(Or, how we had a wedding without having a wedding. A true story by Celebrant Anita Revel)
Twenty-one years ago, Gav and I got engaged in the least romantic way. Sitting on the deck with coffee and toast, Gav casually said: “Do ya reckon we get married?”
And I thought, Yeah, why not? You’re not a pain in the ass — I think I can handle having you around forever.
It was exciting, until we announced our engagement, when it started getting weird.
People invited themselves to the wedding. They wanted to know the colour scheme so they could go dress shopping. One family member even presented us with a list of dates they were available to attend.
Bloody hell. This wasn’t our first rodeo. We were not prepared to jump through the “big wedding” hoops again. We’d already experienced the expense, the politics, the logistics, the endless decisions.
And the worst thing — back then, the Attorney General had a cap on the number of Celebrants they authorised. So in our area, there were a limited number of Celebrants who had a corner on the market. And none of them were flexible. They were all one-size-fits-all, and they all dictated when, where and what time they could marry us. And to my dismay, they were all super-formal and none of them (that I called, anyway), were prepared to have some fun and giggles in the ceremony.
Gav and I were on the same page, that we didn’t need a scary formal procedure again. What we really wanted was to get married, and we wanted to have fun doing it.
That’s how we decided to elope, and the funnest way I could think of, was to be married by Elvis in Las Vegas. So naturally, given that Gav is so amenable to all my ideas bless him, that’s what we did.
Upon landing in Las Vegas, we headed to the courthouse to get our marriage licence.
We stood in the queue for hours. Thank goodness it was a regular business day and not Valentines Day. Even with 8 full-time clerks on duty during the day, and 4 overnight, queues are normal. But on Valentines Day they go around the block!
Anyway, we were there long enough to witness one couple have an actual break-up while waiting to get married. Sooo happy for them they realised their mistake before committing. And so happy we survived the queue as a road-test for the “hard times”.
The next day, we turned up at the Graceland Wedding Chapel. Gav in his hired suit and a wedding ring found at the pawn shop, and me in a $25 dress I grabbed from a sale rack before we boarded the plane.
Elvis (the old Elvis) serenaded me down the aisle, tailored our vows and made sure Gav promised not to leave me at the Heartbreak Hotel.
And I promised not to treat him like a Hound Dog. (Anymore, ha ha)
And then? After a night out casino-crawling and bar-hopping the strip, we woke early the next day and started our honeymoon.
A six-state American road trip. It would have cost us the same as a big reception for one night, but instead we spent that money on “us”, learning to ease into the married mindset over three weeks of building memories.
We hiked the Grand Canyon wearing a tiny backpack and mardi-gras beads. At the bottom, we necked a bottle of Cape Mentelle wine with our feet in the Colorado River, then bunked in separate dorms. We took the steep way out on the North Rim trail and limped for days afterwards.
In Denver, we sat in an outdoor jacuzzi drinking oaky American chardonnay while snow drifted onto our heads. We drove the old Pony Express route from Colorado to Sacramento, and pretended we were John Wayne at the Arches National Park on the way.
We drank polygamy beer in Salt Lake City. Learned how to play Blackjack in Reno. Fell completely in love with Highway 101 and all the landscapes along the way.
We taught a waiter how to say “butter” in Australian. We advised a couple travelling to New Zealand that if they waited for low tide, they’d be able carry their suitcases on their heads and walk to Australia by morning. And we reminded anyone that helped us with directions, that in America, compasses point north. (“oh yeah!” they’d say, “because Australia is down under, your compasses must point south!”)
Whenever possible, we stayed off the interstate, taking the back roads instead. We stopped when something made us both go “oooh what’s that?” We turned down roads simply because they looked interesting. We ate at roadside diners and stayed at mystery hotels we booked via Hotwire.
And without really knowing it at the time, we were building something much more valuable than a wedding album.
We were building our story box — a box filled with stories that begin with: “Remember when…?”
And that’s the thing I wish more couples thought about when they are deciding how they want to get married.
Because a wedding isn’t just a party.
It’s the opening chapter of the next part of your life together.
The flowers will eventually wilt. The cake will be eaten. The dress will go into a cupboard. No-one will ever remember the colour of the ribbons on the chairs or the lengthy speeches. (Especially the lengthy speeches!)
But the memories you make together? Those become part of the story you carry for the rest of your lives.
One day, Gav and I hope to be sitting side by side, silver-haired and creaky, on our rocking chairs, raising a glass to the life we’ve lived together.
We’ll remember the road trips. (We’ve done another four road-trips in America since!) The joint pride in seeing our children become adults. The inside jokes. The navigation of household equity and chores. The knowledge that even in silence we are having the same thoughts. The funerals we’ve been to, and the births and birthdays we’ve celebrated. The years on the farm welcoming travellers from all around the world. The house (our forever home) we are renovating.
All the little stories that make up a life lived with the one person who is by our side for the rest of our days.
Maybe that’s the real question to ask when you’re planning your wedding.
Not: “What will everyone else expect us to do?”
But: “What do we want to remember?”
If having 150 people throwing confetti is what you’ve dreamed of — do that.
Want a barefoot ceremony with ten people you adore? — do that.
Elope to Margaret River and road-trip around Australia’s south west? — obviously, I highly recommend it. 😉
A marriage is a promise between two people. The way I see it, a ceremony with just two people is every bit as valid (and said with bias: even more valid!) than a big wedding with a cast of thousands.
This is where I ask you gently, to make choices that feel honest to the two of you.
FOMO of those big instagram-worthy weddings only lasts a little while. But the story you create together? That’s yours for keeps.
So whether your wedding is a wild party, a backyard gathering, a secret ceremony, or in a crazy-cute marriage office in Margaret River…
Make sure it’s a beginning that feels like you.
Because one day, when the save-the-dates and gift registry angst and the expensive decorations are long gone, the thing you’ll have left is your story.
And I reckon that’s the best wedding favour you could ever give yourselves: a Story Box of your own.
With love,
Anita
Anita Revel is the founder of the Margaret River Marriage Office. She trained as a Celebrant shortly after returning from her honeymoon, because she saw a gaping hole in the market for “fun and light-hearted” wedding ceremonies. After sitting on the Attorney General’s waiting list for two years, she was authorised in 2008, and has been delivering delightful, heart-felt ceremonies ever since.