The Power of Fading Photographs

Yesterday, my son and his wife, the newlyweds, excitedly sent all of us a picture of their first furniture purchase. It was some sort of love seat thing that was perfect for their tiny living room. In response Pam dug up an old photograph of the very first piece of furniture we had purchased as a married couple...a hideous floral patterned sleep sofa which practically screamed 1980’s. While searching for this relic among the thousands of pictures floating around in the mysterious cloud, Pam found several others from our first year of marriage. Since Patrick and Sarah are leaving this week to go on their honeymoon, my wife thought it appropriate to send them a picture taken of us when we were on our honeymoon...

This was taken with an automatic timer on her non digital camera propped up on a table across the room of our suite at the Ocean Creek Resort in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina in May of 1984. It was a lifetime ago...and strangely, feels like last week. We had no earthly idea what we were doing, no clue what wonders lurked in our future. We were broke, or would be by the time we returned from this trip and spent our way through the wedding cash. She was a first grade teacher, and I was a struggling insurance salesman. My car was a used VW Scirocco with red fake leather seats. We would return to Richmond and spend our first year of married life in a two bedroom apartment off of Hungary Springs Road.

There were no cell phones. It was three Golden Retrievers ago. We had no children. There was no Facebook, and only three channels on our 19 inch color television, four if you counted the fuzzy and inconsistent reception of the Public Television station...channel 23 WCVE. Ronald Reagan was in the White House, and the Dallas Cowboys were actually good. Apple Computer was a niche company who nobody had ever heard of, and Amazon was a river in Brazil. If either of us had randomly started giving voice commands to someone named Alexa, we would have been declared insane.

It was a much less convenient time. Information was exceedingly more difficult to come by, and if you were serious about being informed, you took the paper...both of them, The Times Dispatch in the morning, and The News Leader at night. But, oddly, I felt I understood the world better. Now, everything there is to know is at my fingertips, yet I’m more confused than ever.

But, you know what? Not everything has changed. That girl sitting next to me is still as hot and beguiling as ever. I didn’t fully understand just what I had back then. Now I do and can hardly believe it. The picture is grainy and a bit faded. I like that. It’s as if it’s holding something back from us...No, I’m not clear and precise. Allow room for mystery...

Heaven

While I have been distracted with weddings, family and friends, I’ve noticed that the world has continued on its merry way, enjoying its window seat on the Straight To Hell express train. Trump is still Trump, determined to make tariffs great again, elevating lying to dizzying new heights of acceptability, and still Tweeting like a middle schooler. Meanwhile, the face of the Democratic Party has become an increasingly deranged Maxine Waters. But Maxine’s days could be numbered since the arrival on the scene of a beautiful Marxist barmaid from the Bronx who, on the power of 16,000 votes has become the latest heart throb of practically every journalist in America. If I didn’t know better I would suspect that the Democratic Party was on a mission to insure Trump’s second term...but what do I know?

Meanwhile, in other world news...the World Cup plods on. The best soccer players in the universe continue to throw themselves violently to the ground at the slightest suggestion of physical contact with another player in spasms of what appears to be excruciating pain in hopes of securing a free penalty kick...or something. Once secured, the seemingly mortally wounded player bounces up fresh as a daisy, penalty kicks apparently possessing miracle curative powers. These past couple of sentences contain the sum total of what I know about soccer, so maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe when another player comes within two inches of colliding with another player it really does cause excruciating pain because of some sort of soccer force field or something. As far as the actual games go, I’m told that there have been a bunch of upsets, teams that don’t normally advance this far have surprised everyone, chief amount them...the team from the host country...Russia. This isn’t suspicious...at all.

Two weeks from today, Pam and I will set out for the 13 hour drive to our happy place. This time it will be at a place called, I’m not even kidding,...The Chill House, on Pemaquid Lake near Damariscotta, Maine.

Kaitlin and Jon will spend two weeks with us, and Patrick and Sarah will spend the second week of their honeymoon here. Once they are gone, Pam and I will have one week to ourselves. Trump isn’t invited. Neither is Maxine Waters. None of us will be throwing ourselves onto the ground feigning injury...unless it’s possible to suddenly become violently ill from too many fluffernutters or too much lobster or ice cream, or too much time spent on floats out on the lake. The rest of you will have to contend with the madness of 2018. We’ll be in heaven.

The Wedding....Part Two

CHAPTER FIVE...The Ceremony

I sat on the front row, on the aisle. Pam and I had both just escorted our son to the front while a jazz ensemble played Zelda’s Lullaby or some other piece of video game music. When Sarah came down the aisle and everyone stood, my heart was full. Although the planning of this day had taken a toll on us, this moment was the payoff. This girl was the right girl. She was the one we had both been praying for for the better part of two decades. That realization is a feeling like no other for a parent. Our boy had found the right girl.

