Today was the wedding anniversary of my nephew Jeff and his wife Carrie, and tomorrow that of my niece Rene’ and her husband Dan.
The thing I remember most about those weddings is that I wasn’t there. I was invited, but the likely reason I didn’t attend had to do with money. Or lack of. Keeping Mouths Fed was a major objective of our household in those days. Flitting off to family parties ranked somewhere south of “Don’t even think about it”.
So I had to experience both weddings vicariously. In Jeff’s case, I pictured a normal Irish wedding — the kind where the uninvited guests may include the police. Say what you will, the Irish know how to party!
The Irish bride — my niece-in-law Carrie was dazzling even when she was wearing sweat shirt and jeans, so I can envision how she looked turned out in her wedding finery. And I would love to know what her drop-dead-gorgeous mother wore. Or what my husband Gene’s pal Paul — who is Carrie’s dad — had to say as he lifted his glass to make his toast. Maybe, something like: “To absent guests: Uncle Gene and Aunt Gwenie couldn’t be here today. But at their insistence, we went ahead with the wedding anyway! Let’s hear it for Gene and Gwenie!” It must have been an inspiring moment.
And then there was Rene’ and Dan’s wedding. Besides not being present there either, the thing I imagine vividly – I could be wrong here – was that everyone wore cowboy hats. Even the bride. And also that somebody spilled a whole glass of red wine down the front of Rene’s bridal gown. It was when I heard that that I was grateful not to be there. Spilling red wine down the front of somebody’s wedding gown sounds exactly like an accident I myself might inadvertently perpetrate.
I can’t help over-identifying with the poor slob. What could s/he possibly say? “I’m so sorry I ruined the heirloom gown you are wearing. Which your sister Chris and your cousin Susy wore before you at their weddings. And which your sister Denise and your unborn nieces and several dozen other little girl cousins were going to wear at their weddings and now they can’t, and their hopes for a storybook event have been permanently terminated in a horrific red stain. Bring me the wedding cake knife so I can end my wretched and worthless existence here and now.”
The dress did, in fact, go on to have a happy ending. But not as a dress. You may be hearing more about that in a later blob.
Anyway, children, I hope you have a happy day! And many more.