Chapter 6 - The Wedding

Time it was, and what a time it was,

It was, a time of innocence,

A time of confidences.

Long ago it must be, I have a photograph,

Preserve your memories, they’re all that’s left you…

Simon & Garfunkel

July 6,1974. We were babies. 23 years old. Earlier chapters told the story behind this moment  I will forever remember our special day. The love we shared. The love that will never, ever die...

The Wedding

We were both in college, living at home until the day we married, (except for my six month trial run sharing an apartment with a girlfriend). As college seniors in 1973, we considered graduation as merely a baton pass to the bigger prize – law school for George, student teaching and my credential for me. Our wedding would have to wait until one of us (me) had completed grad school and found gainful employment. 

I remember when (early spring, 1973) and where (headed to a Dodgers game) I pulled out the only calendar available (the back of my check register) and threw out some possible dates for our Big Day. I balked at a June date. Too cliché. We settled on July 6, 1974 – a little more than a year away. George would have one year of law school under his belt, and could step into his summer job - now managing  Firestone stores. I would have my credential and hopefully find a teaching position before school started in September.

My seventies fashion sense envisioned a wedding in a park-like setting, wearing a country-girl influenced dress. I worked for JW Robinson's department store and found my perfect wedding dress - a floor length beauty, complete with an eyelet pinafore - straight out of  Country Brides magazine. With my employee discount, I got my $120 dream dress for under a hundred bucks! A floppy wide brimmed hat would complete my John Denver/Country Girl-worthy, field-of-flowers wedding.

Farrah had the hat I wanted...

George had a different dream wedding scenario. I had not given away any secrets about my dress, when he said, “I have always imagined you walking down a church aisle, and lifting your veil for our first kiss as husband and wife.” I was so touched by his romanticism and honesty. How could I deny the man I adored his wedding moment? A church wedding it would be. There was one problem, though. My country girl dress would not work with that veil he dreamed of, and with a no-return policy, my only option was to buy a second wedding dress! I went all out - $150 for dress number two, plus a $20 veil and $10 headpiece. 

Dress No. 2. And the veil of George's dreams.

Home sewn bridesmaids dresses. Field flowers in baskets. And those wide brim hats!

I left the field flowers and wide brim hats for my bridesmaids, and walked down the aisle to the love of my life. He lifted my veil for our first, “Mr. and Mrs.” kiss, and I loved that moment as much as he did.

Veil lifted. Husband and Wife. Perfection

July 6, 1974. And yes, the tuxedos were yellow. It was the 70's!

Our wedding coincided with my parents’ retirement, and we knew they could not finance a large affair. Still our day was everything we dreamed of, surrounded by family and friends, with a reception at Brother’s beautiful home. 

On a shoestring budget, and in order to save the $10 delivery charge, we transported the cake in the back of George's Pinto - in 100 degree Valley heat!

George’s parents gave us a wonderful wedding gift – airfare for a two week vacation in Hawaii. It would be George's first air travel, and only my second. And George, as always, saved enough for our hotel and expenses. Our wedding night would be spent at a hotel near the airport. And it would be our first overnight together – ever. 

After the reception. Headed to our first overnight together!

And among other wedding night discoveries, I learned yet another sweet tidbit about my husband...

Did I mention George lived at home until our wedding day? My remarkably strong and capable man saw no reason to leave home. “Why pay rent when I can barely afford my law books?” he would reason. I would discover on our wedding night that his mom packed his suitcase for our Hawaiian honeymoon! He had to call home from the hotel to ask her where she packed his checkbook!

Let the adventures begin!

Honeymoon bliss. The love that lasted a lifetime....

Hawaiian Honeymoon Memories, 1974. I would have to work on my Kahuna's clothing choices!

To those who have been following my trip down Memory Lane, I thank you for indulging my shameless romanticism. I hope to write more chapters, if only for myself - recollections of our joys and challenges as newlyweds and new parents. Navigating all that life and marriage threw our way in our 43 years of marriage. We all know by now I'm a hopeless over-sharer, and writing has certainly been my grief therapy. 

As with the old photos I shared, time has blurred the focus of so many memories. The colors have faded, yet the images have reminded me that life doesn't have to be remembered in the detail it was lived. Remembering bits and pieces of our journey has softened the pain of my grief. I have smiled more than cried as the chapters have emerged from my memories to these posts. And I know. George is with me. Always. As I turn the corner and lean into my new life, I will cherish the years as his Lovely Paula Marie.

