When we moved to Denver 13 years ago, they had a strange phenomenon going on. Nice Memorial Day weather. Naive us, we planned our wedding for May 26, 1996.
Our friends and family started arriving the Wednesday before… and so did the rain.
I lost my shit.
We were having an outdoor wedding. Here.
My friend Dana finally had to just take the remote away from me so I stopped obsessing over the Weather Channel.
And, yes, folks. It snowed on my wedding day.
It turned out OK, we moved the ceremony indoors next to the fire, and all my photos have this misty, romantic quality to them.
But I really did lose my shit.
And after the big day, whenever you would talk to native Coloradoans about the Memorial Day weather fiasco… all you got was raised eyebrows and: “You planned an outdoor wedding on Memorial Day? The weather is always crap that weekend.”
And in the 11 years since then, almost without fail, it has been crap.
Which is why, this weekend, we’re going away. We happen to be going away separate of each other – but I guess that’s what happens when you are married for 11 years.
But today, I drove past the Ken Caryl hogback on an errand, past the place of our union, and I noticed it was raining.
And I grinned.