Although it rained on my wedding day I didn't find it the slightest bit ironic. Sorry Alanis, it was actually quite nice.
The nerve-racking moments leading up to the big day - Aug. 10, 2009 - were what I imagine the apocalypse might be like. Temperatures reached 40 C, forest fires erupted along the corridor, and legions of vehicles were towed off the side of the highway daily while their owners soaked in the tantalizing yet temporary cool comforts of Brohm Lake.
Copies of The Chief practically spontaneously combusted, and it hurt many a sole to walk along toasty Nexen Beach.
It was hot! I thought of establishing a lemonade stand on my street to help pay for the boutonnieres and rejuvenate my neighbours' spirits, but a group of local toughs beat me to it and promptly told me to beat it.
But, as Brackendale Republic's Thor Froslev once said to me when talking about the struggles having the Farmers Institute Park officially recognized: "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!"
And so, as the drought penetrated our small herb garden and I resorted to wearing boxers with a stained white tank top around the home a little too regularly, we prepared to welcome our friends and family from out east, down south and overseas.
We had arranged for the majority of our visitors to stay at a lodge at the base of Blackcomb Mountain. And then, days before they arrived, Blackcomb Mountain caught fire. Visitors arriving days later were greeted by blazes at Murrin Park and an area near Alice Lake had already fallen victim to fire.
At this point, I didn't know much about bad wedding omens, but I was pretty sure that the earth consistently bursting into flames isn't a particularly good sign. But while cold feet might have supplied some relief (and appeased the gods!), I remained resolute.
It hadn't rained in weeks come our wedding day, which was located in the Callaghan Valley at the Whistler Olympic Park and chosen for its secluded location and spectacular mountain view.
On the big day, it finally poured and our hopes for an outdoor ceremony were doused along with the view of the mountains. Our guests were strangely ecstatic, however.
The ladies breathed a sigh of relief, realizing they would be able to avoid the large spaces between the deck boards on the outside patio where the ceremony was to take place. The apparent mine field for high heels didn't make it into logistical considerations. The bride and her maids toppling like dominos on their way to the altar would surely be a bad omen (for me personally, at least).
Family and friends assured us that rain on one's wedding day is not bad luck, nor is it ironic. Ironically, it's good luck because it represents fertility and a long, happy marriage.
So with the help of my wedding party, the ceremony was moved inside at the last minute in front of a roaring fire and a gentle mist around the venue. My bride loved it, which meant I did too.
