An Untraditional Tradition

A dear friend of mine mentioned a tradition she'd seen at a wedding she'd been to recently. She's not getting married, nor is she really paying attention to details at weddings, but this one stuck with her for some reason. She mentioned love letters, a wooden box, two wine glasses and a bottle of wine. It's supposed to work something like a unity candle or pouring grains of sand into one vessel. But when she explained it to me, I liked it more than these two options. And so did Mr. CB.

The tradition goes something like this: The couple writes love letters to each other. In their letters, they detail why they fell in love with each other and what they really, truly admire about the other person. The letters get sealed up before they are read by the person they are intended for.

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The sealed letters are brought out at the end of the ceremony. They are put into a wooden box that the couple supplies. Along with their letters, they put a nice bottle of wine into the box with two glasses. Once all is in the box, the wedding party hammers nails into the box to close it.

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The point of all this? If, at any point, the marriage is in serious jeopardy, the couple is to open the box, read the letters about why they fell in love with each other in the first place, and drink the wine together before making any irrational decisions.

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While, some could see this as a somewhat solemn ritual and not a celebratory or joyous tradition, I see it as being realistic and somewhat romantic. It's a metaphor for keeping the marriage based in truth and what is real. The hope is that you won't have to open the box but, who knows, maybe on your 40th anniversary it's a treat.

Mr. Cowboy Boot and I were immediately drawn to this tradition. We love wine and can think of several vineyards that mean something to us. If times were tumultuous down the road, I could see those certain wine-bottle labels bringing us back to more care-free days and to the things we love about each other.

Ms. Cowboy Boot in Tuscany

Before we were on Capri (where we got engaged), we spent a few nights in this gorgeous agriturismo in Tuscany called Torraccia di Chiusi. Every day we walked on an old pilgrimage road through vineyards and stone houses into the town of San Gimignano where we did a very Italian tradition: fare una passeggiata every evening. That means to take a walk. Simply stroll and enjoy the atmosphere, the people, the stores, the language.

Those are some of our favorite memories. And, if we ever needed to break open The Box, we'd be reminded of this. And, of being with each other in a foreign environment where we had hurdles, but mainly just romance.

Are you including any symbolic traditions in your ceremony? If so, what?

When Spontaneity Becomes Perfect Timing

For some, a proposal is completely planned out. I once knew a guy who picked up his girlfriend in a limo, drove her to a helicopter pad, flew her to Catalina Island (a small plot of land about two hours off the coast of Southern California by boat) at sunset, and led her to a rose petal-covered hotel room overlooking the ocean. 

Mr Cowboy Boot's proposal was nothing like that. 

But, before I whine and moan about not getting a chocolate-covered smorgasbord of perfectly timed bells and whistles, here are some clues into why the sporadic proposal was a-okay.

The View from our Hotel Room

Our Mode of Transportation

Heading into a Cave via Boat

Going up the side of a mountain via Chairlift

If you didn't guess it--which you probably didn't because I didn't include a picture of a cappuccino or a ridiculously good pizza--we were in Italy. More specifically, we were on the Isle of Capri. But not because of any mad scheming by Mr. CB (I wish!). 

Last April, I went abroad on assignment to write an article for a magazine. Because my way to Europe was paid, we decided to piggy back on my gig and take a 10-day vacation around Italy afterwards. We did a few days in Florence, Tuscany, Capri, and Rome. 

Now, I'll let you in on a little secret: I knew he was going to propose before it happened. When FMIL Cowboy Boot was visiting Santa Fe last, she happened to mention diamond rings in front of me. I sat there politely and kept mum. Two days later, Mr. CB and I were watching a movie in which they talk about a 12-carat diamond. "12 carats?!" He exclaimed, practically flailing off the couch. That's when I knew it was coming--he knew more about diamond size than I did. Check.

And what a more obvious plan than to take advantage of a Rico Suave-country like Italy. At each sightseeing overlook, each "viewpoint", I cringed, hoping Mr. CB wouldn't ask me in front of thirty, camera-clad tourists. That just wasn't either of us--but sometimes a guy who's trying to be romantic is blind to cheese-factor. (I'll credit Valentine's Day for the demise of romance). 

The proposal: We'd had the perfect day on Capri. We zipped around the island by motorino, been oared into the Blue Grotto (Caesar Augustus' private swimming pool back in the day), taken a single-seater chairlift to the top of Monte Solaro and hiked our way down, had beers from our mini-bar on the balcony of our hotel room while cuddling under a blanket at sunset. We went inside to get ready for dinner when he grabbed me and said, "I've been waiting to ask you this all week. Will you marry me?"

No ring. No champagne in his pocket. No mariachi band about to plow through the door. Just me, him, a private hotel room, on a whirlwind vacation in one of the most romantic countries in the world. 

I couldn't have asked for more.