Sallie

Satterthwaite

Lifestyle

Columnist

When a friend's daughter got married in December, I watched closely to see how the mother of the bride is supposed to act.

From my seat in the sanctuary, I could see her smiling with eyes fixed on her daughter. Afterwards, at the reception, the smile never wavered as she moved graciously among the well-wishers.

I hope I'm as composed when Jean gets married New Year's Day, I thought. Only later did I learn that last-minute chaos had left my friend in such shock that she literally missed her daughter's wedding. She confessed later that she remembered nothing that happened the whole evening.

So I know how lucky I was to be mother of the bride in a wedding that the bride and groom planned and executed themselves. By the time we arrived three days before the nuptials, I had only a dress to hem and a little boy's bow tie to purchase.

I absorbed and relished every delicious moment of those few days in Virginia.

Just having both daughters in the same time zone may have been the best part of the whole event. Mary and Rainer arrived at Dulles International the day of the rehearsal, with time to relax over a Tex-Mex lunch before we headed to church.

The rehearsal dinner, I admit, was a blur of sorting out Withnells, including 10 cousins 5 to 16 years of age and a whole branch of the family wearing yarmulkes! The eldest of Brian's three brothers converted to Judaism and married a Jewish woman. Members of an egalitarian congregation, both they and their grown daughters wear yarmulkes and observe dietary laws.

Dinner at Leesburg's Colonial Inn featured Virginia peanut soup, a choice of seafood or prime rib, and an assortment of cakes, pies, and ice creams. The weather had turned bitter-cold and windy; everyone drew close to the fire.

New Year's Day dawned really frigid with just enough snow to make everything pretty, yet not enough to worry about driving. A 20-minute ride through horse country pretty farms and rolling hills, woods and streams took us from our bed and breakfast to the simple traditional church set on a low hill.

Brian's daughters, Abigail, 13, and Esther, 10, wore dark green velvet dresses with a bit of white trim, and necklaces that belonged to their late mother. Five-year-old Isaac sported a little vest Jean made him of velvet left from Abigail's dress.

The musicians Mary and Rainer, of course played wonderful Baroque piano and oboe duets, once we found a portable heater to plug in behind the piano. An icy breeze seeped around the window and kept Mary in her coat until the last moment.

Let the record show that I didn't feel particularly weepy, and shed not a tear until a friend who has known Jean since infancy arrived. I guess she was the first of several really-really old friends who came; I lost it when she walked in.

Moments later, my dear, dear Aunt Mary Jane (80, last member of my mother's generation) came in with my cousin and his family, and undid me again. By the time I entered the church, I was teary, but it was all their fault.

At last the moment came when, to "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring," the rear doors opened and Jean entered the sanctuary on Dave's arm. She was luminous; he looked solemn, but dry-eyed. He handed Jean to Brian at the front of the church and sat down with me.

It was a typical Presbyterian service, with hymns and a sermon on the story of Ruth which included some very gracious comments about Jean. Evidently their unorthodox courtship over the Internet so soon after Brian's bereavement raised eyebrows in a congregation that cares deeply about this family.

But they have accepted Jean cordially. One of the nice things the preacher said was that during counseling sessions with them he never heard comparisons from Brian nor jealousy from Jean.

Then the knot was tied, and they kissed for the very first time. Really. They exited on "Sheep May Safely Graze" and a Bach Rondo, then returned to dismiss each row, starting with the kids, then us, greeting each guest as they went a nice touch I'd not seen before.

At the reception, toasts were made and the wedding cake (carrot and chocolate!) cut and shared. All too soon, it seemed, guests drifted away, and finally so did Brian and Jean, on their way to the Berkeley Springs Hotel.

Everything went almost perfectly, and as evening fell, I was reflecting on our momentous day in the library of a slightly worn 1770 farmhouse, while our musicians gave an impromptu concert. Other guests were delighted, or pretended to be, and kept drifting in and out with one eye on the Weather Channel.

Despite a crackling fire, the house was cold and the weather forecast grim. We'd hoped to show Washington to our German oboist, but next day headed south as fast as possible to visit Charleston and Savannah instead.

The deed is done. Our baby is wed to a stranger she met last summer. I have to say, I don't think I've ever witnessed a marriage formalized that I had more confidence would work, and well.

We are suddenly in-laws and co-grandparents with a really nice family. The children are happy and I don't even mind the stranger calling me "Mom."

What a way to start the New Year!

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