I Can See Clearly Now

I was reading Thomas Merton's spiritual autobiography and listening to London Calling and Police on My Back by The Clash as Miguel, Maya, and I were flying back from Seattle this evening. Welcome to the living Yin and Yang of my life or, as the late anthropologist Claude Levi Strauss said, the binary opposites that blend together to form the whole me.

I have been thinking a lot lately about the seemingly disparate strands that make up who I am (and just about everyone else on the planet). For example, I have a deep passion for jazz and classical music, but still thump my body to rock and roll daily and will never forget how I scored a second row seat (yes, I went alone) to see Journey in concert in Hartford, CT, in 1986.

I am pretty solid emotionally, but cry when I hear certain songs or watch certain commercials on TV. I have a post-graduate degree, but love Jerry Lewis movies, the Farrelly Brothers, and some of the work of Adam Sandler.

I know, I know, one's level of education does not necessarily correspond to one's cultural tastes. But, believe me, my friends and co-workers, when I toiled for a Connecticut political organization, teased me about Journey and the other popular rock and roll I favored over the Grateful Dead and other 'deeper' music. So I have always been sensitive about my apparent contradictory pleasures and paths.

Until now.

Merton and the Clash can co-exist, in my universe for sure.

I guess the biggest expression of this binary opposition has been my officiating of weddings. On one hand, I am a widower who feels a strong measure of sadness around love, happiness, and commitment. Not that I want anyone to be unhappy, but I do feel wistful when I gaze at couples taking the marital plunge or holding hands in the park or nuzzling at a restaurant. On the other hand, weddings can be a heck of a lot of fun, and I do feel a tremendous honor in helping two people begin their married lives together.

And there is another yin and yang moment. Many people rightfully see me as a wise guy who rarely takes much (including myself) seriously. But I also feel that I am participating in something deeply sacred when I officiate at a wedding. I felt the same when I was a funeral director, which is the reason I took the job, and again when I watched my mother-in-law die in 2008 and when I whispered to Verna minutes before she took her last breaths in 2010.

Sacred is as sacred does.

Which brings me back to weddings. I did one two weeks ago in Napa, and when the couple hired me in February, they said, "We are not just looking for an officiant, we want someone to form a relationship with."

"Does that mean I can go on your honeymoon?" I asked. They just left for a month in Italy.

So while I wistfully watched as Jen and Bryan began their happily ever after, and mingled with Jen's parents, Bryan's sister and her fiance, and sampled awesome radishes, I felt blessed to be present for them. During the ceremony, which I always personalize, I mentioned how Jen was, um, really focused on all the details. She sent me an email that said, "The wedding coordinator expects your ass on the shuttle by 2:45." So I repeated that line in the ceremony.

Later Jen literally yanked me onto the dance floor and said, "I can't believe you said 'ass' during the ceremony."

"Was that OK?" I asked somewhat sheepishly.

"Only you could pull it off," she said, before leading me through a dance where she twirled me around and then thanked me.

I slipped away while the party was still raging, in a vineyard with an Italian-like villa and under partly cloudy skies that held back the rain, content and sorrowful, with images of my own wedding day and night swirling through my mind.

The wedding I did this past Saturday was held in a large loft studio in downtown Seattle. The bride is the niece of Verna's and my sister-in-law, who is married to Verna's brother. The days leading up to the ceremony, I've been told, were incredibly stressful where vendors flaked out, plans were dashed and redrawn, and the bride was so overwhelmed that she got hives.

The ceremony, if I have to be honest, was great. I recited a few poems, weaved in wisdom for the couple, shared how Kelly and Courtney met, how Kelly was unsure at first of his feelings for Courtney, and how he sought counsel from his grandmother, and then listened with moist eyes as Kelly and Courtney were unable to read their vows to each other without gushing in tears. Then I closed with a Lao Tzu poem about the sacred space a couple must carve out for their love before I whispered--at their request--just to them that it was my "supreme pleasure and honor to pronounce you married; Kelly, you may kiss the bride."

