A little over a week ago now, two good friends of mine, Wess and Chelle, got married. That's them to the left, walking forward with their wedding party, about to crush the photographer underfoot. (The photographer is invisible in this photo, pants and all.)
It was kind of a whirlwind weekend, at least from my perspective. On Friday I picked the kids up from school and brought them home, then left Max with Ron whilst I bundled several last minute items into the already well-traveled Lincoln (including some white wine and my daughter) and headed for Bear Creek Crossing Resort, getting lost only once in Knoxville and finding WiFi in front of a storefront with coffins in it across from a Church's Fried Chicken. So you know - one of the nice areas.
I arrived in the middle of a game and hanging out that never really stopped. I got to see not only Chelle and Wess and their great friends (Jake of the Stars and Leigh, the Cy(i)ndis, Courtney & Shane, Hairdresser Brian, Rusty and Julie) but also reconnect with Tommy & Dewayne, people I haven't seen for about twenty years. This kind of 'restricted to one or two people with whom you actually got along' sort of reconnection is my model, by the way: reunions are never going to be my scene, especially not with what I hear.
Saturday was the wedding, officiated by Dewayne, and preceded by fun and ridiculousness and Abby playing darts (bullseye, natch) and getting her hair really "done" for the first time. (She loved Brian.) Those of us without official jobs (me) got to just kind of hang out and watch people be brides and grooms and flower girls and bridesmaids and whatnot. I shot a game of pool after finding the fuse box, for instance. Eventually, there was traipsing down the mountain to another cabin, watching two of my favorite people (a beautiful bride in Chelle, and also, you know, Wess) promise foreverness and pour sand under a covered bridge thing, and food and dancing. Could not have gone better, I thought. I even thought the invisible mountain hecklers were kind of okay.
Abby had the perfect seven-year-old girl wedding day; she got up and played with the boys, got her hair done for real with makeup and the pretty dress, she did her job, which lasted about ten minutes, tops, and then she danced and hung out with all grown ups and drank punch and caught the bouquet and lit sparklers and saved peacock feathers and crashed out exhausted on the couch watching TV with a roomful of grown-ups again.
Then we did the car. Saw a clown at Wal-Mart. That might be a whole other post.
In the end, it was over too soon, but it was a great beginning to a beautiful journey, and I was honored and pleased to have been invited.