Reflections - Vignettes from Their Wedding

Wedding at the Trolley Museum

Love grants wishes.

Fringe swished and sequins glittered when Spence and I arrived at the Pennsylvania Trolley Museum on April 14. Women decked out in flapper dresses entered with expectant faces. A wedding!

One of the groom’s aunts strolled like a runway model in her sailor dress. Other women, including the bride’s mother Cindy, sported shirt waist dresses with long flowy skirts. A wide brimmed straw hat topped Cindy’s shirtwaist.

But men had the monopoly on hats. Every man—whether milling about in a trolley uniform, suit, or vest and slacks—donned a hat. Caps, fedoras, bowlers, boaters, panamas, and trolley operator hats bobbed above the crowd.

In the cast of 1920s characters—guests following our niece Laura and her fiance Beau’s suggestion to wear 1920s style dress—the voice of our nephew Patrick came from a man with a clean shaven face and hair so short it was hidden under a boater.

Were my ears playing tricks? Patrick’s red beard hung mid chest level and his shaggy head of hair fell past his shoulders. Cindy had said her son only needed a cap with horns to look like a Viking. Maybe he shaved.

The man spoke again.

I elbowed Spence. “That’s Patrick!”

“No.” Spence scoffed.

The clean shaven man wove around people to reach us.

“Patrick!” I threw my arms wide. “I recognized your voice, but—”

He shrugged and gave me a bear hug. “Laura wanted me to shave my beard off for her wedding.”

Light of the world, shine on me

Love is the answer

Shine on us all, set us free

Love is the answer

 

Lyrics from “Love is the Answer” by Todd Rundgren

 

Patrick Clean Shaven

Love rescues.

Outside the trolley museum, sun glared on the nearly a  hundred family members and friends who perched in rows of folding chairs past the trolley tracks. Sitting in the second row on the bride's side, I chatted with the bride’s mother, my sister-in-law Cindy, who sat in the front row.

She broke off talking when her brother Artie wheeled their 104 year-old father Art in his walker out of the museum. Artie pushed the walker across the shaded station area and bumped it over the tracks to the seats. Cindy grabbed one of her father’s arms. Artie held their father’s other arm. Together they lifted Art off the walker. His old legs folded under him. He scrambled and reached the seat between his children’s and plopped.

The proud grandfather of the bride had dressed in his trolley uniform for the occasion. Between the car and his chair, he’d lost his conductor hat. The breeze tousled his thin, gray hair. Sunshine beat down on his head. Cindy held up her straw hat to shield the side of his face from the sun—not terribly effective.

Sitting catty-corner behind Art, Spence extended his tan fedora to Cindy. “Maybe this will help.”

Cindy took the hat, set it on her lap, and pressed her hands together in prayer position. “Thank you, Spence.”

“Dad.” She offered the fedora to Art. “Spence lent you his hat.”

Art fit the hat on his head and swiveled in his chair. He nodded and grinned his thanks.

Spence said, “It looks better on you.” Wind tousled Spence's gray-streaked hair. The sun toasted his bald spots.

The rest of us without hats could have used a fedora rescue too.

Instead, we waited for the trolleys to bring the bridal party, for the ceremony, and, eventually, for our escape out of the glare and into the museum to devour hors d’oeuvres.

Men checked their pocket watches. Women searched the empty trolley tracks.

Finally, an orange trolley rolled in from the north. Three groomsmen, the best man, and Beau hopped off. Spiffy in their black slacks, gray vests, white shirts, green bow ties, and bowlers with feathers tucked in the bands, they stood in the shade of the station's overhanging roof and faced east toward the trolley carrying the bride’s party.

The bridesmaids and our niece Sarah, the maid of honor, processed in long, sequin green dresses. Next the two flower girls—our great nieces Addy and Amelia, ages nine and seven—walked hand in hand down the aisle. They didn’t carry flowers. They wore 1920s style school dresses. And, as Addy would tell me later, her lace-up boots were too tight. The girls huddled together off to the side. During the ceremony, Amelia occasionally ducked behind her older sister.

At the end of the proceedings, the bridal party recessed. The flower girls stood alone at the station.

Spence bolted out of his chair. “I’m going to rescue them.” He dashed toward his great nieces.

The girls ran across the tracks, spread their arms for hugs, and called in unison, “Uncle Spence!” 

You can't stop love in action, love in action

Can't stop love in action

Lyrics from “Love in Action” by Todd Rundgren

Flower Girls Watching the Ceremony

Love promises.

Before Spence rescued his great nieces, the real purpose of the day came with the personal vows from Beau and Laura.

Holding hands, they gazed into each other’s eyes and voiced their intentions. Beau choked out, “You’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been.”

Blushing, Laura glowed.

He cleared his throat, regained his voice, and spoke more loving words. His last sentence boomed loud and clear. “I’m looking forward to spending the rest of my life with you.”

Laura didn’t start with vows. She explained she’d thought about her vows, changed them over and over, then settled on these. “I love you, Beau. I will put you before Legos.”

Guests laughed. Laura is a Lego fanatic. Though not available in the 1920s, she made the flower decorations for the tables in the banquet hall from Legos. Laura even made the bride and groom topping her wedding cake out of Legos. Her promise to love Beau more than Legos put him star-distance above all other males on earth.

With more serious promises to love Beau forever and ever, she got another laugh by ending, “I’ll even put you before trolleys.”