I spent most of the evening with family, then dragged Miguel onto the dance floor (Maya was with friends because young kids were not invited to the evening wedding), and then boogied to several songs, some with Miguel literally on my back as I twirled him around, before I almost quietly stepped away with my son and drove back to our friends' house by Green Lake.

See, I just had to push the envelope slightly. Since I am single I pulled Miguel with me and lined up with a half dozen other bachelors for the tossing of the garter. The cluster of guys near us said, "No contest here, we're all jaded," which was an interesting comment for they were there with their girlfriends. Miguel was just confused, but stood next to me anyway.

After two misfires, Kelly's third toss of the garter soared sort of in the air and landed near my left shoe. I slowly reached down and picked it up as everyone cheered. My only thought was, "Oh s**t."

Was I supposed to put it on the woman who'd caught the bouquet and was certainly young enough to be my daughter, as I am 52? Was I supposed to keep it or return it to the bride and groom? Or just fling it out the window and then follow?

Someone said, "Just put it on and dance."

So I did. And by the next day I had four marriage proposals. Just kidding. I saw Kelly and Courtney last night for dinner, a send-off sponsored by Courtney's great aunt, before the newlyweds left today on their honeymoon, to which I wasn't invited, and they also said, "Keep it."

I stuffed the garter, which represents, I guess, hope and love and all that (blah, blah, blah), in my closet next to my haircut kit and sachet of lavender. Just call it another strange pairing that somehow makes perfect sense--at least to me--as I navigate the turbulent and placid waters of life as I know it.

Wedding Guy

Thanks to a referral from my friends, Michelle and Patrick Gannon, who run nationally recognized workshops--Marriage Prep 101--I am officiating at a wedding of a wonderful couple in mid-May. Two weeks later, I fly to Seattle to officiate at the ceremony of another great couple.

I consider it a sacred honor to help people get married and celebrate their relationships with a community of friends and family. I specialize in helping couples realize their vision for their wedding day by I tailoring the ceremony to their needs and preferences. The day should be all about them.

I have been officiating at weddings since 1997, and every couple--more than two dozen--is still happily married.

I love the joy, the celebration, the reverence, the love, the passion, the humor, and the zest for life that each ceremony can possess.

Please contact me to help you make your wedding day a special memory.

Email: steven_friedman@sbcglobal.net. Cell: (415) 235-0323.

Thank you.

I Knew the Bride When She Used to Rock and Roll

The bride wore a non-traditional black and white floral print dress. The groom, sans jacket, wore black dress slacks, a blue shirt, and a multicolored silk tie bought by the bride in Italy. Almost 19 years after they were first married on a typically overcast San Francisco summer day in 1991, they renewed their vows before 60 family and friends this past Saturday.

There were already tears in my eyes when Verna’s father guided her, gripping her cane, along the sidewalk outside our home. “Now that you really know me,” I said to her father as they arrived in front of me, “are you sure you want to let her go?”

He sort of smiled, and I clasped Verna’s hand in mine as we walked closer to Marie, our dear friend who also officiated at our wedding ceremony in Golden Gate Park’s Rose Garden on July 28, 1991. Trailing just behind Verna and her dad were our daughter, Maya, clad in a green chiffon dress and holding a bouquet of roses, and our son, Miguel, who was one of my best men, the ring bearer, and the DJ, ‘DJ Miggy’.

The weekend had been a whirlwind for all of us, as family streamed in from Arizona, Central California, Florida, Massachusetts, and Connecticut. I was concerned that all the activity would adversely affect Verna, who tires easily because of all the medication she’s taking from hospice. So, prior to the ceremony, I spoke to the crowd before Verna and her father walked to the strains of “Here Comes the Bride”:

“First, I’d like to thank all of you for being here and sharing this special day with us. Also, since we want to preserve Verna’s health, I ask most of you to use the bathrooms in the park,” about 300 yards away, “or go like Gigi (our dog)”, who was at that point sniffing around the bushes.

