Both my weddings were so low - key they were what we might now call Slow Weddings — a handful of friends gathered as we (he in overalls I'd embroidered, me in a beaded and feathered faux suede dress and Frye boots) exchanged vows in the Rocky Mountains (dodging
snow storms the day before and after) for wedding No. 1; or wedding No. 2, in which two friends joined us
under a
giant balboa tree in San Diego's Balboa Park (he in khakis and me in a white lacy off - the - rack summer dress I already owned).
Twenty years from now, your family won't remember how perfectly decorated the house was or how many gifts were
under the tree, but they will remember having that
giant snowball fight that ended with Uncle Billy getting
snow down his pants.