OUTLANDER AND LESSONS LEARNED FROM A REAL SCOTTISH WEDDING

I am on the Isle of Arran in Scotland, only a few miles from the standing stones at Machrie Moor.  In this beautiful scene, I think of the TV show Outlander, and picture myself sitting next to the dashing Jamie.  Like his lovely Claire, I am a Sassenach.  No worries.  I've been called worse.

Duncan and I know Scotland well.  Our oldest son, Ian, attended the University of St. Andrews during Prince William's tenure.  Ian is the only person who ever got the Prince's name wrong.  He called him "Scott," and the Prince looked at him like he was nuts.  A year or so later, the Prince inadvertently drove his grocery cart into Ian.  Clearly, two noteworthy royal encounters.

This time we are in Scotland for a wedding.   The bonny bride, Ailie, was a classmate of Ian's, but Duncan and I lovingly call her our "Scottish daughter."   To say the event was wonderful would be a wee bit of an understatement.  Most of the men (including Ian) were in kilts, and, of course, the women wore fancy hats.  My fascinator had feathers and two long, spiky reeds that, in a pinch, could double as marshmallow roasters.  I was amazed it got through security.

A bagpiper started and finished the wedding ceremony.  It doesn't get any better than that.

During the reception, Ian asked me to join him for some Scottish ceilidh dancing.   Although I typically don't do things I can't spell, I succumbed, and it was awesome.  At the close of the evening, as part of a Scottish tradition, all the guests formed a circle, crossed arms, held hands, and sang Loch Lomond.  I had the good fortune to be directly across from Ailie, so I could see her expression.   It was a remarkable.  She knew this was her moment; her turn, like so many brides before, to be surrounded by generations of family and friends who adored her.  My heart melted.  Yours would have too.  Guaranteed.

Scottish traditions have been known to turn up at American weddings also, however.  Take Duncan's and mine, for example.  Mid-ceremony, a black cat sauntered down the aisle and settled into my cathedral length veil.  I was blissfully unaware, but my seven year old nephew made a nose dive to catch the feline intruder (the same nephew who is deathly allergic to animals).   At the end of the night, one of Duncan's groomsmen, who happens to be Scottish, told me that, in Scotland, couples look for black cats to bring to their weddings.  It's evidently good luck.  I've never checked whether it's true, because I need to believe it.   Even after 34 years of marriage.  One can never be too sure.  Plus, oblivion can be very comforting.

So here's what I learned from Ailie's wedding. I think it's pretty universal.  People won't remember whether she wore crystals on her shoes.  But they will remember her radiance.  They won't remember whether her father wore the right boutonniere, or her mother the perfect dress.  But they will remember her parents' expressions when she said "I do."   Even in exquisite Scotland, it's the ordinary, simple (and often unexpected) moments that make a wedding extraordinary.  Embrace them.  With or without a black cat.