Chapter 5 - The Proposal

The Proposal

Looking back, I realize now how young we were when we found our “person”. From the day we met, George and I were perfectly suited for each other. We loved our families and looked forward to starting our own. We had our career goals in full view, and we were in love. All of this, and we had just turned 20!

Young love - young lovers

School, work and studying filled our calendars, but we always found time to be together. Sunday family dinners were spent at either his home or mine  – or sometimes both. An afternoon with my family followed by a trip to the Hultman house, where George’s family gathered for a summer barbecue and a swim in the pool. 

Life was wonderful. We were in love – and in like. No quarrels or fights. We both continued living at home, and would never even consider spending an overnight together - imagining our parents' disapproval - and making our covert intimate moments more special. We loved whatever we were doing, as long as we were with each other.   

Oh the captions this image could generate!

At some point over the next year and a half, we both felt the excitement of imagining our life together. When I casually mentioned to my mother, “Mom, would you be happy if I married George?” her approval was instantaneous. I had chosen the boy of my parent’s dreams!

George was working fewer hours as pre-law coursework got more challenging, and he promised me a ring – someday – when he could afford one worthy of his Lovely Paula Marie. We strolled the storefronts of Northridge Mall, and stopped to admire rings in the jewelry store windows. I wasn’t in a hurry, and would have been happy with whatever he picked. But, as always, he had a plan…

Northridge Fashion Center, circa 1971. 

December, 1972 As Christmas approached, we found ourselves at the mall quite often. Engagement ring window-shopping had been replaced with Christmas present buying, and George confessed he wanted to give me a coat as my present. My coat obsession traces back to my winter, 1969 trip to South Dakota. Until then my Southern California born and bred senses had never seen snow fall, observed icicles, or felt chilled to the bone! Coats were essential there, and styles of the day had me hooked. While I wouldn’t need it often, I longed for a variation of the popular maxi length coat with wool shearling collar and cuffs.  

The coat style of my dreams. Perfectly unsuited for Southern California.

George was well aware of my very specific taste, and wanted me to pick out the coat. He would buy it, gift wrap it, and present it to me on Christmas. He mentioned on several occasions how bad he felt, having me pick my own present, but I assured him it was perfectly fine. I was eager to open the gift box and wear my gorgeous new coat, no matter how warm that SoCal Christmas weather would be.

Christmas Eve was the Hultman’s traditional night to gather for dinner as a family. George became Uncle Santa, happily donning the red suit and beard as he “Ho, ho, ho’d” his heart out, to the delight of my nieces and his nephews. My family always chose Christmas night for the family get-together, which eliminated the need to “choose” with whom we would spend the holidays. Another perfect fit!

Uncle Santa passing our presents 

On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, 1972, George arrived at my door with the huge, recognizable Bullock's Department Store box holding my beautiful new coat. I looked forward to wrapping myself in all its mod splendor, and he looked happy presenting it to me. “Let’s go into the den so you can open it now,” he said. I was a bit puzzled he chose a room so un-Christmas-y, but off we went to our little TV room/den. He handed me the box, heavy under the weight of that mid length beauty, and we sat together as I untied the bow and lifted the top off the box. Tissue flew as I attempted to reach my coat. Instead, I uncovered…bricks! And hidden in the center of that oversized gift box I saw it – a two by two inch jewelry box. My heart skipped a beat! My boyfriend was about to propose.

I don’t remember his exact words. But I do remember the thrill of the moment. The beautiful, almost one carat, marquis cut diamond solitaire, set in a brushed yellow gold band. He had been saving for months, and drove to the LA Jewelry Mart to find the perfect diamond and setting – with all of the details from all the rings I admired in those jewelry store windows. He got down on his knee, asked me to spend the rest of my life with him and slipped the ring on my finger - and I said “Yes!” We were engaged, and I rushed to the next room and my parents – who had been in on the surprise all along. George was old school and had asked my parents’ blessing weeks earlier. Hugs and handshakes ensued. 

“I have to show Lolly!” My best friend lived a few houses away, and as we walked to her house, I held my left hand at arm’s length, admiring my newly adorned ring finger. We drove to his house, my arm still extended as I admired my beautiful ring, and his parents and family made me feel as if I was already a part of the Hultman clan. It was a Christmas Eve to remember. Paula Preston was going to become Paula Hultman.

And The Coat? It was in a box under our Christmas tree the next morning. A Christmas gift from my parents!

The Coat. Not a single photo of The Ring could be found!