Kate, take us to the Berkshires

The real excitement starts the next morning--sleeping in and the Cracker Barrel for breakfast, even if it means driving ten miles out of our way. One of the very best things about traveling back East is the Cracker Barrel. We love the Cracker Barrel. In Orlando for LDI? Cracker Barrel. Trekkng Civil War battlefields? Cracker Barrel. Getting married in the Berkshires? Cracker Barrel! As a company, their human rights record has been dreary but they've made positive changes recently so we are happy to reward them by digesting their buttermilk biscuits, warm maple syrup, chicken and dumplings, country fried steak, eggs over medium actually cooked over medium, blueberry streusel french toast and the lemonade served in an icy beer mug. We love, too,  the folksy country store where the ladies greet you as they dust the Family Affair and Gomer Pyle USMC DVD sets. All hail Cracker Barrel and why oh why aren't there any on the west coast.? It's payback karma  for no In-and-Outs on the East coast, that's it.

The smartest thing we did on this trip (besides marrying each other) was to get a EZ Pass transponder for the car. Really saved time and money on all the toll roads. Extra bonus was the Sirius XM in the car, and we find Siriusly Sinatra right away. It's funny how when you are in love and running off to get married, every standard love song ever recorded sounds like it's just for you.

While you readers are all in a mood of good will, maybe this would be a fortuitous time to bring up a rather delicate subject--Kate.

Kate is, for better or for worse, an integral figure in our relationship. She is there with wisdom and calm to help when trouble looms, yet she's infuriating in her flightiness and downright stupidity. We care for her, making sure she has a warm place to sleep and replenish herself at night. She repays us by freezing us out and not speaking to us. Her quiet anger when we are wrong is frightening. She unites us in happiness, reassuring us that our choices are worthy. She's bitterly divisive. Michael never knows when she's going to blithely take Elisabeth's side in a disagreement. Elisabeth is rarely prepared when she coldly changes allegiance and cozies up to Michael's brilliance. Michael embraces her affection with passion, calling her pet names and praising her good taste and cleverness. These are the hardest times, when Elisabeth gets the dark, dank, oppressive feeling that Michael actually loves Kate more than he loves her. Trollop! Elisabeth cries. Tramp! Harlot! TEMPTRESS! But ah! Soon the tables turn again and it appears--is it possible?--that Kate indeed leans towards the joys that only a woman can provide. And Elisabeth once again forgives her, and pulls her close.

Kate is our GPS.

Kate became part of our family on our trip to Scotland and England last summer and continued her maddening and exhilarating ways on this trip. But enough about the little jezebel...

On our way up Highway 8 to Pittsfield (where we'll apply for our marriage license) , we spot several restaurants we read about on TripAdvisor and wonder how late they stay open.

Kate obviously doesn't know the difference between a round-about and a true left turn so we do a lot of what Bob Newhart calls alley driving (the driving instructor routine--iTunes it now).

The Pittsfield City Hall looks how a small-town city hall should--Greek Revival columns and mahogany-lined hallways with little signs hanging on the top of the doorjambs identifying each department. The Mayor's office lobby has a Lucite box filled with baseballs. There are no lines of people waiting for anything except the parking ticket office--and you get to sit on upholstered chairs while you wait.

In the City Clerk's office, we're the only ones there for a marriage license--it's all about dog tags and fishing permits. But we know we're in the right place because there's a framed print of Norman Rockwell's "Marriage License" on the wall. There is a three-day waiting period before the license is issued. We've come prepared with birth certificates, Social Security cards and passports but all they need is for us to use a black pen. We take note that the application doesn't include references to gender in this marriage equality state.They ask us to swear that all the information is correct and that we're not cousins and stuff. Being Quakers, we ask if affirming rather than swearing is ok. It is a Quaker tenet not to swear. The meaning behind that is not only the sense that if the Sermon on the Mount gives you an ethical principle (But I tell you, do not swear at all, either by heaven for it is God's throne or by the earth for it is his foot stool. Simply let your yes be yes and your no, no--Matthew 5:34), you ought to take it very, very seriously, but also that if you swear, you are suggesting that maybe other times you don't tell the truth. The Presidential Oath of Office, as laid out in the Constitution, contains the option as well--whether to swear or affirm. It's a Quaker legacy. President Barack Obama, in fact, chose to affirm. It's ok with the City Clerk of Pittsfield Mass too. We affirm.

Kate can't find the exact address of the Oak N' Spruce (more folksiness) timeshare resort in South Lee but we're sure we'll find it if we head to the street. We pass Tanglewood, the Berkshire Theatre Festival, the Colonial Theatre, Shakespeare and Co and tons of art galleries and bookstores. You've got to love a region that's almost entirely culture-driven. We picked the right place to be married.

The Oak N' Spruce gets mixed reviews online, mostly based on the age range and renovation status of the buildings. Elisabeth has called in advance to request a newer unit and since she has casually mentioned that we'll be on our wedding trip, it works. It's a family-oriented place with extensive activities and they've thoughtfully assigned us a unit away from the center of the action. Nice condo with living room, kitchen, two bedrooms and two baths with an in-room jacuzzi bath (major points awarded by Elisabeth). No fireplace or wi-fi but a nice woods view and an automatic icemaker. More points awarded.

Dinner at the Salmon Run Fish House. Michael doesn't know what scrod is so, predictably, he orders it. Strawberry shortcake for dessert. We close the place, also predictably.

It's raining pretty good when we get back. The rain sounds lovely on the leaves out the window.