Shotgun weddings and marrying strangers

I got a call from my gypsy aunt last week that went something like this:

Her: I didn't know you could marry people. I thought just Jackie and Summer could.
Me: Yup. I was the first to get ordained. Started a whole trend apparently.
Her: OK.  Well, my mom's neighbor's kid needs to get married to his girlfriend before December 25 and they need someone to do it. Would you consider it?
Me: Uh,... sure?
Her: How much would you charge?
Me: Well, I don't marry people that often (read, never), so I don't really need...
Her: (to her mother, my grandmother) Well, she should get paid for her time at least...(to me) how about 25 bucks?
Me: That's fine.
Her: When could you do it?
Me: I'm pretty flexible.
Her: (murmling in the background between her mom and the neighbor)...how about now?
Me: I'm kinda busy now...but I guess?
Her: Well, they just got cold feet so how about next Saturday at 2pm?
Me: Alright.

So today, I dolled up a bit, grabbed my Universal Life Church certification, and headed to Grandma's Neighbor's House, which, incidentally, my father built.  My aunt enthused over the new Jeep Rubicon in the driveway and we all chuckled over the bumper sticker that read, "Jesus Christ is Lord, not a swear word." Gypsy aunt said, "Well I use it as a swear word all the time!" I made a mental note not to mention any devil worship in the brief and thoroughly extemporaneous ceremony which I was about to perform.

The door opened and we stepped in to a nicely decorated, classic American house. Sitting on the couch were the bride and groom. I knew this not because we had previously met, but because despite the casual attire of everyone except myself, they were the only ones pregnant.

He wore a Creed t-shirt and jeans and looked like your favorite stoner friend from high school. Skinny, dark hair, quiet, loved his dog, Daisy. She, the stoner's girlfriend, was waiting in a hoodie, black t-shirt, tan cargo pants, and black Nike trainers.  She was big, he was little.  They were both keeping their cards close to their chest and saying nothing except to show me photos of their dog as a puppy.

I said, "I had a shotgun wedding too this year.  My husband and I just had our first baby in March, so I know what it's like to be planning at the last minute."

They didn't say much.  He was 36. She was 25.  They seemed nice and bland.  There was a home-made cake on the dining room table in a covered glass cake-stand.  Two bottles of unopened Martinelli's sparkling cider stood on the table next to a stack of plates and forks.  Two extremely joyful and manic dogs ricocheted between the Christmas tree, the couches, and my crotch. We made small talk while waiting for the groom's friend to show up. Thirty minutes passed; still no friend.

The groom's mother, grandma's neighbor asked, with a heavy southern accent, "Now, where's that friend of yours!"

"Oh, he won't be able to make it." the groom responded quietly from the couch.

When were you going to let us know that fairly key piece of information, I wondered.

It was my show then.

Did they have rings?
Yes.

Did they have the marriage license?
Yes.

Did they have anything they wanted me to include in the ceremony?
No.

Did they have anything they wanted to say to each other?
No.

Alright. Complete artistic license for me it is then.

Anyone have a camera and want to take some photos?
Blank stares, and then, from Southern Mama, "Oh! Well, I guess we have our iphones."

That'll work.

I positioned myself in front of the Christmas tree so there could be some nice photo opportunities. The bride and groom remained seated on the couch.

Ok, I can take the hint.

I promise to not make the bride stand for too long. They rise. I ask them to hand each other their respective rings...and we're off.

Before I left the house to drive there, Tobias asked me if I had anything prepared in the way of speaking points.  I told him I was leaving it up to Spirit for inspiration.

Mind you, I knew that I wanted to impress upon them the importance of:
1. Being on the same team
2. The best gift they could give their child was a happy relationship between them.

Beyond that, I was going to give myself over as a channel for the Universe to use as it saw fit.

You know you've been in the zone when you can't remember what you said or how you performed...when it just flows.

Well, I couldn't tell you what exactly I said, but I do remember them paying attention and afterwards, Tobias received a text from gypsy aunt and dad heard from grandma that I was, "Amazing." and that they were "Very impressed with my examples and how I tied it in to having a child and her tattoo."

The tattoo was a pentagram smack in the middle of her chest with a sun around it.  Their wedding bands were celtic knotwork.  I may have mentioned Wiccan/Pagan traditions of handfasting. The dog may have burried her nose in my bum as I was pronouncing them man and wife.  Her owner may have yelled, "Git OUTTA THERE SHADOW!" as I was giving them the go-ahead on kissing.

They gave me 40 bucks and Jesus Christ remained Lord.  I consider that, a rousing success.

Time Only Exists When You Look Outside

I was standing in the shower today, in one of the rare moments of me-time these days, when it occurred to me that I am almost smack in the middle of my life.  34+34 puts me at a respectable 68, which, though it might be on the young side now in western culture, is not out of the realm of Passable.

It made me laugh.  Somehow on the way from trying to freeze time by holding my breath as a child to having a child of my own, I forgot to give credence to the passing of hours and days from a societal achievement perspective. For example, I went walking across a country after leaving my first respectable, full-time-with- benefits job  without a plan as to what I'd do next. At 33. Time for me, has always been a weird and slippery thing.

A large part of my soul just knows time doesn't hold any weight.  Because of this, I contemplate things like going back and getting a degree at Harvard because that's what I wanted to shoot for and then chickened out at 18.  What did I know then? But look at what I know NOW.  Such a much better place to be on the journey of accumulating specific knowledge.  How old am I? 34.  Whatevs.  I could still become a famous singer.  I could become an accomplished character actress.  I could hike across another country.  My point is, everything I could ever dream of doing still feels very much within reach.

I believed in the omnipotence of time for a little while back in my late teens/early twenties.  Then I had a nervous breakdown, thankfully.  I look at that wretchedly scary and uncontrollable experience as my bitch slap by universal truth. Time doesn't matter.  You live your life and follow your passion at whatever age you happen to fall at on the calendar.  The skin and energy and vitality will take care of themselves and do their own thing in symphony with how your soul is believing.

My intention is to keep manifesting my dreams, regardless of the date on a watch or the candles on my cake. I guess on some level, I thought all that might shift when I became a parent. That somehow my life would become clearer and more focused like a funnel when I had a wee human to nurture.

Yet, the wildness remains.  The rampant dreamer and wonderer is still afoot, beckoning me down the trail of possibilities and personal legends.

 I suppose the part of time that made me laugh in the shower today, was the realization that I am an eternal child myself, always curious, always hopeful, even to the last breath I inhale through my body. It certainly doesn't sound very compatible with the check-marks and achievement bars set by society, but what would I change? Nothing.  I love this experience. I love dabbling and dreaming of big things.  I love being surprised when I look in the mirror and see that I have more lines on my face than I remember...and that I put them there in the process of dreaming.