As it turned out, Verna and our sister-in-law Donna (wife of Verna’s eldest brother, Marty) sequestered themselves upstairs during the day prior to the ceremony at 4:15 pm. Verna took two naps, got a pedicure and manicure from Donna, and more or less relaxed without anyone bothering her. Maya occasionally squeaked through to be with her mommy, but we’d ordered everyone else to stay away. And they listened.

Marie briefly introduced the ceremony and then shared a story that, she said, aptly demonstrated our strength as a couple. Several years ago, residents in Bernal Heights (a neighborhood in San Francisco) claimed that the stone relief of the Virgin Mary, outside a Church, was crying. Verna, Marie, and I went to investigate, and, sure enough, both Verna and Marie saw tears gently streaming down her eyes. I said, though, “No, it’s the light hitting the wall.”

Marie said that even though Verna and I often had two ways of seeing the world, we were of one mind and heart in terms of our love and commitment and willingness to accept our varying perspectives.

Then in a nod to something we included in our original wedding ceremony, Marie shared some humorous vows I’d written earlier in the week. “Steve, do you promise not to swill any more of Verna’s liquid morphine?” And, “Verna, do you promise to let Steve hop on the back of your wheelchair with you in it and coast downhill in the park?”

While both Verna and I acknowledged her cancer in our renewal vows, we also said almost defiantly that we wouldn’t let it define our relationship or family. Love and our bond are stronger than Verna’s life threatening illness. So the humor was our attempt to accept reality and also playfully attack the incurable enemy that is ravaging her body.

Next we jointly lit a candle our dear, dear friend Amanda recently sent us from Lourdes, a Catholic shrine in France, where many believe the waters are healing and Bernadette saw a vision of Mary, that Verna and her mother visited in 1993 as part of holiness tour sponsored by a local church. She and her mom also toured holy sites in Portugal and Italy, which is where she purchased my tie.

We shared our renewal vows next, with Verna going first, and, unlike 19 years ago when she was nervous and no one could hear her, confidently pronounced how I was still the one for her and how our love has grown stronger amid the past four often horrendous years.

With tears brimming in my eyes and, surprisingly, words catching in my throat, I said, “It took your cancer for me to be able to surpass you on a bike.” I also said, “I am forever yours through all eternity and beyond”, which was similar to Verna’s vows.

Miguel then handed me Verna’s wedding ring and I moved to place it on her finger. But suddenly Maya grabbed the ring and slipped it on Verna’s finger. People giggled at Maya’s gesture. I then gave my ring to Miguel and he imitated his younger sister and put it on my finger.

Marie said, “Then by the power vested in me by this community of love I pronounce you still married.” I leaned over and Verna and I kissed twice as our family and friends clapped. I felt a mixed wave of sadness and profound joy. There was nothing better than renewing vows with my soul partner and the mother of our children while our Miguel and Maya had such active roles in the ceremony. But I also wondered if Verna and I would celebrate together our 20th wedding anniversary next summer.

Verna and I admitted to each other in 1991, weeks before our ceremony, that there are no guarantees in life. We wholeheartedly pledged ourselves to each other, but knew that love ebbs and flows and only time would tell if we’d survive the journey of love and life. We acknowledged, though didn’t really expect, that our love might someday cease. Yes, we said over and over, there are no guarantees, but we’re going to try, try, try and work, work, work.

We just didn’t know then that cancer would prove us right in a way we never expected.

To love and life. And to eternity and beyond.

No Wedding Bell Blues

I felt like the Reverend Sun Myung Moon and his Merry Band of Moonie Ministers presiding over multiple weddings as I officiated at a dual ceremony last night at our neighbor’s house.

