The sun shines brightly. The air is soft and warm. My heart sings. September is my favorite month.   

Yesterday it dawned on me it was the 64th anniversary of the day that my mother and I went shopping for the reception stuff – plates, cups, napkins. (I assume they were paper. I don't recall.) Les met us downtown and we went to a jewelers to pick out my wedding ring. 

Really? Five days before the wedding? Were we eloping or what? Actually, no. We had invited 150 guests to a wedding and reception on September 12.

Let me go back in time. We had planned to get married on October 3, the first Sunday after my 18th birthday. So I had made some preliminary phone calls and we had talked a bit about whom we would invite and how our wedding might be.

But Les' mother and two youngest brothers, who had spent the summer with him, needed to hurry back to North Dakota in time for the start of high school. She had seven married children and had never been to any of the weddings.

So mid-August, my parents agreed we could move up the date so that Les' family could attend the wedding before they left. Barely enough time to get the invitations mailed. Barely enough time for Mother to make my wedding dress and two candlelighter dresses. Barely enough time to get blood tests and contemplate marriage.

And today is the 64th anniversary of  "Oh, no, Les can't find a place for us to stay on our wedding night!" Four days before the wedding. He had wanted to stay at The Oxford Hotel in Denver, but it was booked for a dairymen's convention. Dairymen?

Good grief. What will tomorrow bring?

(Adapted and augmented from This Path We Share. (c) 2010 Lois Tschetter Hjelmstad)