Someone to talk to

On the occasion of our 27th wedding anniversary, I salute my dear wife, lover, and friend, Gven Golly.

It was a cold, rainy day in Atlanta the week after Christmas, 1978. Our families and friends had converged from far-flung Detroit, Des Moines, Chicago, Columbus, Stockbridge, and other exotic ports. Gven's childhood minister from Jonesboro had agreed to officiate, although the site was not a church but Open City Theater on Highland Ave. in midtown. We had connections since Gven had taught yoga in the upstairs studio space, so they let us use it free.

The lights worked, but the furnace didn't. As 12:00 noon approached, the little black-box theater began filling up with guests standing around in their coats, shaking off the dampness and waiting for the heat to come on. Finally someone got the pilot to light, the heater - the kind that hangs from the ceiling - roared to life, and everyone took their places.

It was that kind of day and that kind of improvisational event. Once everyone had found a seat, the wedding party marched in to Pachelbel's Canon in D from an LP Gven adored. We stood with Rev. Mike in the center, and on cue our families formed a circle around us. At one point the phone rang, and whoever was closest answered it: no, there's no show today. There were vows, tears, joy all around, and inadequate light for photographs. I think everyone agreed it was one of a kind.

Afterward we all retired to the yoga room (is there an echo in here?) at Dr. Burt's office, where we ate organic food from Sevananda, danced to the live music of a friend of a friend, and drank champagne provided by Papa Golly. Nieces and nephews played drums and tambourines, and I vaguely recall a trumpet. If you've seen Brueghel's Peasant Feast, you get the picture, a pretty loose and casual reception of Southerners and Midwesterners on their best behavior. Miss Manners would have had a cow. But ya know what, she wasn't invited.

The big bash was actually the next night at JoJo's house, where the inner circle congregated for one of the best New Year's Eve parties in memory. We rang in 1979, and soon everyone had gone back to Detroit, Des Moines, Chicago, and Columbus. I recall the sun coming out at some point, and a big group piled in our red Ford Econoline van and walked up Stone Mountain. The rest is a blur.

Gven and I drove that red van down to the Florida Keys for a short camping honeymoon, then up to Ithaca, NY, for a long winter house-sitting a friend's cabin, cutting wood, carrying water, and tapping maple trees. We survived that and a few other tests which I will not enumerate. But it all reminds me of a corny Billy Joel song.

Don't go changing, to try and please me
You never let me down before
I don't imagine you're too familiar
And I don't see you anymore.

I wouldn't leave you in times of trouble
We never could have come this far
I took the good times, I'll take the bad times
I'll take you just the way you are.

Don't go trying some new fashion
Don't change the color of your hair
You always have my unspoken passion
Although I might not seem to care.

I don't want clever conversation
I never want to work that hard
I just want someone that I can talk to
I want you just the way you are.

I need to know that you will always be
The same old someone that I knew
What will it take till you believe in me
The way that I believe in you.

I said I love you and that's forever
And this I promise from the heart
I could not love you any better
I love you just the way you are.