last hero, some last thoughts on "Anytime Movies," and the week after that, a multi-part story just in time for Hallowe'en.