You are my joy and my laughter

You are the moon and you gave the stars light

You are my ever after

Forever love, the light of my life

 

Lyrics from “Forever Love” by Dolly Parton

 

Beau and Laura

Love connects.

The disc jockey played music and announced dances after dinner. Though we sat at the other end of the banquet hall—which was so large that several exits were provided along the wall—the base throbbed and vibrated my ears with the same intensity as a passing semi-trailer truck when I’m out walking. I could barely understand a word the disc jockey said because the music and words mushed together. Tradition dictated, however, the bride and groom had the first dance. Father of the bride Bruce danced with Laura next, followed by mother of the groom Alicia and Beau.

Duties done for the evening, Spence’s brother Bruce wandered over to sit at our table. Cindy also came to chat with our daughter Ellen, son-in-law Chris, and us. The music continued. Concentrating on family chatter, I ignored the disc jockey until he said, “Couples married thirty-five years, join the dance . . . Couples married thirty years.”

“Spence, we’re supposed to be dancing. A while ago.”

He put his arms around me. We did a couple of turns in the back of the room, and he let go.

The disc jockey called, “Couples married fifteen years join in.”

I wasn’t disappointed. Spence and I hadn’t danced in years. Besides, the invitation had promised trolley rides as an alternative to dancing. “Anyone interested in a trolley ride?”

Cindy left to check on her father first.

Bruce rubbed his chest. “I could go for a trolley ride about now.” He fetched a cup of coffee then he, Ellen, Chris, Spence, and I escaped from the blaring music and walked through the trolley museum to the trolley station where the breeze whispered outside. Two trolleys sat on the tracks. We climbed into the one on the left and had our choice of seats.

I stopped by Beau’s mother, wearing a stunning black flapper dress. ”Your dress is lovely.” Strangers at Laura’s shower, Alicia and I had conferred over answers for the get-to-know-you quiz. Reveling in the partnership, we called it collaboration not cheating. We chatted about the bridesmaid’s dresses until Spence, who had found seats with Ellen and Chris further back, waved to me.

People trickled in—including Cindy, Patrick, Addy, and Amelia.

The car filled. The sky darkened. The trolleys inched towards each other. Bump, bump, BUMP. The cars hooked together. People laughed, chatted, and took photos.

The two-car trolley train rolled out of the station. Lights flashed. Wheels clacked. The horn blew at crossings. Beau’s mom and aunts sang “Clang, Clang, Clang Went the Trolley . . .”

Where the tracks headed in two directions, the cars stopped. The conductor explained an operator must turn a switch off outside. Otherwise the two cars would decouple and leave us stranded. The passengers applauded the halt. No one wanted a long walk back to the station in the dark.

At the end of the tracks, an operator jumped out again and changed the poles to reverse the trolleys’ direction. Our young trolley conductor bent and demonstrated sliding the back of our seats so we could face forward for the return trip. “Some seats slide easier than others.” Instead of riding near the back of the car, Spence and I rode near the front. The gang burst into “Clang, Clang, Clang Went the Trolley” again. Lights flashed past. The night breeze blew in the window. I snuggled against Spence.

"Clang, clang, clang" went the trolley

"Ding, ding, ding" went the bell

"Zing, zing, zing" went my heartstrings

From the moment I saw him I fell

 

Lyrics from “Trolley Song” sung by Judy Garland

 

Janet and Spence, Beau's Aunt and Uncle in the Seat Behind, Alicia with the Red Cup - Photo by Ellen

 

Love considers.

I approached the trolley’s door to get off, and a gentleman in a boater hat on the pavement outside called up. “The first step is a big one. Be careful.”

Clutching the handrail, I stepped—whoa—down more than a foot. “Thanks for the warning.”

Laura stood alone at the station in her white satin gown. The breeze swished her fringe. She greeted arriving passengers with an earring to earring grin.

Spence grabbed my arm to steady me, and we headed toward her.

Her smile widened. Though I longed for bed, Laura still looked fresh and ready for more adventures. “I came out to meet the trolley because I wanted to catch you before you left. Thanks for coming to my wedding.”

I hugged her—no veil or stole to crush now. With all she had going on, Laura thought of saying goodbye to her aunt and uncle? “Thanks for including us. You make a beautiful bride.”

She blushed. “Sarah wanted to bake a cake you could eat, Aunt Janet. But she ran out of time with the trolley museum flooding and all the work we had to do cleaning up and getting ready this weekend.”

I sniffed back tears. Busy helping Laura get ready for the wedding, Sarah remembered I had dairy and soy sensitivities so couldn’t eat the wedding cake. “Goodness. She didn’t need to bake a cake just for me. How thoughtful to even contemplate it though. I’ll tell her so.”

After grabbing another hug, I hustled off to find Sarah.

She stood behind a table cutting the lower layers of the cake she’d baked for Laura and Beau.

“Oh, Aunt Janet. I meant to bake a cake for you, but I ran out of time.” Her pretty face, so feminine atop the green maid of honor gown and adorned with makeup—not her normal Rosie the Riveter look—pouted slightly. She sheepishly batted her eyelashes.

“Sarah! With all you had to do, you didn’t need to make a special cake for me. That you even considered baking one is gift enough. Thank you.”

I'll reach out my hand to you

I'll have faith in all you do

Just call my name

And I'll be there

 

Lyrics from “I'll Be There” by Mariah Carey

Sarah