The minister, Jason Shelton, was a gem. He is a good friend of my son, a minister of music in the Universalist Unitarian Church, and a fellow composer, the director of a choral company that Patrick and Sarah are a part of, and a committed liberal/socialist who is fond of carrying signs and protesting stuff...which meant he felt right at home at this wedding since throughout the proceedings, a crowd of such protesters was gathering in an adjacent park! It was so nice of a thousand strangers to show up to celebrate with us. Nashvillians are super friendly! It didn’t take long for Jason to earn his meager pay. As soon as he began with the Dearly Beloved...it became evident that his microphone was one of those that only works sparingly, as in...every fifth word sparingly. If it bothered him, you would never know, since he soldiered on like a pro. Then, it was time for some very special music. Back during their courtship, Sarah had written a poem about the first time Patrick had said I Love You. Patrick had decided to set the poem to music, complete with orchestration. When he proposed, he sang her poem to her accompanied by the recording of the orchestration in the background. I know, I know...romantic kid. Anyway, a special recording of that song was to play through the high dollar sound system while Patrick and Sarah poured sand into a jar to symbolize the two becoming one thing. Only...when they pressed play...nothing but silence.

Although silence is a very lovely thing at times, this was not one of those times. As the silence ground on, the awkwardness began to build. Then Jason turns to Patrick and Sarah and says...So, you guys got any fun plans for tonight? Perfect.

They never got the sound fixed. A faulty plug was blamed. Although it was extremely disappointing and infuriating to this father of the groom and bankroller of this event, this, like everything else about this wedding, worked out perfectly in the end. The sand pouring thing was done during the reception as the song played, only this time, the picture slideshow blazed out on the walls. As my son’s voice sang Sarah’s poem I watched a picture of my Mom and Dad holding him as an infant. It was a powerful moment...

After they were pronounced husband and wife, they were supposed to march out accompanied by the theme to Star Wars. But, with no sound track, they had to settle for the thunderous applause of one hundred of their closest friends and family. The cheering kept up its intensity all the way through the last groomsman and bridesmaid. And, just like that, it was over.

CHAPTER SIX...Reflections 

Here are a few snippets of memories I have of the time after the ceremony. They are starting to become hazy and I list them here in no particular order.

Chicken and waffles were delicious and very popular.

Patrick and Sarah are huge board game players. It’s been a big part of their dating life so they wanted games to be played at their reception. Pam and I weren’t sure how this would go over since we had never seen it done at a wedding before. But, I counted ten separate games going on simultaneously during the reception. People were having a blast, including  a contingent of the White family...

Groomsman Elias Salazar, Venezuelan born trumpet player, educator, orchestra conductor, and unrepentant soccer fan had sworn us all to absolute radio silence about the progress of the two World Cup games going on during the wedding. He was afraid someone was going to leak the results, robbing him of his plans to watch the recorded games later while drinking beer in his pajamas, apparently his World Cup tradition. Every time I walked up to him during the reception he practically covered his ears as a precaution!

Another hero of the weekend was bridesmaid Katie Kelly. When she arrived at the bridesmaid luncheon straight from the airport, Pam noticed immediately that Sarah instantly relaxed. Here was a ball of positive energy and enthusiasm who changed whatever room she entered for the better. During the reception and afterwards during the cleanup, Pam and I both noticed her take charge style. At one point Pam heard her giving out some rather pointed orders to some of the staff at Ruby. When Katie noticed that Pam was watching, she deadpanned, I’m being extra so Sarah doesn’t have to be! 

Andy Upchurch, father of the bride took this picture...

My new daughter...

Us, back at the hotel after it was all over.

After we gathered everything up that needed saving, we loaded it all up and delivered it to Patrick and Sarah’s already cramped apartment. Sarah said...We can finally hang this!!

There’s no turning back now...there’s a D on their door!

So, that’s about it. There’s more I could say, more stories I could tell. But, hopefully you have an idea of how how the weekend went. In short, it was a wonderful celebration of everything all of us hold dear in this world...love, family, and lifelong friends.

The Wedding.....Part One

Five days have passed. I am no longer exhausted. Enough time has passed to gain perspective but not too much time that I’ve forgotten anything, so I guess it’s time for a wedding blog.

The wedding of Patrick Dunnevant and Sarah Upchurch was a combination of loveliness and catastrophe...heartwarming beauty and three ring circus. There were times where I wondered what could possibly go wrong next, but other times when I was so proud of them both I could hardly stand it. To tell the story of this crazy yet glorious weekend, I will have to break it down into chapters, which means that this blog might be rather long. But bear with me...I need to get all of it down. One day I will read this to their children who will not believe a word of it.

CHAPTER ONE.....SAM

The guy on the left is Sam Isaacs. He has been Patrick’s friend since they were five. We love Sam primarily because he’s always been a mess and good for a hilarious story or two. On this weekend, of course, he didn’t disappoint. His Thursday flight from Richmond on Allegiant Airlines was unceremoniously cancelled. No other flights could be had so Sam decides to just rent a car and drive through the night. There was a credit card foul up that made that a fiasco and delayed their departure until 10 pm. Then, ten minutes after leaving the airport in their rental car, the check engine light comes on!! Of course it did! Sam missed the bachelor party, but rolled in just in time for the rehearsal dinner. In route, his delightful fiancée had to plead with their hotel to re-book their reservation which they had mistakenly cancelled. All in a day’s work.

