Just A Gal From Glidden: Happy is the bride that the sun shines upon

By Kate Winquist

Robert and I were having a coffee at the office Saturday morning - me perched behind my desk as usual and Robert sitting along the wall - when our landlord came in.

He looked at the two of us and asked if we had moved since the last time he stopped in.

Nope. Pretty much the same spots.

One thing I have realized after all these years in the newspaper business is that coffee is your friend. On deadline day, it is less of a friend and more of a necessity.

We got talking about the weather and how the days are getting shorter and colder. As I write this, my weather app tells me it's 11 degrees, but feels like only six. It's supposed to dip to two degrees tonight.

That's getting a little too close to frost for anyone's liking.

The leaves on the trees are starting to turn, too. I love the colours of fall. In fact, it's probably my favourite season.

Perhaps that's why, 26 years ago on September 16, Robert and I said, "I do.”

Wedded Bliss. Robert and I have a toast to our new lives together on September 16, 2000.

Rig shack diplomacy. The wedding RSVP card that never got sent back, found years later in a basement bin in Gull Lake. A crew member posted it in the rig shack and signed it on Tugger's behalf, promising the whole crew free drinks, a place to sleep and a seat on the honeymoon. Room for three in the car.

It was a beautiful day in Shaunavon, Saskatchewan, back in 2000. The sun was shining and it was warm - easily in the mid-20s.

"Happy is the bride that the sun shines upon," my mom used to say.

Well, Mom, so far, so good.

We've had a few hiccups along the way, but who hasn’t?

Sitting there over coffee Saturday morning, we started reminiscing about how we really should have been married on September 9.

That little scheduling problem was entirely my fault.

Back then, Robert - better known to his rig buddies as "Tugger" - worked on the drilling rigs. Three weeks on, one week off.

Simple enough, right?

Apparently not for his soon-to-be bride.

Somehow, I misread the calendar and planned our wedding for a week later than Robert's actual week off.

Oops.

It wasn't a complete disaster. One of the other drillers agreed to work an extra week so Robert could get married. Our honeymoon was shortened by a week, but we still managed to squeeze one in.

Despite the beautiful weather on our wedding day, by the time we came home there was snow on the ground.

Welcome back to Saskatchewan.

And there wasn't much time for newlywed bliss. Robert was scheduled to start the graveyard shift that very night.

The driller who had so kindly covered the extra week for him had apparently reached the end of his generosity.

"You're back. I'm outta here.”

I can't say I blamed him.

Robert worked with a great bunch of guys, though. They were also a bunch of comedians.

A few years ago, I was cleaning out some bins in the basement of our Gull Lake house when I came across one of our wedding RSVP cards. I had forgotten all about it.

We had extended an invitation to the "rig hands" to our wedding, and one of those fine gentlemen - who shall remain nameless - apparently decided our invitation wasn't nearly generous enough.

So he added a few details of his own, posted it in the rig shack and signed it on Robert's behalf.

Or, more accurately, on Tugger's behalf.

Apparently, we were supplying complimentary alcoholic beverages for the entire weekend, opening our home to the whole crew for "as many days as you feel is necessary" - bring your own sleeping bags - and even inviting them along on our honeymoon.

There was just one restriction: "We only have room for 3 in our car.”

How very thoughtful of us.

I don't remember being consulted about any of this.

Looking at that old RSVP card again, though, brought back a lot of memories. The crazy rig schedules. The guys giving each other a hard time. Trying to plan a wedding around three weeks on and one week off - and apparently not being very good at it.

Those were good days.

Funny thing is, it really doesn't seem like Robert and I have been married for more than a quarter of a century.

Twenty-six years married.

Thirty-one years together.

I jokingly told Robert the other day that he has officially put in longer than a life sentence.

He's still decided to stick with me.

And I'm awfully glad he has.

Happy anniversary, honey.

Sure glad Mom was right.