The Perfect Wedding
We just got back from Mary Alice and Bob Dearborn's wedding. The reviews are in . . . it was as close to perfect as such affairs can ever come. The ceremony was short but heartfelt, outdoors in a beautiful garden beside running water. The weather was warm but not too sticky. The mood was festive, but focused on the significance of the event and not on the details. The ringbearer, a young boy of maybe eight, was idly trying to stomp on a bug on the stone platform while the bride and groom were saying their vows. Absent was the usual hyper-anxiety of pomp piled on top of pomp . . . but equally absent were the convoluted pretensions of people trying hard not to have a traditional wedding. I don't think I've ever attended a wedding so un-self-conscious as this one.
The reception was equal to the ceremony. Children romped on the grass and jumped on rocks in the nearby stream. The music was good -- lead off with some generation-spanning Beatles numbers, some interesting hip-hoppy covers of eighties music, and the really sweet lyrical stuff from the likes of Ben Folds. The food was nice: extra points for presenting mashed potatoes in wine glasses. Everyone was drinking but nobody was drunk; many danced but strictly for the fun of it.
I should speak glowing words about the bride and her dress, seeing as that's probably the most expensive aspect of such affairs, but I might blow my credibility since I don't have the nomenclature for dress features that most women seem born knowing. Suffice it to saw that she looked simple and radiantly beautiful, as a bride should. Bonus points to her sister Rebecca for being able to walk down a steep garden path in three-inch heels.
I was touched, too, that Bob's father made a toast that was so supportive of the life's work of both Bob and Mary Alice. Most weddings are full of expectations and vicarious fulfillments, and here was just genuine love and support for two wonderful people doing wonderful things.
Mary Alice told Aidan that the wedding cake was magical, and that if he ate it he would turn into a frog. So, Aidan gamely left a note for M.A. in fishbowl of well-wishes, with a crouton stuffed in the envelope: "If you eat this crouton, you will turn into a gibbon. --Aidan"
The reception was equal to the ceremony. Children romped on the grass and jumped on rocks in the nearby stream. The music was good -- lead off with some generation-spanning Beatles numbers, some interesting hip-hoppy covers of eighties music, and the really sweet lyrical stuff from the likes of Ben Folds. The food was nice: extra points for presenting mashed potatoes in wine glasses. Everyone was drinking but nobody was drunk; many danced but strictly for the fun of it.
I should speak glowing words about the bride and her dress, seeing as that's probably the most expensive aspect of such affairs, but I might blow my credibility since I don't have the nomenclature for dress features that most women seem born knowing. Suffice it to saw that she looked simple and radiantly beautiful, as a bride should. Bonus points to her sister Rebecca for being able to walk down a steep garden path in three-inch heels.
I was touched, too, that Bob's father made a toast that was so supportive of the life's work of both Bob and Mary Alice. Most weddings are full of expectations and vicarious fulfillments, and here was just genuine love and support for two wonderful people doing wonderful things.
Mary Alice told Aidan that the wedding cake was magical, and that if he ate it he would turn into a frog. So, Aidan gamely left a note for M.A. in fishbowl of well-wishes, with a crouton stuffed in the envelope: "If you eat this crouton, you will turn into a gibbon. --Aidan"
posted by The Thin Man | 9:44 PM
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