CHAPTER TWO...Replacement Bridesmaid

One of the life lessons I have learned from this weekend is the importance of family and friends. In particular, those special people who can be depended on in the clutch. At every turn, when something had gone terribly wrong, some incredible friend would step up and save the day. These people were super heros to us...all weekend. One of them was this beautiful girl standing next to the stunning bride...

So, one of Sarah’s bridesmaids informed her...18 hours before the wedding...that she was ill and would be unable to make it to the wedding. (No, I am not making this up.) This news was received right before the big visit to the nail salon for the prenuptial manicures. A debate began. Should she ask another friend? Should she just go with one less bridesmaid? Would the pictures look unbalanced? Would whichever friend she asked feel slighted that she was only being asked to be a backup? In other words, this was the type of situation that no bride should be dealing with 18 hours before her wedding. Then, the best man, Matt Adrian’s girlfriend, Yoanna, who Patrick had introduced to Matt a couple years 
ago, stepped up. I’ll be your bridesmaid! Let’s get her dress from her and take it up a little. It will work perfectly! And just like that, Sarah now had a replacement bridesmaid, one who truly loved her in word and deed. I will never forget the heartfelt speech she gave at the rehearsal dinner. Matt...don’t let this one get away!


CHAPTER THREE...The Leaning Arbor of Ruby

Sarah’s father, Andy, had designed and constructed an arbor for the occasion, which had to be assembled on site at 7 AM, day of, after which the florist would decorate it with flowers and greenery. However, when we arrived at 9:00 am, the arbor was being propped up at its base with a ten pound bag of cat litter. Now, I’m not known as someone who is necessarily in tune with wedding stylistics, but even I knew that a bag of cat litter didn’t match the color scheme of this event! The trouble was that without the offending bag of litter, the arbor would list badly starboard. Upon seeing this, the first rumblings of panic arrived in my stomach. Pam calmly got on her phone and did the only thing any of us know to do when something like this happens...call Ron Roop. My brother in law is one of those guys who always seems to know how to fix stuff. He always just happens to be carrying a slide rule and adjustable wrench around in his pocket when you need one. Although he was about to step into the shower when he got Pam’s call, five minutes later, there he was, bungee chords and fishing line in hand, working his miracles...

CHAPTER FOUR... “I’ll do anything for you”

Lots of people say these words. Only a special few actually mean them. Becky Baldwin is one of those people. Becky and Pam have been close friends for thirty years or more. Back in the day at Grove, people would get them mixed up, they looked and acted so much alike. Of course, Becky and her daughter Kelly, a life long friend of Patrick, made the trip from Richmond. The two of them wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Anyway, during the chaos of the wedding day, it was discovered after the service that Patrick had left something very valuable at his apartment that morning...the flash drive that contained the slideshow of pictures that was to play during the reception! When this news was relayed to my wife, Becky was standing there with her and immediately said, “Patrick, give me the keys to your place. Kelly and I will go get it!” Pam protested...”Becky, it’s all the way across town! You don’t know your way around this crazy city, and you will miss the reception!” Becky smiled and said...”Pam, I would do anything for you. Now, you leave this to us!” With that, the two of them screeched out of the parking lot and disappeared....

Yeah...that’s them, recording their heroics with a selfie at the scene. They made it back with the flash drive in record time, saving the day. 

TO BE CONTINUED........

Pictures From Nashville

Thought maybe my readers would like to see some photographs of some of the key places and players involved in this weekend’s festivities...

Here’s a picture of the Venue...

Had a chance to tour our caterer’s facility yesterday. Was particularly impressed with their kitchen...

The staff certainly seemed like a cheerful bunch...

Oh...and here’s a shot of the nice Air B&B where we’re staying...

Time For Some Fun

Made the 9 hour, 600 mile, rain-soaked road trip to Nashville, then met the happy couple over at Patrick’s apartment where the fair Sarah had cooked us a delicious dinner. Most of the evening was spent looking over the mounds of wedding gifts stacked against every available wall...these kids need a bigger place!! Then Sarah and Pam started geeking out with their dueling organizational spreadsheets like two accountants pouring over payroll at the end of the month. Between the two of them, this wedding has been planned out to within an inch of its life. There are looses ends left to tie down, a couple of logistical odds and ends to button up, but things look to be falling into place quite nicely. Finally, it would appear that the fun is about to begin. For example...

Aside from an eleven o’clock meeting at the Venue this morning to iron out a couple of things, today is a free day. Maybe a lunch trip to Hattie B’s might be in the offing? Paula, Ron and Ryan will roll in this afternoon, so maybe dinner out at some appropriately Nashvillian establishment. I will get a grueling workout in at some point today so I will still be able to fit into my suit Saturday morning!

