I have so many questions about this image. Some simple assumptions would be that this couple is celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. And by the lettering to the right of the cake, I’ll assume the wife is named Cora. But why is she wearing a dress and pearls, when he is wearing a robe and boutonnière? Is that a cake or just a heap of whipped cream? Is it melting? And what is that brick before the cake? Surely it’s not napkins.
During WWII, American soldiers were forbidden from fraternizing with German girls, no matter how comely or eager. Corporal Harold Goodden could hardly resist this mannequin, replete with German officer’s cap and lustrous locks. Surely she was not harboring Nazi tendencies.
But rulebooks be damned. By 1949 (four years later) over 20,000 German war brides had emigrated to the United States to join their charming US serviceman (and to get the H out of Europe).
Italy was also the enemy, but no matter to stationed soldiers. No less than 412 brides were all aboard the liner Algonquin in this shot. Clearly there was more than “fraternization” going on.
Women from many nations soon found the US to be home. An estimated 100, 000 UK women, 1,500 hundred New Zealand women, and 15,000 Australian women married American soldiers and moved to the US as well.
Ireland was neutral during WWII, and evidently Irish lasses were not immune to the charms of American soldiers. Exactly one year after the above picture was printed, these Irish war brides set sail for a new life in New York, where their babies would be introduced to their American fathers.
Forget pawn shops. These two freshly-divorced women threw caution (and jewelry) to the wind in observance of the Reno, Nevada custom of tossing their rings into the Truckee River. What I don’t get is why they wouldn’t want to sell them since it was 1932, amidst the Great Depression. At least get enough to buy a celebratory whiskey! And why were they wearing Hawaiian leis in the middle of the dessert? And what did their husbands do to warrant such a dismissal of vows?
In 2013, The Huffington Post shared this image, with Nevada still #5 in a list of Top Ten Divorce Capitals.
When 41-year-old bachelor Jimmy Stewart finally married his one and only wife, Gloria, it was understandably a big deal in Tinsletown. Life magazine shared this headline.
Fans gathered out front of the Brentwood Presbyterian Church just to catch a glimpse of the newlyweds.
The stag party the night before had been held at Chasen’s, with signs from his friends, needling him. And it was there that the “two midgets” surprised him.
And here is the happy couple, exiting the church.
Stewart adopted both of her two sons, and they had had twin daughters in 1951.
They remained married until her death from lung cancer in 1994.
Per Wikipedia, rather than replace his pacemaker battery in late 1996, he opted to let nature take its course. In June, he passed from a pulmonary embolism, telling his children, “I’m going to be with Gloria now!” And if that ain’t true love, I don’t know what is.
Remember 1902? Me, neither. This book does. It’s all sorts of “m” words: musky, mildewy, moldy. That’s what happens when you’re over 100. You can see the date at the very bottom.
It’s chock full of stories, poems, and pictures by dead people. This groom looks rather serene on his honeymoon. He basks in the memory of the previous night, while she chooses which add-ins to order for her three-egg omelette. Sounds about right.
Included is a Poe poem (aha! one letter’s difference!), which inspired the post title. No, I don’t know what it means. If I did, my blog would be called, “I Very Much Get It.” Clearly, I do not.
I also don’t get why this painting is titled “Bringing Home The Bride.” Whose home is this?
Pardon me, but why are there old people at her home? Why is that septuagenarian helping the bride disrobe in front of her grandpa? Children at bay windows are witnessing this! Gossip is being told to Teddy Roosevelt. Men lifting suitcases on the staircase should mind their own business. Truth be told, the departure from home seems much more lively. Perhaps she should continue departing.
This volume also includes the courtship of not Eddie’s father, but instead, Miles Standish. I particularly enjoy this line: “She could not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the noonday; Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a peasant.” I hear that.
And what do you think of this?
This couple gazing admirably at her ring–it’s very sweet, isn’t it? And who wouldn’t be excited to be engaged to the fourth musketeer? FYI, musketeers protected royal families. I wonder if the little babe of Windsor, soon to be birthed, will have its own private musketeer? No, wait, that’s only French royal families. Nevermind.
Here is an excerpt from The Bride of Lammermour:
Oh, my gosh, you guys. Don’t you HATE reading dialect? What the what? How am I to comprehend the mumblings of a paralytic hag? As if.
Now I thought Romeo & Juliet were supposed to be about fourteen years old. Romeo looks considerably older than that in this picture. Like he could possibly see rated R movies. I think we all know what happens next.
And here we are at the precursor to Say Yes To The Dress.
Is that guy the tailor? He seems pretty smug. Or is that the groom? If so, he shouldn’t be seeing her before the wedding. He’s quite the dandy, no? And what’s with the girl? Is she praying for a similar dress one day or already consumed with thoughts of the reception playlist. “Please play ‘Celebrate’ by Kool and the Gang or I shall just die…”
Read this ditty, and you may be disturbed, and I don’t mean by heaving breasts.
I would have had a heaping helping of sassy backtalk from my bridesmaids, should I have forced them to become Corsican like me. Yeesh.
Now observe this lovely portrait.
It takes a village to make a wedding. And a nice top hat.