We’re in northern California right now. My birthmother got married Sunday and we’re just hanging out with my half-sister Annalisa and her family.
It has been quite the exciting time. We got Carol married off without anyone actually killing anyone else. It was pretty touch-and-go there for awhile. I’ve never seen so much pre-wedding stress. That’s what you get when you try to do everything yourself – including baking your own wedding cake.
My birthmother Carol has an engineer’s mind (and she promises to give it back one of these days). She needs to know that every detail of every task is executed correctly. I have to admit some of that is my fault. My advice to prospective brides planning their weddings is, despite what all other wedding planners will tell you, do not delegate. No one can be trusted. You must do everything yourself.
Fortunately, Carol didn’t do eveything herself, though she tried. Her groom, now husband, Tom and his son Stephen got the grounds in order (the wedding was at Carol’s house, here in the Santa Cruz mountains), made arrangements for subsequent entertainment of out-of-town relatives, and kept Carol from imploding.
We arrived Friday. E helped bake the desserts: key lime pie and flourless chocolate cake. I hemmed the wedding dress. Otherwise, I assisted by staying out the way.
Something old: Carol herself
Something new: the wedding dress
Something borrowed: her daughters’ and friends’ expertise
Something blue: a bit of thread I sewed into the back neck of the wedding dress so she could tell front from back easily
Wedding was Sunday, as close to the solstice as we could get. Bright silk flowers and fir branches adorned the rough wood chupa. The wedding was delayed while Stephen, who officiated as a minister of the Universal Life Church, ran home to fetch the ceremony notes. No one seemed to mind, as everyone had a glass of wine and old friends and relatives to visit with.
Finally we got started. Grandson Isaac walked Nibbies the terrier mutt down the aisle. Nibbies wore his yarmulke and tallis and carried the rings in a pouch attached to his collar. By this time the flower girl, grandaughter Lorelei (a big girl, not a little girl, she will tell you, at age 2-1/2) had fallen asleep. Her mother Annalisa carried her down the aisle, tossing silk flower petals herself. The bride, escorted by her oldest grandson Jared (my birthday twin), came out in four-inch heels and an ivory flapper dress made by one of her dearest friends, to the dulcet tones of Frank Sinatra singing “Love and Marriage.”
The ceremony, which included the bride walking around the groom and the groom crushing a wine glass, culminated with firing colored confetti out of a “spud gun”.
Now we can relax and enjoy ourselves.