Trending
Life has become a bit more, well, ordinary since we lost my mother-in-law this summer. She was the gift of quirkiness that kept on giving.
Quite often, the gifts she gave were big manila envelopes full of expired coupons, clipped newspaper articles about people you didn't know but she thought you should, and programs for events you'd missed -- or even programs for shows you saw with her. She snagged programs for everybody.
You just never knew what stunt the celebration-happy Carol would pull next. Her lore and legend morphed into the nickname "Draamaw" -- one part grandma and one part drama.
When I was dating Terry, she warned to never let Draamaw know my address, or even in what town I lived.
"Why not? She's so sweet."
"It's part of the ruse. Next thing you know, packages will show up in your mailbox and people will knock on your door."
Terry told me that when one of her sisters was engaged to a young military officer, she gave him the code name "Rudolph." Once Draamaw ferreted out "Rudolph's" real name, she sent a letter to the president of the United States to hash out wedding details.
The letter was initialed - with the occasional smiley face thrown in - by every possible snickering commanding officer from the White House all the way down until it finally landed on “Rudolph’s” desk as a welcome-back-from-the-honeymoon gift.
"You can't tell her anything about yourself. She'll use it in ways you can't even imagine."
Our case turned out to be pretty mild. When we arrived at the church seven years ago today for our nuptials, a stranger with a video camera hovered about, sometimes taking over the proceedings with directions for a better shot.
"Who's he?" I asked.
"I don't know," Terry said.
Draamaw had struck again.
But after the wedding, we saw neither byte nor pixel of the videos.
In June, Draamaw danced her final Irish jig -- probably on roller skates and wearing a tiara -- to her final reward. Her stores of photos, clippings and other odds and ends were sorted into tubs for each of her eight kids.
A couple weeks ago, Terry slid her tub and big box of tissues to the couch to sift through the contents. After two hours of sharing smiles and mementos baptized in tears, Terry whispered, "Look at this."
The DVDs. Seven years later, we had our first chance to see the two-disc production "Terry and Burt's Wedding," an event in which we played significant roles but of which we saw very little.
I fired up the player.
My bride glowed even more beautifully than I remembered. The silly grins on our starry-eyed faces wouldn't quit. I hope they never do.
There was the wedding cake we didn't get to eat. Be-bopping little kids who now are semi-serious collegians. My best man in a dress (because "he" was my daughter). A sailor saying into the camera, "Mom and Burt, I don't know how long it will be before you see this video…" Years, as it turned out.
And there was my Grandma Art, who passed away in 2012; messages from great-aunts Charlene and Ruth, both gone; brother-in-law Bill, whom we lost in 2010, but on the screen gliding across the dance floor… and there, filling so many frames with laughter, love and, naturally, clowning around, Draamaw.
Come to think of it, life never will be ordinary while I continue this crazy journey I began seven years ago today with my beloved bride. Not while Draamaw's knack for pulling surprises lives on.
Happy anniversary, Sweetie.
burtseyeview@tribtoday.com