Two weeks ago I went to Vashon Island, a short ferry ride across the Puget Sound from Tacoma, to be with my son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter for Halloween. For my costume I decided to be the Rose Lady, in dark rose stockings under a short rose-print skirt, all pinks and reds, with a rose-pink sweater and a large, loose, rose-patterned scarf. A wreathe of artificial white roses would encircle my head. It was almost November, so in a fit of pique at having roses in bloom when by all rights we should have had freezing weather to stop flowers in their tracks, I picked all the roses in my garden and filled a basket with their petals. When I told my son I was going to be the Rose Lady for Halloween and throw rose petals on everyone I met, he said I was the Rose Petaler.
I put all the costume except the basket of rose petals in my suitcase and drove to Eugene to take Amtrak to Tacoma. I carried the basket by hand.
In the waiting room for the ferry at Point Defiance in Tacoma were three other passengers: a woman of early middle age in an elegant black and white dress, a man of the same age in a nice suit, and a younger woman dressed in black. The first woman was carrying a small bouquet of flowers; the man’s jacket sported a boutonniere, and the woman in black was writing in a large notebook. “Oh,” I said, delighted, “have I stumbled upon a wedding?”
They nodded. They were eloping, the younger woman, the officiant, told me. They had been living together for seven years, the bride added, but they didn’t want all the fuss of a wedding, so they were going to get married without anyone knowing. They were both water people, she said, so the ferry to Vashon seemed the perfect place for the wedding. They needed two witnesses. Would I be one?
Of course! I was the perfect witness. I, too, was a “water person,” and I had rose petals to enhance the ritual!
Once on the ferry we hurried to the bow for the ceremony, outdoors, on the water. On the way I dropped my suitcase at an indoor table and the officiant grabbed another passenger to act as witness. The second witness’s friend would be the third audience member.
The ride to Vashon takes thirteen minutes, so we were hurrying to get everyone in place and the ceremony underway when an announcement over the public address system notified us that there were unattended bags on the ferry and that the owner should retrieve them immediately. There was a slight delay as I ran back for my bags and wheeled them onto the front deck with me. Then we started the ceremony.
The bride and groom stood at the bow with the gray-green water of the Puget Sound stretching wide towards the islands behind them. The wind whipped the hair of the bride all around her face, but we could hear the officiant’s words and the vows of the wedding couple without trouble. The bride and groom, who had been laughing and smiling at the coup of their elopement, suddenly turned serious as they listened to the words of the marriage ceremony, beautiful words that brought tears to the eyes of the bride. Tears came to my eyes, and I didn’t even know these people, but it was all so beautiful – the water, the landscape, the wind, the vows to love and care for each other, the slipping of rings onto fingers, and finally the kiss between husband and wife, with my rose petals scattering in the wind over them like a sudden rush of doves.
I put all the costume except the basket of rose petals in my suitcase and drove to Eugene to take Amtrak to Tacoma. I carried the basket by hand.
In the waiting room for the ferry at Point Defiance in Tacoma were three other passengers: a woman of early middle age in an elegant black and white dress, a man of the same age in a nice suit, and a younger woman dressed in black. The first woman was carrying a small bouquet of flowers; the man’s jacket sported a boutonniere, and the woman in black was writing in a large notebook. “Oh,” I said, delighted, “have I stumbled upon a wedding?”
They nodded. They were eloping, the younger woman, the officiant, told me. They had been living together for seven years, the bride added, but they didn’t want all the fuss of a wedding, so they were going to get married without anyone knowing. They were both water people, she said, so the ferry to Vashon seemed the perfect place for the wedding. They needed two witnesses. Would I be one?
Of course! I was the perfect witness. I, too, was a “water person,” and I had rose petals to enhance the ritual!
Once on the ferry we hurried to the bow for the ceremony, outdoors, on the water. On the way I dropped my suitcase at an indoor table and the officiant grabbed another passenger to act as witness. The second witness’s friend would be the third audience member.
The ride to Vashon takes thirteen minutes, so we were hurrying to get everyone in place and the ceremony underway when an announcement over the public address system notified us that there were unattended bags on the ferry and that the owner should retrieve them immediately. There was a slight delay as I ran back for my bags and wheeled them onto the front deck with me. Then we started the ceremony.
The bride and groom stood at the bow with the gray-green water of the Puget Sound stretching wide towards the islands behind them. The wind whipped the hair of the bride all around her face, but we could hear the officiant’s words and the vows of the wedding couple without trouble. The bride and groom, who had been laughing and smiling at the coup of their elopement, suddenly turned serious as they listened to the words of the marriage ceremony, beautiful words that brought tears to the eyes of the bride. Tears came to my eyes, and I didn’t even know these people, but it was all so beautiful – the water, the landscape, the wind, the vows to love and care for each other, the slipping of rings onto fingers, and finally the kiss between husband and wife, with my rose petals scattering in the wind over them like a sudden rush of doves.
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