The Bread

I remember thinking, “Wow, I feel like I am in trouble or something”. The village “hobbit” judge stood before us as we were seated side-by-side. His smile was warm and familiar; he spoke slow, clear, and in the language I most of the time understand, castellan Spanish and not in the native language of the village. I had plenty of time during my interview last month to make him accustom to my Spanglish. An interview with the sole purpose of determining if me, the immigrant, has other alternative motives for wanting to marry this Spaniard. Luckily, Ruben and my answers matched perfectly---We both know that we met on a train about 4 years ago (check), I was an American traveling with a bike and he was Sir Sebastian, smiley train mechanic (check); He likes the mountains and I like them too (check); One father specializes in paella and the other Bar-B-Q (check); and no other husbands or wives (check). Just to make sure on that last one, the old Spanish law mandates that our engagement is posted for two weeks in the town hall, just encase any unaccounted husbands or wives object (Don’t worry grandma, I have a copy for you). After two weeks, no other wives of Ruben came forward, but what did happen was that the news spread quickly through-out the village -that were getting married, something we did not share with many, not even all of our family.

The room was large for Spanish standards; walls were bare and there was plenty of light. No flowers; no corny music; no rings; and absolutely no white dress, or any special clothes for that matter (Yes, I did take a shower for all of you that are wondering); and no family, just the required two witnesses. Christbol and Karol, our two special friends and my top two favorite hobbits, besides Ruben. They know how dirty Ruben is, and they know that I am a little sleepy, and sometimes grouchy, in the morning; something you would only know if you lived in the same house.

The judge started with a joke. He announced that because I do not understand Catalan (I know about 10 words)and Ruben has trouble understanding Catalan at times, that it is best that he proceeds the wedding in Catalan and not in the language we both understand. Silly hobbit.

Luckily, he did proceed in the language that we both understand. He started with our story and said it was like a movie (and one day it will be a novel-one that I am starting). Then we were read the Spanish law and our human rights; we are free to marry and have a family, the basic ideas that animated the movement developed in the aftermath of Second World War). What followed was different, nothing like my first wedding ceremony. No biblical reference to what is love, no expectations said about what a husband or wife should be or do, no becoming one yoke, or any mention of obedience. What was said was Pan, yes- bread. Funny because the Spanish love their crusty white bread and always find a way to talk about food and ironic because this is my number one “lesson learned” from my first marriage. “Eat from the same bread but not the same piece”. Love works with life only if you can first love and stay true to yourself (your own slice) and find someone that is aligned with you (likes the same type of bead, i.e Ruben I and both prefer whole grain with nuts and seeds).

So after a kiss…..

two signatures…..

We now have a little blue family book that says we are married and can have up to six little American/hobbits….

There are moments I regret not having another traditional wedding-friends-family-party-beautiful dress-decorating, but this moment passes fast. The action of Ruben and I getting married simply means that we can be together to love, regardless of visa laws or citizenship. No special day, kiss, ring, or a piece of paper will guarantee forever, it will be our daily actions that will dictate our future. To love is easy, what is hard is remembering the “bread”.

Love, Katelyn Wells (AKA Dr. Hobbit)

I little poem about bread:From Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.