Tomorrow will be so much fun! While the ladies are all out getting their nails done, or some such thing, a large herd of wedding related guys will be gathering for brunch at this very cool place...

Yes...the Pfunky Griddle is a Nashville institution. I first ate here back in Patrick’s undergrad days and fell in love with the place. It’s a breakfast joint inside what used to be someone’s rambling and cramped rancher. Now it’s a rambling and cramped restaurant. Each table features a huge Griddle in the middle of the table upon which customers are expected to cook their own breakfast. This is a great concept...lure people into your business, take their money, and make them do the work, while eliminating most customer complaints...Customer: This pancake is undercooked!! Waiter: Try harder! 

Then, this roving band of wedding guys will head over to this very cool place...

This is Topgolf, an upscale, supercharged driving range/bar which also serves pub-grub. The golf balls are equipped with microchips that immediately inform you, in unsparing detail,  just how horrible a shot you hit! Looks like a blast. The best part is the fact that each hitting bay is climate controlled...the two most wonderful words in the English language for anyone who lives south of the Mason Dixon Line after May 1st.

Then we will retreat back to the hotel, freshen up, and head over to the Loveless Cafe for the rehearsal dinner. 

All in all, a super cool 48 hours.

Lucky Me

This boy...

Isn’t really a boy anymore...

But, he’s still my son...

Yes, there can be no doubt about that...

And this weekend he’s getting married...

Lucky me.

A Very Big Weekend

Tomorrow morning, Pam and I will make the 600 mile drive to Nashville, Tennessee for what seems like the hundredth time. But this time will be special. Our car will be packed with something more than just our luggage and essential trip food like Cheeze-Its and Mentos. This time there will be boxes and boxes of vitally important wedding knickknackery, including but not limited to...gift bag ingredients, rose gold forks(?), assorted rehearsal dinner decorative finery, random wedding gifts, a brand new Apple computer for a friend who is so cheap he had the thing shipped to me to save having to pay the exorbitant Tennessee sales tax (but because the friend is Deen Entsminger, I will be compensated with free beer at The Saucer), and my wife’s beautiful but temperamental wedding dress which wrinkles if looked at sideways! I feel like maybe I should attach a sign to the back of the car saying: WARNING: Occupants of this vehicle are in the middle of wedding preparations. Approach with extreme caution!!

The weather forecast for the week is nice. Says on my weather app that Nashville will be 95, hot and humid for the foreseeable future. Perfect.

The first thing on the agenda when we arrive will be meeting with the happy couple for dinner and a planning session of some sort. Then, Thursday, we will make a trip over to the venue to check it out for the first time, and meet the owners who I recently insulted in an angry, sarcasm-filled e-mail. That should be fun!

Friday will be devoted to manicures, pedicures, some kind of guys outing which I have not yet planned, and finally the rehearsal dinner at the famous and ironically named, Loveless Cafe.

Saturday is the big day. Patrick and Sarah will be wed by mid-morning. A delightful brunch will be served. The entire thing will be over and done with by 2:00 in the afternoon, after which we have no idea what the plan is because at that point Pam and I will have sworn off any plan making for the duration. Instead of driving back on Sunday, we are taking that day off to regroup. We will drive home Monday after a day of rest.

So, that’s the plan. Most everyone in the family will be there, some coming all the way from California. The best part will be having everyone together. All the expense, planning, and attention to a thousand details will be worth it. It always is. 

I’m tempted to ask you to wish us luck. But it occurs to me that we don’t need luck...because we have Pam!

Love Your Enemies?

The owner of the Red Hen in Lexington, Virginia recently asked White House Press Secretary Sarah Huckabee Saunders to leave her establishment because she found her political views and her association with Donald Trump offensive. Her decision to deny her service has once again divided the country between those who accuse her of intolerance and bigotry and those who applaud her for standing up to a bully who works for a bully. Some commentators have pointed out that Donald Trump’s vulgar tone and demeaning comments towards his political enemies has unleashed a similar backlash. Now, Maxine Waters is on record fanning this new confrontational phase of our political disagreements, encouraging everyone to publically harass all members of the Trump administration, denying them public accommodations whenever the opportunity arises.

This will not end well.

Meanwhile, as if on cue, my pastor preached a sermon for this particular moment and blasted me between the eyes with a particularly stark and uncomfortable passage from the Sermon on the Mount...

“You have heard it said,’Love your neighbor and hate your enemy’. But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your father in Heaven. He causes the sun to rise  on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust. If you love  those who love you, what reward will you get? are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that?”

Jesus Christ, Matthew 5: 43-47

With this statement, our Lord and savior introduced the only truly revolutionary idea in the history of the world...love your enemies. He makes no exceptions, offers no categories of enemies which might be exempt. He doesn’t even deny that enemies exist. He just commands us to love them. It’s disturbing to hear because it condemns us...all of us. We are no good at this. We much prefer revenge and hatred. 

Then my pastor made a couple of statements which I will try to accurately paraphrase...

