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Blizzard rages outside, spring blooms inside at daughter’s wedding
BY: MARILYN H. KARFELD Senior Staff Reporter
Saturday, March 8, was our daughter Lindsay’s wedding day, but at the height of the blizzard, it looked like she probably wouldn’t be getting married to James Sulzer that night.
The weather problems for us started earlier in the week. Tuesday, an ice and snowstorm delayed the bride and groom’s arrival from Chicago; they ended up spending the night in a motel off the Ohio Turnpike.
On Thursday, friends called with news of the waterline break on Public Square and the house-sized crater disrupting utilities at downtown hotels, where our out-of-town friends and relatives would be staying.
By Friday, the big snow arrived, and with it came the guests’ cancellations. Some friends and family were able to reschedule flights for later in the day. Others decided to drive instead, and a few took the train from Chicago.
On the way to a luncheon downtown honoring Lindsay’s bridesmaids, we were crawling along Superior Avenue in heavy snow, concerned about two of her stranded attendants. I remember thinking this couldn’t get much worse. And then it did: A driver rear-ended my three-week- old car. Fortunately, the fender bender was minor, and the bridesmaids eventually all managed to get to Cleveland.
A festive rehearsal dinner at Sammy’s in the Flats went off as planned, with only about 15% of the guests not showing up.
On Saturday, my husband Howard and I woke to a foot of new snow in our driveway with our snowplow guy nowhere in sight. We bribed the man blowing snow at the school across the street to tackle our drive, too.
Lindsay and her sister Whitney had fortunately spent the night at the Hyatt Regency Hotel at The Arcade downtown, where most of our out-of-town guests were staying. But our son Brad and his wife Amy and Howard and I had to drive downtown in two separate cars.
After about 50 minutes of tortuous travel, we arrived at The Arcade, where Lindsay was getting her hair and makeup done.
The hair stylist walked a dozen blocks to work. the makeup artist was home shoveling her drive. Lindsay had her cell phone plastered to her ear and tears in her eyes as friend after friend called to say their flights were cancelled because the airport closed. In addition, “no drive” regulations went into effect in some Ohio counties. The State Highway Patrol was stopping people still on the roads and even issuing tickets
Around noon, Ginny Sukenik, our wedding planner, trapped in Solon in whiteout conditions, called to say the band had just checked in, sure the wedding had been cancelled. Sukenik assured them otherwise.
Our florist called to say he couldn’t get down unplowed E. 12th Street to deliver our flowers to The Union Club, where the wedding was to take place. Abandoned cars in snowdrifts were in the middle of the road, blocking access.
Sukenik, who had finally arrived from Solon, called Rabbi Rosie Haim, who said she was afraid to drive downtown in the worst blizzard in decades to perform the ceremony. Whitney cheerfully announced that Uncle Dick Gram, a “sea captain” who owned a 37-foot sailboat, was licensed to perform marriages.
Somehow, however, Sukenik managed to find a car service willing to pick up the rabbi. Meanwhile, earlier, our photographer appeared in the salon with the videographer, right on schedule. He lives in Kirtland Hills, and later he told me the snow was up to his big SUV’s headlights. But he floored the accelerator and bolted out of his garage and down the drive.
The florist finally made it into the Union Club, only a few hours late. After we had photos taken at the Hyatt, we all attempted to get over to the wedding venue for more pictures. Donna and Harry Sulzer, James’s parents, went first, but got stuck on E. 12th in the snow and decided not to risk returning to the hotel to pick up anyone else. Five Union Club employees had to push them into the garage.
So Howard, in our little four-wheel drive Audi, took the very large wedding party, four people at a time, to the club, driving different circuitous routes each time as stalled city buses blocked many of the city’s streets.
Two bridesmaids rolled their dresses into backpacks and walked there from their hotel. The baker miraculously managed to bring the wedding cake downtown in her van, despite a scary drive along I-90 in a total whiteout.
Of all of the vendors I had hired for the wedding, only the flutist, part of a trio playing for the ceremony, did not show up as scheduled.
With everyone running late, we delayed the wedding 20 minutes to allow more guests to navigate the drifts and arrive. When Howard and I walked into the ballroom for the first time, Lindsay between us, we were all astounded to see a space transformed into a spectacular lush garden and row after row of smiling guests. Later, we realized only 38 people out of the 229 expected guests were not able to be there.
At about 10 p.m., the snow stopped, but the joyous celebration did not. Nor was anyone n not even complete strangers n at a loss for conversation about the harrowing weather!
We spent the night at the Hyatt. Returning home about 2 p.m. Sunday we discovered it was 49 degrees in our house: The furnace had gone out. Our furnace man arrived promptly to repair it, and by 6 p.m. we were able to take off our winter coats and finally bask in the warmth of the ceremony the evening before.
