One of the most wonderful, beautiful and emotionally bonding ceremonies in the entire world, other than marriage, is the “honeymoon.”
Now, assuming that you and your new spouse survive the actual wedding ceremony itself — and you are not on the run from law enforcement authorities for hacking certain family members to pieces and stuffing them into the trunk of an abandoned 1987 Caprice Classic — it is a good idea to go on a honeymoon.
Marriage survival
Let's face it: Weddings can be a bit stressful.
There's the months of planning and coordinating, invitations to send, hotel rooms to reserve, and miles of egos and feelings to smooth over. I mean, after all, YOUR wedding is not about you and your intended, but rather it's all about bringing your families together and hoping for a relatively low body count when it's all over with.
Anyway, assuming that you're not in jail and that your marriage has survived the wedding, now you should go on a honeymoon.
The term “honeymoon” is derived from a Latin word which is very long and impossible to pronounce, but when freely translated means, “Let's go someplace where our families will never find us.”
We needed to get away.
Far, far away.
So, my wife and I went to Glacier National Park.
I'm in love with Glacier. I love ALL of Montana's varied and beautiful landscape, from one corner of the state to another — but I am IN love with Glacier.
Here, where the best of Montana's prairie and mountain landscapes have converged to create unrivaled scenic splendor, my new wife and I could escape, lie low, be inconspicuous, go unnoticed, be alone.
Dwarfed by the austere, imposing beauty of these mountains, we could become invisible for a while.
Not.
We made this trip in my wife's van.
Understand, this is not your ordinary van. It's not your basic Caravan or Lumina, nor any other yuppie-soccer-mom-multiple-personnel vehicle-type van.
This is a rez-van-turned-hippie-van, held together by duct tape, bailing twine and daily prayer.
Basically, it's a 1980-something GMC, which my wife and her two young daughters decided to paint one day by themselves — I don't know — right after they camped for too long beneath some high tension power-lines or something.
In a moment of sheer creativity and utter boredom, they spattered the vehicle with brightly painted paisleys, flowers, peace signs, all four of the Beatles AND their yellow submarine.
Peace over primer paint
The result: An eloquent statement of the power of peace and love over primer gray, or, a pathetic, four-wheeled cry for attention ... depending on your perspective.
People in our neighborhood actually give directions based on our van: “Oh yeah, just go down this street and take a left at the hippie van.”
So here we are on our honeymoon, in this “vehicle of expression.”
We might as well have a flashing neon sign that says, “Notice us! Notice us!”
So much for going quietly unnoticed.
So much for going placidly amid the noise and haste.
So much for being invisible.
Wherever we go, even in this quiet, remote, majestic corner of Montana, EVERYONE knows we're there.
Including those clingy authorities with their nagging questions about that Caprice Classic.
Originally published Aug. 11, 01.
Copyright © The Billings Gazette, a division of Lee Enterprises.
John Potter, an Ojibwe from Wisconsin, is a gifted artist, illustrator and writer. After more than 20 years as an editorial artist and columnist with the Billings Gazette (Billings, Mont.), he now spends his full time and energy on his oils, painting the landscapes of the West that he loves the most. His work can be seen online at www.lonewolfgallery.com.