“This is a large church with a wide range of political opinions. I know many of us who voted for Hillary Clinton, and many others of us who voted for Donald Trump. And, by saying that I know what thought just popped into many of your minds...’How can you be a Christian and vote for _________?? If that’s you...stop it. Don’t go there. One of the highest goals of discipleship is preventing hatred from growing in the human heart...”

Tribalism is the degeneration of human organization which reduces every encounter down to us vs. them. This leads to the concept that the friend of my enemy must become my enemy. Eventually, when life is lived in this way, we no longer are able to see our enemies as human beings. Once that happens, the door is wide open to every kind of cruelty.

In 2018, we find ourselves in a scary place. For me, it no longer matters who started it. Which side is more responsible for the growing hatred and animosity seems very much beside the point. After all, the audience on that hillside in Galilee all those years ago were people living under the brutal occupation of Roman soldiers. They all knew who the aggressors were, and still...Jesus implored them to abandon their hatred, and choose love. That’s an astounding request and must have seemed impossible to Jesus’ audience, no less impossible to us. But, if we are to survive this place in our history...it’s our only hope.

Pierre and Me

I’ve noticed that over the years people have stopped getting married in churches anymore. It’s not necessarily a religious thing, it’s more the fact that the carpeting clashes with the bridesmaid’s dresses, or that churches don’t have the right aisle structure or some other aesthetic isn’t quite right. Instead, couples have started getting hitched out on somebody’s farm, in a renovated barn. Others choose some converted warehouse which has been relabeled, industrial chic, and marketed as a wedding venue. Still others find an old manor house with a picturesque gazebo overlooking a grand vista somewhere. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with any of these choices. There’s no law that says you can only get married inside of a church building. However, the rapid inflationary trajectory of the cost of weddings is directly related to the abandonment of the Church wedding. The explosion of the wedding venue industry has turned weddings into a seriously big business. With this in mind, what follows is a fictionalized composite of one father’s experiences through the planning and execution of two such weddings. Events and conversations depicted here may or may not have actually taken place, and are representative of general themes only, not of real people or events...except when they are.

Pierre: Welcome to The Bluff at Xanadu, the premier wedding venue for only the most romantic couples!

Me: Whoa!! Settle down, Pierre. We’re just looking right now.

Pierre: Then you’ve found what you need. There’s no need to  look any further. You have found the perfect venue for your daughter’s big day.

Me: I’ll be the judge of that. This place looks like a giant empty room. What am I missing?

Pierre: The Bluff at Xanadu is a blank canvas onto which your daughter can paint her dreams. Our minimalist approach allows for the greatest level of customization, making each wedding a unique event.

Me: How much does it cost?

Pierre: A mere $10,000.

Me: Are you kidding? That’s great! Every other place we’ve looked at is twice that! What’s the deal?

Pierre: At The Bluff, we pride ourselves on our competitive pricing.

Me: Where do I sign??

Pam: Wait a minute dear...I have a few questions.

It’s at this point in the process that I’m reminded of just how overmatched I am by my wife when it comes to...how shall I say...um, thinking things through. That is to say, I’m clueless about the details of anything, and Pam’s brain is the place where the details of life live.

Pam: I don’t see any tables or chairs anywhere.

Pierre: Tables and chairs can be rented from our sister company, Xanadu Fulfilled.

Pam: Is there another room for the reception. I only see this one big room.

Pierre: No, after the ceremony, your guests will be escorted out into the veranda for cocktails while our expert and efficient staff transform this space into a reception room. It’s actually breathtaking to watch. We call it...the great room flip.

Pam: I see. What about the lighting? It seems rather stark.

Pierre: No worries, we offer a wide range of lighting options, everything from subtle amber to the great white way, and of course our neon night’s package..all for a slight upcharge.

Me: Wait...we have to pay extra for lights?

Pierre: A nominal charge...and well worth it, I must say, to set just the right ambient tone. There’s nothing worse than having the wrong lighting.

Me: I can think of something worse...having to pay for lighting.

Pam: I notice that there are two giant video screens in the room. I assume these are for slideshows of the bride and groom?

Pierre: Yes! And for a technology hookup fee your photographs will be displayed on only the highest HD resolution screen in the industry, absolutely cutting edge!

Me: Wait...a technology hookup fee? What the....

Pam: I notice that the veranda has no ceiling fans. Since our event will be in the middle of the summer, it might be quite hot, and with over a hundred people milling about our here for perhaps an hour, I’m concerned about the heat. Will you provide some oscillating fans to provide some cross ventilation?

Pierre: You know...I don’t think we’ve ever been asked that question before. I mean the veranda has a roof, so it’s not like your guests would be standing out in the sun. But, if you insist, I’m sure that Xanadu Fulfilled can rent you a fan or two.

Me: We have to rent fans???!!!

Pam: Honey, calm down.

Me: What about the bathrooms? Will there be toilet paper, or will we have to rent that too??  

Pierre: Only the finest four-ply, imported toilet paper from Singapore is included at no extra charge.

