Our venue has two, count them, two fountains. Oh yeah. This was the sole reason we chose this location.* We were seeking to double our fountain pleasure. We desired to be the cream of the crop and the top of the pops. We wanted to lord it over others: Your venue has only one fountain, huh? Sucks to be you.

Each fountain is located in its own courtyard. Yeah, I could have gone on about how we have two, count them, two courtyards, but you know, humility and stuff.

One of the courtyards is big, and one is small. Here’s the big one:

Word.

This is where we are going to have the reception. Well, not in the fountain. There is like, ample space around this thing. Plus, I think we’d lose the deposit if we tried to dine and dance up in here. Something about it being historic or some shit. You probably shouldn’t even gaze directly at it for any length of time, just as a precaution.

Here’s the other, smaller fountain. I’m pretty sure it’s historic, too, so avert your eyes:

Cute.

Cute.

This smaller fountain is located in the smaller courtyard, which is where we’re going to do the hitchin’. The smaller courtyard also has this trellis thing, which is where most people hold the ceremony, so I’m told. They line up some chairs, maybe toss up some flowers, and stand in front of it to say their vows.

Trellis thing. You can look at this for as long as you want. You can probably even touch it. I won’t tell anyone.

Oh, right. Ceremony, you say. Vows, you say. Chairs. Guests. Officiant. Wedding party. That timeless march down the aisle. Oh. Right.

Aisles. Let’s talk about aisles for a minute. They kind of freak me out. Why? I don’t know. The grand procession is a classic tradition. Yet whenever I try to insert myself into this fairytale daydream it all goes sideways. I imagine standing in the back just beyond view, waiting for my turn to walk. The music swells, and everybody stands up,** and in unison they turn slowly — slowly — and gaze down the aisle expectantly, cameras at the ready, craning their necks to lock eyes upon that storied, ethereal, dare I say blushing figure in white. But wait, what’s this? A quiet murmur shoots up the rows of befuddled guests. There is nobody there. That’s because I am already gone. I have leapt the fence and I’m booking.*** Three minutes later, I am at the nearest dive bar drinking scotch and plotting my unexpected elopement.

Aisles. They freak me out.

You know what doesn’t freak me out? Fountains.****

Here’s my idea: We’ll have the caterer set up the chairs in concentric half-rings around part of the fountain in the smaller courtyard. There will be an aisle, yes, to facilitate the easy movement of guests. But nobody in the wedding party will use it.

I’m picturing the wedding party filing up to the fountain from both the left and the right sides, in front of the guests. They can come out of two separate doors in the adobe building directly behind the fountain, or perhaps just come out from behind either side of the adobe building. When the big moment arrives, the beau and I can walk out simultaneously but separately. He on one side, I on the other.

We may come out alone, or we may come out with our parents. Either way, I like that symbolism: each of us moving from different areas to meet each other in the middle.

Oh sure, everybody will still be looking at me, but I won’t be the only one in the spotlight. It will be our “grand procession” to share.

There are other things I like about this arrangement. Having our guests around us in a semi-circle will feel more intimate and less formal. Having fewer rows will mean people in the back can hear us say our vows.

Hitchin’ site.

Cooler view than the trellis, too.

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* I am a lying liar.

** GET UP, STAND UP, COME ON THROW YO’ HANDS UP, IF YOU GOT THE FEELIN’, JUMP ACROSS THE CEILIN’ — oh.

*** So glad I wore flats.

**** Aha. I knew I was building to some kind of point.