In the end, Lindsay’s wedding was not the one she had dreamed about. It was better.
mkarfeld@cjn.org
The weather problems for us started earlier in the week. Tuesday, an ice and snowstorm delayed the bride and groom’s arrival from Chicago; they ended up spending the night in a motel off the Ohio Turnpike.
On Thursday, friends called with news of the waterline break on Public Square and the house-sized crater disrupting utilities at downtown hotels, where our out-of-town friends and relatives would be staying.
By Friday, the big snow arrived, and with it came the guests’ cancellations. Some friends and family were able to reschedule flights for later in the day. Others decided to drive instead, and a few took the train from Chicago.
On the way to a luncheon downtown honoring Lindsay’s bridesmaids, we were crawling along Superior Avenue in heavy snow, concerned about two of her stranded attendants. I remember thinking this couldn’t get much worse. And then it did: A driver rear-ended my three-week- old car. Fortunately, the fender bender was minor, and the bridesmaids eventually all managed to get to Cleveland.
A festive rehearsal dinner at Sammy’s in the Flats went off as planned, with only about 15% of the guests not showing up.
On Saturday, my husband Howard and I woke to a foot of new snow in our driveway with our snowplow guy nowhere in sight. We bribed the man blowing snow at the school across the street to tackle our drive, too.
Lindsay and her sister Whitney had fortunately spent the night at the Hyatt Regency Hotel at The Arcade downtown, where most of our out-of-town guests were staying. But our son Brad and his wife Amy and Howard and I had to drive downtown in two separate cars.
After about 50 minutes of tortuous travel, we arrived at The Arcade, where Lindsay was getting her hair and makeup done.
The hair stylist walked a dozen blocks to work. the makeup artist was home shoveling her drive. Lindsay had her cell phone plastered to her ear and tears in her eyes as friend after friend called to say their flights were cancelled because the airport closed. In addition, “no drive” regulations went into effect in some Ohio counties. The State Highway Patrol was stopping people still on the roads and even issuing tickets
Around noon, Ginny Sukenik, our wedding planner, trapped in Solon in whiteout conditions, called to say the band had just checked in, sure the wedding had been cancelled. Sukenik assured them otherwise.
Our florist called to say he couldn’t get down unplowed E. 12th Street to deliver our flowers to The Union Club, where the wedding was to take place. Abandoned cars in snowdrifts were in the middle of the road, blocking access.
Sukenik, who had finally arrived from Solon, called Rabbi Rosie Haim, who said she was afraid to drive downtown in the worst blizzard in decades to perform the ceremony. Whitney cheerfully announced that Uncle Dick Gram, a “sea captain” who owned a 37-foot sailboat, was licensed to perform marriages.
Somehow, however, Sukenik managed to find a car service willing to pick up the rabbi. Meanwhile, earlier, our photographer appeared in the salon with the videographer, right on schedule. He lives in Kirtland Hills, and later he told me the snow was up to his big SUV’s headlights. But he floored the accelerator and bolted out of his garage and down the drive.
The florist finally made it into the Union Club, only a few hours late. After we had photos taken at the Hyatt, we all attempted to get over to the wedding venue for more pictures. Donna and Harry Sulzer, James’s parents, went first, but got stuck on E. 12th in the snow and decided not to risk returning to the hotel to pick up anyone else. Five Union Club employees had to push them into the garage.
So Howard, in our little four-wheel drive Audi, took the very large wedding party, four people at a time, to the club, driving different circuitous routes each time as stalled city buses blocked many of the city’s streets.
Two bridesmaids rolled their dresses into backpacks and walked there from their hotel. The baker miraculously managed to bring the wedding cake downtown in her van, despite a scary drive along I-90 in a total whiteout.
Of all of the vendors I had hired for the wedding, only the flutist, part of a trio playing for the ceremony, did not show up as scheduled.
With everyone running late, we delayed the wedding 20 minutes to allow more guests to navigate the drifts and arrive. When Howard and I walked into the ballroom for the first time, Lindsay between us, we were all astounded to see a space transformed into a spectacular lush garden and row after row of smiling guests. Later, we realized only 38 people out of the 229 expected guests were not able to be there.
At about 10 p.m., the snow stopped, but the joyous celebration did not. Nor was anyone n not even complete strangers n at a loss for conversation about the harrowing weather!
We spent the night at the Hyatt. Returning home about 2 p.m. Sunday we discovered it was 49 degrees in our house: The furnace had gone out. Our furnace man arrived promptly to repair it, and by 6 p.m. we were able to take off our winter coats and finally bask in the warmth of the ceremony the evening before.
In the end, Lindsay’s wedding was not the one she had dreamed about. It was better.
mkarfeld@cjn.org
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