Me: As Ronald Reagan once said...Trust, but verify...so I want to see these bathrooms.

Pierre: Certainly...second door on the right.

Me: Wait a minute...these are pay toilets!!

Pierre: The Bluff at Xanadu is an environmentally-sensitive site. We try to limit, where possible, the overuse of water and have found that adding a charge for bathroom services helps people to make more rational decisions on how often they use the facility.

Me: But, there’s an ATM machine in here? How much are these toilets??

Pierre: $10 per flush.

Me: Are you freaking kidding me???

Pierre: We do offer senior citizen discounts, as well as quantity discounts, for the heavy drinkers in your party.

Pam: Pierre, according to my calculations, the cost of your venue has now doubled from your original price of $10,000.

Pierre: And aren’t the memories you will make here worth any price??

Wedding Memories

In just over a week I will attend my son’s wedding. It’s been almost four years since my daughter’s wedding, so just to remind myself of what that day was like, I went back into the archives and found what follows...one Dad’s memory of everything about the day that his only daughter got married. As history, it is limited, since it’s only what I remember. But, I’m glad I have it, because it reminds me of what an incredible day it was. It’s kind of long, so I apologize. 

It has been 48 hours since Katlin’s wedding. Already my memory is starting to waver, so I suppose I better get it all down before I forget anything:

6:30AM - I am awakened by the sound of harps and a gentle breeze on my cheeks from the wings of tiny bluebirds. I look out of my window and see a rare morning rainbow, God’s promise of a day like no other.

6:31AM – I startle myself awake from a horrible Disney nightmare, convinced that I am late for my Physics exam at the University of Richmond. It then dawns on me that this is July 12, 2014 and my little girl is getting married in exactly 11 hours….which is fine since I was going to flunk Physics anyway.

9:00AM – Arrive at Carmax for the third time in two days to pick up my daughter’s car. Carmax mechanics and technicians apparently graduated from the Helen Keller school of automobile repair since none of them could manage to hear the loud whining sound coming from the rear of the car the minute it reached 30 mph on the road. Suggested that next time they may want to consider taking cars for a test drive on the actual highway instead of their parking lot. 

10:00AM – Arrive at Parkside Barbershop for the much celebrated and anticipated straight razor shave with all of the groomsmen. Was served a cold Yeungling draft upon arrival, which I consumed under the reasoning that it was 5 o’clock somewhere. Charm of the place began to wear off nearly 2 hours later when my name was called, the last on the list. Charm of the place totally vanishes when it dawns upon me mid-shave that I am alone at Parkside Barbershop with no ride home, since Jon had taken Kaitlin’s car, and Patrick had headed for home ten minutes ago with my car.

12:16PM – Get text from Pam directing me to drop by Martin’s and pick up “K-cups and a large case of bottled water. When I replied that I didn’t really feel comfortable buying women’s underwear especially bra’s, she informed me that “K-cups” were not in fact a bra size, but rather a brand of coffee used in our Keurig. Made mental note to help with grocery shopping more in the future to eliminate further such embarrassments.

2:09 PM – Caravan of cars leave house headed for Celebrations. Cadillac making frightening click-click-click noise. For a minute a vision of a blown engine on 288 flies into my head. To my eternal relief, all cars arrive on time and in good order. Women of the wedding party all disappear to the upstairs of the Manor House, while the men get comfortable downstairs in air-conditioned comfort, a good thing since it is hotter than homemade hell outside. It occurs to me as I ease back on a very comfortable sofa that I am at least off the hook for all of those things I promised God I would do if he gave us a beautifully cool day.

2:48PM – Fall sound asleep on ridiculously comfortable sofa and am abruptly awakened by a sharp poke on the knee by Toby, our intrepid “event coordinator,” who implores me to get dressed into my tuxedo and meet the photographer outside immediately. While I was asleep a flurry of pressurized activity is going on upstairs, with Kaitlin and Pam trying to get her wedding dress put on correctly amidst the buzz, clicks and blur of not one but TWO photographers capturing it all for posterity. Later, when Pam discovers that I was sleeping while she was going through Dante’s ninth level of hell, she is understandably perturbed.

3:00 thru 4:00PM – Spend most of this hour walking around in circles, barking out confusing orders to anyone who looked like an employee of Celebrations. Also, begin trying desperately to get guitar in tune. 40 year old classical is temperamental in this regards in the best of environments, but in tropical heat and humidity that would induce projectile vomiting in Lucifer himself, it is a hopeless endeavor.

4:30 PM – Am summoned to the upstairs of the Manor house, and told to wait at the door to the dressing room. Inside I hear the rapid fire of camera shutters. This is one of the “money shots” of the day…Dad seeing daughter in wedding dress for first time. No pressure. No pressure at all.

4:31 PM – Open door slowly and behold as radiant and stunning a vision as I have ever seen. My only daughter looks like some kind of princess, enchanting and sublime, happier than I have ever seen her. It’s hard to be sad, impossible to cry. Why would I? This is what every father worth his salt wants for his little girl. 

