Greg's day

Today is my younger son's birthday, but he is in Australia, so by the time I write this it will be tomorrow there. I sent him an electronic greeting card this morning, belatedly. He's a quarter of a century old, married, and living in a country he never even visited before moving to it.

Here's the kind of guy he is: he tries to take seriously what is eternal and just has fun with the rest. For example, his wedding was a mixture of heart-wrenching intensity and pure silliness. He and Sara wanted to show how much they are dedicated to serving each other, so they decided to include a foot-washing ceremony. It was very touching, a much more poignant symbol of commitment than repeating whatever phrase the minister just said. But in order to include this activity, the wedding couple decided to go through the wedding barefoot. Never mind that the wedding was in December in New Mexico. The attendants wondered if they could go barefoot, too, so wearing shoes became optional for the wedding party. Just in case observers thought this was going to be a stuffy service anyway, the seating of the mothers was accompanied by a Muppets songs ("We're going to a wedding! A wedding? A wedding! ...")

I don't think that it was food poisoning from the rehearsal dinner, but the morning of the wedding I was very sick--couldn't get out of bed. Fortunately, it was an afternoon affair, so I had gathered enough strength to get my clothes on by the last moment. The bride and groom had asked that their parents some up and bless them as they knelt. Well, the other three parents had already informed me that I was to be the designated blesser. When we rose to join them on the platform, I honestly thought I was going to pass out. As I thought (and spoke) about the two of them, it was useless to fight back the tears. When we went back to our seats, I flopped down in the chair exhausted. The rest of the service is kind of hazy.

The reception had the usual activities: food, toasts, dancing. At least that's what they tell me. By the time I joined, fresh from a post-nuptial nap, it was almost time to form the rice-throwing lines. There was a mist coming down outside, so everyone stood under the portico. But we didn't throw rice. The father of the bride, a firefighter, handed out sparklers. As people started lighting them, a dense cloud of smoke formed under the portico and wedding guests, gasping for breath, started pouring out into the parking lot leaving the newlyweds to navigate the nearly impenetrable fog unaided. Quite a dramatic departure!

Did I mention that the groomsmen wore purple (not lavendar, not deep violet, but purple) tuxes? It was a memorable wedding. At least Greg's hair was not spiked at the time.