Front Porch: So many trips down the aisle - and not a single divorce

My column about my son’s wedding (Oct. 24) prompted a blast from the past.

Mary Gustafson wrote to remind me I was her flower girl at her January 1971 wedding. She even sent a photo of 6-year-old me rocking a bouffant hairdo!

Mom made my red satin dress with an empire waist and white ribbon sash. I wore short white gloves and carried a basket filled with rose petals.

Knowing her limitations, Mom took me to a beauty parlor for the bouffant, which she reinforced at home and at the church with copious amounts of White Rain hairspray. The scent gagged me, but it did its job, and my hairdo held.

1971 was a busy year for weddings for me. My brother, David, married his wife, Becky, in November.

It looks like Mom used the same pattern for my dress, but this time, I wore beige satin with short puffed sleeves and a brocade sash. Alas, no salon-induced bouffant. Instead, my short hair was softly curled, and I wore a headband matching the sash.

My basket brimmed with fall flowers, but the best part of the wedding for me was the handsome ring bearer, Becky’s youngest brother, Joe.

With huge chocolate-brown eyes and a killer smile, he was the cutest boy I’d ever seen! I felt lovely walking down the aisle with him.

After a brief hiatus, I resumed my duties at another winter wedding. In December 1973, my brother, Jon, wed his wife, Bonnie.

My dotted pink Swiss gown had an empire waist, but longer sleeves. I’m pretty sure Mom used the same pattern and just lengthened the sleeves.

By this time my mother had shorn my hair a la Florence Henderson in the Brady Bunch. In the photos, it looked like she trimmed my bangs herself. Mom was great at snipping fabric – hair not so much.

I had no flower-flinging duties because I’d been promoted to junior bridesmaid – which is just like a regular bridesmaid, but shorter.

My nuptial career hit a lull until my sister Shelley’s wedding in Leavenworth, in September 1984. This time I was the maid of honor.

Once again, Mom made my dress – a floor-length heather blue gown. Of course, it had an empire waist. I’m somewhat confident she didn’t use the same Butterick pattern she used for the previous three dresses. Then again, she’s pretty thrifty.

I didn’t let her touch my hair, but she brought an extra large can of pink-capped White Rain and sprayed it in my vicinity while we got ready for the wedding.

Two years later, I had a star turn as the bride, which was a lot more stressful than my previous appearances. Mom didn’t make my dress, but she did try to White Rain me.

The best part of this outing was all the presents. And the honeymoon. And Derek. Not necessarily in that order.

I did take one more trip down the aisle in 1987 when my friend Rhonda married her husband, Jay, in Moses Lake.

They had a June wedding and my Mom-made gown was a shimmering iridescent blue of some gauzy fabric that made her swear off sewing formal wear forever.

I’m proud to tell you that every one of these marriages endured. Not one divorce! My participation likely had nothing to do with it, but still, if you’re planning a wedding keep me in mind.

Flower girls are cute and all, but a flower woman could add an elegant touch. I’m not even opposed to bringing the bouffant back, but I won’t stock up on White Rain just yet.

Cindy Hval can be reached at dchval@juno.com. Hval is the author of “War Bonds: Love Stories from the Greatest Generation” (Casemate Publishers, 2015) available at Auntie’s Bookstore and bookstores nationwide.