5:30PM – Toby hustles the two of us down the stairs and into our designated spot for the grand entrance. I notice that the oppressive heat and choking humidity have subsided a bit. I hear music drifting through the tops of the grand oak trees, a piano and orchestra arranged by my son. I look at Kaitlin by my side, she is positively glowing. The last thing she says to me before we turn the corner and escape the seclusion of the lush green hedges is, “I love you daddy!”

5:32PM – As we make our way down the sweeping turns of the brick walkway, I look up and recognize the faces of some of my best friends on this planet. I see men and women who all had a hand in raising her, in shaping her character. Some of them have come from far away to be here. I remember warnings from many of my buddies that I would cry at this moment, but all I feel is deep gratitude. Just about the time we got to our stopping spot a soft, cooling breeze swept over the assembly. I managed to get through my four word speech, “Her mother and I,” without incident. I take my seat on the front row beside my wife.

5:37PM – The minister, Gordon Fort began the proceedings by reminding all that this date, July 12, 2014 would have been my parent’s 67^th wedding anniversary, then proceeded to read from some of my Dad’s notes we had found just a couple of weeks ago when cleaning out his house after his death. They were in a small dog-eared three ring binder of wedding services he had done over the years. When I heard Gordon reading his words, I looked up at the top of the trees now swaying in the unexpected breeze. I wondered if he was watching, if he knew how much I miss him.

5:42PM – It was time to play my guitar. Kaitlin wanted Paula to sing and me to play the Steven Curtis Chapman song, I Will Be Here, so although it had been at least a year since I had played and longer than that since Paula had sung at a wedding, there we were beginning the song. That’s when the oddest thing happened. For the first time all day, I became overcome with emotion. I felt my palms sweating, my heart began beating loudly in my ears, my fingers began to tremble. Luckily, I never look at my hands while playing, so I buried my chin in my right shoulder and stared at the ground throughout the entire song. By the time it was over I had recovered my composure.

5:50PM – I hear Gordon introduce the happy couple as “Mr. and Mrs. Jon Manchester.” I look at Jon and he has a smile splashed across his face as big as Texas. Actually he’s had it all day. It’s as if he has a clothes hanger turned upside down stuck in his mouth. The poor guy is hopelessly in love and just can’t help himself. They disappear past me as they make their way up the walkway amidst raucous applause. It’s over. The deed has been done.

6:00PM thru 7:30PM – This is the part of weddings which I hate, everybody standing around eating cheese and crackers and fruit waiting for the photographers to do their work. Between the several summons I received to appear for pictures, I began bargaining with the Almighty over the promises I had made when praying for cool weather. While the weirdly timed cool breezes that blew during the actual ceremony were a nice touch, I’m not sure that it would qualify as “cool.” I mean, I made my request pretty clear and despite the aforementioned cool breezes, it was hot and sticky both before the service and now after the service. Any impartial observer would side with me on this one, but with God, you never know.

7:30PM thru 9:15 Dinner is served after interminable picture taking session, the only bright spot being when Toby showed up with a plate of crudités for all and two iced coffee drinks for the bride and groom. Never have little squares of cheddar cheese with carrot sticks and ranch dressing tasted so good. Actually sat down at my table and ate for at least 12 minutes. Rest of time spent making the rounds talking with the guests like a shameless politician.

9:20PM – Bride and groom begin introduction of each of their bridesmaids and groomsmen. Kaitlin as poised and graceful in front of a crowd as her mother always is, and equally beautiful. After the introductions it was time for the father/daughter dance. Kaitlin chose that great song from “The Jerk,” You Belong To Me. Halfway through dance I was kicking myself that I didn’t arrange to have a trumpet handy to whip out for the solo. Truly wonderful moment. Later there was a dance for all married couples. At various times during the song, the DJ would ask those couples who had been married less than a certain number of years to be seated. The last couple standing were my in-laws. Cool.

     

10:00PM – After several wonderful and moving toasts from various members of the wedding party, it was my turn to give the final toast before the cake cutting. Again, my palms began to sweat, again with the loud beating heart, I began. Except for a final perfunctory paragraph acknowledging that there was, in fact, a groom on the premises, my words were mostly about Kaitlin and what a gift she has been to my life.

10:20PM – Kaitlin throws her bouquet and Jon throws the garter. Jon’s throw was particularly impressive, since he wrapped it around a 2002 Ohio State National Championship commemorative football before sending a spiral into the amassed gaggle of single men. In true Ohio State form, Jon’s brother, the intended target, dropped the ball. Yet another incomplete pass by the Buckeyes.

10:35PM – Couple finally pass through the gauntlet of sparklers on the way to their getaway car. Taillights disappear and they’re gone.

