Andrea Mulder-Slater

by Andrea Mulder-Slater A criminal court judge married my husband and I. It was his first – and likely his only – wedding. His chambers were large and dark with lots of wood paneling, big leather chairs and an endless array of sports paraphernalia including a number of bobble head baseball dolls. Geoff and I hadn’t planned on being wed this way. Although we did know we wanted a “civil ceremony” rather than a fancy event sprinkled with bells and whistles. We often joked that the two of us shared a fear of microphones, flower girls, and tiny pieces of fruitcake wrapped up in tin foil. However, when we decided to get married, it just so happened that half of the city’s populace was keen to get hitched in city hall. We were faced with a decision; wait 10 months as names were crossed off a list, or, find another way. That’s where the criminal court judge (a family acquaintance) came in. A few weeks after we arrived home from a brief honeymoon in Algonquin Park, Geoff and I host...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I met Geoff at art school – me in my first year, he in his last. Although it was most certainly not love at first sight (he was otherwise engaged, I was blissfully unaware), we did hit it off and became part of a group of friends who regularly shared time together. When he left school to discover other, more distant pastures, it laid the groundwork for a pattern, which would last for a period of several years. Every six months I would hear from Geoff, whose points of contact seemed to vary with the seasons. “Hi, I’m calling from a payphone in Smooth Rock Falls…” soon changed to, “Hey, I’m calling from my house in London...” to, “Hello, I’m calling from my cell phone… in your driveway.” Eventually, one thing led to another and at some point, I agreed to ride shotgun in his 1987 Volkswagen Scirocco. When the two of us eventually decided to be married, we had no delusions of grandeur. Let’s face it; two artists heading into the world together do not a giant...