XXVII

Twenty seven years, how time flier’s when one is having fun.

Why it seems just like yesterday I had my head banged against Fran’s by Rev. Hunter.

No it was not some bizzaro Inuit or Moravian ritual; it was that we had no chance to ‘practice’ in the traditions of the Moravian church marriage ceremony.

The ceremony was booked for two days prior. Rev Hunter was ‘weathered in’ in Hopedale; with no planes imminent he thumbed a ride on the Topsail Star, the freighter at the time.

So in hindsight I learnt a couple of traditions. One being while kneeling at the alter the minister lays his hands on each of the betrothed heads and gently joins them while reciting his stuff.
Me not knowing this resisted attempts at moving my head, the Rev insisted with some force.

Then at the end of the ceremony the Rev and Fran left me at the alter, not looking good for the road ahead I thought.
Fran did come back to walk down the isle with me, and despite some pot holes and odd puddles our life together has been one of happiness and calmness.

The reception after the official reception was rocking to. Due to the delay the fruit had been soaking in the liquor for three days, yowza.
The Rev took a liking to the fruit punch, so I was forgiven for my ignorance of Moravian traditions in the end.