The tensions rose. Imperceptibly, at first. But time, as it always does, brought a new wave of “issues’. But there was no time for resolutions. Not with my traveling for a funeral. The Ukrainian’s working of two jobs. My search for a new job and the demands of my current one. The wedding was less than 6 weeks away and I wondered how we could pull it off. Some problems seemed to have no answers, and no amount of time or lack thereof would fix them.
“Sylvia still has not issued our permit to get married in Alamo Square,” the Ukrainian writes over Google Instant Messenger aka GTalk. Sylvia is the women in charge of issuing group gathering permits for the San Francisco Recreation and Parks Department. Without her approval, we can’t conduct a wedding ceremony in any public city space in the City of San Francisco. Nevermind the fact, that technically and legally, we are already married — the very presence of a priestly-looking dude (whom we found on rentapriest.com, no kidding) is asking for a visit from the San Francisco Police Department to our wedding celebration just as the Ukirainian is about to pull me in the official kiss of the youmaykissthebridekss.
“Has she cashed the check yet?” I ask, trying to figure out the delay. Emails and phone calls are pouring…what time is the wedding?…where is it?…what time do we need to be there?…Our wedding is in 6 weeks and I have no answers. Only the priestwhoisnolongerapriestbutrentsouthisservices can commit to a wedding date that has no formal venue. I have a feeling he doesn’t declare his priestly pay for mock religious duties to the IRS, and as such, doesn’t really care much.
“No, she hasn’ cashed it.”
The days keep passing and still our wedding permit does not arrive. I become anxious, wanting to have the locale of our wedding finalized so I can continue on with the rest of the plans. But the anxiety also becomes worse, because with each day that passes, I increasingly realize I do not want to get married at Alamo Square.
“Baby, let’s get married somewhere else,” I tell the Ukrainian.
“Where?” he asks. He’s also anxious, but much of the anxiety stems from his desire to make and keep me happy.
“I don’t know, but not Alamo Square.”
“Why not? It’s a really nice park.”
“I know but I don’t want to get married there. I want to get married at Eagles Point at Lands End. Or somewhere else along the water.”
“We can’t baby. The federal government won’t let us.”
Stupid Department of Homeland Security, I curse. We had applied weeks ago for a permit to marry to marry at Eagle’s Point at Lands End but the U.S. Department of Homeland Security apparently felt our small wedding celebration was too risky of a threat to the National Security on the weekend after the 4th of July. Why? Well, because…Eagle’s Point looks over the Golden Gate Bridge – which is why we wanted to get married there in the first place.
So we chose Alamo Square. Everybody knows Alamo Square. It is the park that is in the opening credits of “Full House”. It has the Painted Ladies Victorian houses and the San Francisco skyline in the backdrop. It’s the sort of wedding venue your mother would love. It is “So San Francisco.”
But I didn’t want to marry in Alamo Square. I imagined the fog and the cold. I imagined freezing in my wedding dress. I imagined miserable wedding guests. I imagined the water that couldn’t be seen from there. And I imagined the first time I went to Alamo Square so many years ago. It was with the Bulgarian and my two dogs. And I didn’t want to get married anyplace that reminded me of anyone but my husband whom I love so much.
And so the tensions rose as I couldn’t plan the wedding I dreaded so much to have. But there were no solutions. We checked the churches. They all required membership, large fees, and 6 months of premarital counseling. We checked the hotel ballrooms but they were too plain and typical. Where, oh where we wondered, could we marry that would be scenic and fabulous and ours and wouldn’t drive us to bankruptcy?