I found out a couple of weeks ago that Ken and Corina, who live right next door to us, were planning to get married by a Justice of the Peace. They’ve been together for seven years and have two kids, but hadn’t been able to make their relationship legal until now. Maya and their two-year old daughter, Jira, squeal with toddler delight whenever they get together.

So I went to Corina and said, “I can do the wedding. C’mon, we’re neighbors and friends. I’d love to be part of it.”

“We’re not doing anything special,” said Corina, a 25-year old Romanian. “We’re just going to sign the papers in our home. Very simple.”

Then she added, “And my sister is going to get married, too.”

Adina is two or three years older and has been dating Marco, someone she met at work, for not quite a year.

So I rubbed my hands together in glee and said, “Great. Two weddings. Two sisters. I can’t wait.”

Yesterday, the four of them went to the County Registrar’s office and brought in the appropriate documents (birth certificates, legal IDs) and left with more paperwork (marriage license, temporary certificate) for the minister-rabbi-priest-officiate-neighbor to complete.

We had to wait until after 8 pm for the ceremony to begin. Verna and I needed to get Miguel and Maya to bed and Marco and Adina didn’t get off work until 7:30. Verna and I brought over a digital recorder and a chilled bottle of champagne.

When we got to Ken and Corina’s everyone was watching the tail end of a baseball game. Adina said, “We have to call our mother.”

“No, we’ll wake her,” Corina said.

“But she wants us to wake her,” Adina insisted.

After the call, their mother went online so both of Adina and Corina’s parents could watch the ceremony via web cam.

“How do you say ‘nice to meet you’ in Romanian?” I asked, and then repeated what Corina said. “Tell your mother ‘Down with Ceausescu’.”

Ceausescu was an evil Romanian dictator who terrorized the country in the 60s, 70s, and 80s. Everyone laughed after I denounced him.

First we signed the licenses and I filled in the marriage certificates. Ken and Corina and Marco and Adina served as witnesses for each other. Then we gathered in the living room as Jira rolled on the floor and her 9-month old sister, Kaya, who has just started walking, tried to grab the camcorder wires.

I made some very brief comments about how special wedding ceremonies are, then looked directly at Marco and Adina:

“Before I continue, I need you to know that I have been officiating at wedding ceremonies since 1997 and everyone is still married. So I am counting on you two not to ruin my track record. I have a reputation to maintain. So if you think for any reason things aren’t going to work out, let me know because I cannot continue.”

Marco and Adina smiled. “You won’t have to worry about us,” Marco said.

Then, being the good Jewish boy and Jewish scholar that I am, I read a brief passage about love from First Corinthians in the New Testament. “Love is patient…” etc.

I paused and felt a surge of emotion bubbling inside me. Tears started to well in my eyes. “And now,” I managed to say as I looked first at Marco and Adina, then at Ken and Corina, “it is my pleasure, granted by the State of California and this community of friends and neighbors, to pronounce you married.”

Verna, who was filming the festivities, shouted from the kitchen, “You may kiss.” The couples kissed and then Corina informed us that her mother and father were crying. I yelled, “Mazel tov” then we popped open the first bottle of champagne and toasted the foursome in Romanian. Something about having a great married life.

Ken and Corina and Marco and Adina have plans to wed next year again in a Romanian Church in San Francisco. They are already processing the necessary paperwork to get Corina and Adina’s parents travel visas so they can attend the ceremony.

“And you celebrate with us then,” Corina said to me as we all hugged and posed for pictures.

“Yes, yes,” I said. “I’m planning on dancing with your mother.”

“Oh, no, no.” she said. “My mother is too wild for you. She is the kind who dances on the tables all night long.”

“Well, you tell her that I may not be a good dancer,” I said, “but I will dance on the tables with her.”

So now my date with cultural destiny and a rowdy Romanian woman who has never flown on a plane is set. I only hope I don’t provoke an international incident. After all, I do have a reputation to preserve.