A Year

Hard to believe that it was only one year ago today in Moscow when I, Olga, and her parents piled into a black Volga sedan for the trip from her parents’ apartment in Shchukinskaya to the Central Palace of Wedding Registrations, It was a bright, midsummer day, clearly going to be hot. I remember when our driver skillfully used some side roads to avoid traffic -- dear Ol praised him on his skill finding his way to the ‘Palace,’ assuming he must’ve ferried a lot of people there. Instead he suspiciously shot back “what’s that supposed to mean?” We soon found out he’d already been married three times.

We’d gone through a lot to get to that trip across Moscow. It started on a hillside here in Williamstown in April, when our dog Gryeka discreetely ran off for a little while so Ol and I could have a talk. It included a trip to Boston for me, where I got to see the official Seal of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and get a stack of documents from the Northampton City Hall, Mass. Department of Public Health, and the Berkshire Eagle officially sealed. That was nothing compared to the bureaucracy Ol had to weave through in Moscow, and what we had to manouver together once I finally arrived. After leaping through the official paperwork, we still had only ten days to find a restaurant (we gave up and had it at home) and find shoes for Ol.

I love my wedding memories. I love handing off my passport and visa to a Russian civil servant, while Robbie Williams’ “Rock DJ” absurdly played on the sound system. The way we had to defend not laminating our wedding certificate, and have our music picks for the ceremony narrowed down to what the assembled musicians could hack through that morning. And the waiting around in puffy leather chairs until our turn was called and our party could march on in. How given my very limited Russian skills I understood only some, but was amazed and amused by the fact that this civil hall had a full-blown and brightly sun-lit clerestory. And signing the documents, only knowing where to sign by the skillfully deployed long twisted plastic pointing stick. And Ol planting this ring on me that hasn’t been moved since.

We all had a toast of Novy Svet champagne in the lobby, and then walked off into the day. We took a regular old Lada to get back to the apartment, and set about turning the study into a big dining room while father-in-law prepared the feast of satsivi and other tasty things. And of course leaving before all the guests had left so that we could catch a car to get to the railroad station for the overnight train ride to St. Petersburg for our little honeymoon.

So one great year has passed, and an even better one lies ahead.