Fifty-four years ago today, Peter and I got married.  Much to my mother’s disappointment, we had a small wedding (eleven people including us). I wore the most expensive dress of my lifetime.  It was a Geoffrey Beene design, and if you haven’t heard of him, he designed for such dignitaries as Lady Bird Johnson, Pat Nixon and Nancy Reagan.

The dress was white.

Our wedding day started badly.  Although we had rented the third floor apartment of a house in Cambridge, we weren’t living there yet.  However, for a reason I can’t recall, my wedding dress was there awaiting this occasion.  (It may be that I was supposed to be living there alone until we married, but I was staying with Peter.) Unfortunately, we only had a key to the back door of the house, and our landlady had locked the screen door.

No cell phones then.  As I recall, we roused her by banging on the door.  She was kind enough to keep her thoughts to herself.

Everything else went fine.  As did our marriage.