I didn’t get married until I was 30. My mother was so worried that I’d be all alone for the rest of my life that she began consulting psychics in the Valley. After one tea-leaf reading, the symbols and shapes of the leaves gave her much hope. Arriving home she excitedly said, “Bob, you are forecast to meet a lovely girl who lives far away and get married to her in a matter of months”. I was as cynical as ever with this news. However, to my surprise an opportunity for a blind date with someone from the big city of Toronto cropped up.
This get-together was arranged by my sister and the blind-date’s sister both from Belleville. The evening’s outing was suggested to be a drive-in movie theatre. Now this evening happened to be hot and humid with the air thick with mosquitos – windows up or down? I was as nervous as waiting in a dentist’s office with an ulcerated tooth. The movie itself would be ending soon. I still hadn’t made a pass at her! What would she think of me? I clumsily reached over for a kiss – just as a fat hungry mosquito bit into my neck. That broke the ice but not like I expected. We both got the giggles. She invited me to visit her in Toronto someday. Wow!
Discovering she was a single mother with a seven year old son, I contemplated ‘double-trouble’! The first social call on her turf was a seafood restaurant for lunch. Imagine – this huge restaurant that served only fish? We ordered shrimp and with my luck it wasn’t shelled. I got it tangled up in my teeth making me look like a country-boy which I was determined not to be.
Things progressed quickly and in a few months I sort of said, “Do you want to go steady?” And she said ‘yes’, assuming that I meant her hand in matrimony. My mother couldn’t have been more relieved. She blurted out, “I thought nobody would want you”, then apologized for how it sounded.
The first time she came to my place was on a Pem-Air plane. Used to more elaborate flying, she couldn’t get over the fact that her seat was a wooden box.
Naturally, one priority was getting to know her son. Brett loved playing checkers, used to being allowed to always win. He had been spoiled rotten by his mother it seemed. I let him win for the longest time and then took him to the cleaners. He was fit to be tied and claimed he hated me. I said to him, “Young man, if you want to be friends then you can’t always have it your way.” We did work things out eventually.
The other priority was formalizing wedding plans. A small rural church near Belleville was the chosen site. Invitations were sent out to both families as well as friends from Westmeath. My cousin Michael, blast his soul, arrived from Guelph. He was a big guy, klutzy too. Just hours before the wedding where we had gathered, he stepped on the back of the bride’s dress making quite a tear. All hell almost broke loose but cooler heads prevailed.
The church itself was small giving the impression of being overcrowded. I was sweating bullets. Finally the vows. I wrestled for the ring in my pocket but it wasn’t there. After a long pause my best-man slipped me something to conclude the ceremony.
We had booked a nearby pub for celebrations. The honeymoon was set for a waterfront hotel in Kingston. Finally exiting the party we arrived at the hotel check-in. The clerk said without emotion, “Your room has been rented out as you were late – no other availabilities.”
We were on or own in unfamiliar territory, finally pulling into a much seedier establishment. The room was dowdy, especially the bed. Unfortunately the pop and ice machines were right outside our door and never stopped clanging. It was most frustrating; no sleep, no anything. We departed long before dawn, relieved to see that town in our rear-view mirror.
Later, I complained bitterly to that Kingston Hotel Manager. He offered a three-night stay over a long weekend to compensate for our inconvenience. It was a much more fitting venue for a honeymoon – but for three of us. Brett came too.
