On a gorgeous sunny afternoon last June, my son and his sweetheart faced each other, masks affixed, hands clasped, at the Orange County Clerk-Recorder’s office in Laguna Hills. They promised to love each other for all eternity.
Or something like that. Due to coronavirus restrictions I was the only one allowed inside with them, and I could barely hear their vows over the din from two — or was it three? — other COVID-style wedding ceremonies farther down the counter, and from a woman inquiring loudly about where to file a particular real estate document.
The setting had all the charm of the DMV, but no one cared. It was a joyous occasion; for one blissful day my son and his bride celebrated their commitment to each other and put aside their concerns over the challenges ahead.