As we approached Nevada City, a lovely old Gold Rush-era town in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, some residual thunderstorms were still rumbling through. It was a beautiful, gray, overcast fall day. We had spent the morning filling Liz's Ford Escape with bags, garlands, broken lab glassware, three foot long sparklers, and a host of other DIY decor; had secured our nervous and moderately medicated beagle into the front seat; and had dug out a spot in the back for our sick gray tuxedo kitty, Dorian Gray, who had a few days prior received a terminal diagnosis of metastatic disease. We were as we usually are: a traveling band of pets and props, detailed plans, nervous excitement, and perhaps too much luggage, heading towards the official start of our combined future. I cannot speak for Liz who was a bit more emotionally invested in putting on a good show, but at that moment, on that day, all was going pretty much according to plan and, at least in the small world of our upcoming wedding, all was relatively well [Liz: err, not so much]. Despite the busyness that had led up to this day which had dulled many of the emotions we may have otherwise experienced, I was happy and I was excited. We checked in to our heavily shall we say "Eastern"-themed airBNB chosen because of its pet friendly renting policy, unloaded our supplies at Liz's mother's rental a short walk up a steep hill from our wedding venue, had dinner, practiced some dancing (no amount of practice was going to make me a good dancer), [Liz: don't forget about my anxiety/grief/exhaustion breakdown in the evening], and had a sit on our BNB's back patio love seat under a pile of blankets with our cat and our beagle. The wedding was upon us,battle stations!