11:55PM – Arrive home after lengthy clean up made infinitely easier by my helpful family who stayed until the bitter end helping us pack everything up. Potential mother of the bride meltdown avoided when all the leftover food from the reception was trying to be loaded into Pam’s car. There just wasn’t any room yet Pam was determined to squeeze it all in. When I noticed the wild expression of exhaustion and panic in her eyes I knew that she was unable to make one more decision, so I did. I carried an entire large pan of mashed potatoes and several other gargantuan containers of meat and vegetables back into the manor house with the simple declaration, “There is no way in the world anyone will eat any of this food!!”

12:30AM – After unloading the cars, we all collapsed on the sofas in the den, too exhausted to even speak. It was all over. After 18 months of planning, 6 months of deciding, 3 months of organizing, and three weeks of 20 hour days, it was all over. 

Someone on Facebook made a comment about this picture, “The Perfect Family.” Nothing could be further from the truth. We are like every other family on Earth, full of flaws and flawed people. But this I know, the people in this photograph love each other, without qualification or reservation. Each of them have been a blessing to us and instrumental in helping Pam and I shape and form Kaitlin’s character. Without these people, and without Emmett and Betty Dunnevant, none of this day would have been possible.

The Naming of Things

Yesterday’s blog about the name change controversy has gotten me to thinking...no small feat...about the fact that we Americans have always been fond of naming stuff after famous people. Just yesterday I took the John Rolfe parkway over to the Willey bridge on my way to John Tyler Community College. Everywhere you look in this city, there’s some school, building or street named after some dead guy. It just stands to reason that at some point, after several generations have come and gone, somebody is going to ask the question...Hey, who the heck was Ed Willey?? Then maybe some group of civic-minded people will suggest changing the name to honor a more recent hero or heroine. This, I believe, is right and proper.

As far as the naming of schools is concerned, I got curious and decided to do some research. I wondered which American President had the most schools named after him. I guessed correctly:

94 John Kennedy 

73 Thomas Jefferson

53 George Washington

52 Woodrow Wilson

45 Abraham Lincoln

24 Theodore Roosevelt

20 John Adams 

Of the more recent Presidents...

15 Ronald Reagan

10 Barack Obama

3  Bill Clinton

2 George W. Bush

1 George H.W. Bush 

Modern sensitivities are such that each one of these men carries with him politically incorrect baggage. Depending on how easily offended you are, it might scandalize you to discover that there are 52 schools in this country named after Woodrow Wilson, that well-documented and virulent racist. Thomas Jefferson and George Washington were both slave holders, Washington reluctantly so, Jefferson with great passion (figuratively and literally). Abe Lincoln is an all timer, and John Adams was one of the few Founders who never owned a slave and thought the institution a blight on the country.

But...what about John Kennedy? 

In the wake of his shocking assassination, the entire country mourned that such a young, virile man could be struck down. As a result of this grief, Americans went on a street, building and school-naming frenzy to honor the man. To this day, our 35th President remains an icon of the Democratic Party. This is a very curious and unexplainable phenomenon. In today’s Democratic Party John Kennedy would be to the right of...well, practically everyone. In fact, he might be kicked out of the party altogether. Dude was a staunch anti-communist, a tax cutter, quite reluctant on civil rights and suspicious of Martin Luther King. In the modern Democratic Party, the #MeToo crowd would crucify the guy. Still, there he sits, at or near the top of the food chain of the party’s heros. Go figure.

Anyway, my point is, with regards to the naming of things, I believe that each generation should have a say. New heros always come along, and at some point the Estes Kefauver Bridge will no longer make any sense. But, something tells me that until we can all get passed this phase of hyper-polarization in which we find ourselves, I suggest that we stick to naming things after flowers and trees, and inanimate objects.

Changing Names

What’s wrong with this picture? Where to begin?

This is the photograph which accompanied the story yesterday about the name change of this school from J.E.B. Stuart to Barack Obama Elementary school. While the comments section was blowing up with outrage about the name change, I couldn’t stop looking at the broken glass, the stuck window and the grass that hadn’t been mowed in weeks. Then I researched the school and learned about the abysmal test scores, the plague of underachievement by whatever metric you chose to measure the actual educating going on inside his building...and I thought, Changing the name of this school from J.E.B. Stuart to Barack Obama is the educational equivalent of rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. But, by all means, let’s spend six months studying and $26,000 changing the name of this school.

Ok, I suppose I should make something clear...I don’t object to schools changing their names. I completely understand and have great sympathy for the idea that maybe a school which is 90% African-American might not want to any longer be named for a Civil War General, who although perhaps the finest cavalry officer of the entire war (despite his lapse at Gettysburg), fought for the losing side, a side which was fighting, among other things, to preserve the legality of human bondage. So, if a school in 2018 wants to fly under a new banner, one that might inspire more pride in the community they serve, I have no problem with it.

But, that picture...

Richmond City schools have a boatload of big problems. Their buildings are crumbling. Their students consistently underperform in English, science and math scores. Half the time they can’t even get the furnaces to work in the winter and the air conditioning to work in the summer. But they can commission a study on changing the name of one their schools, come up with a list of ten candidates, even let the kids and teachers vote on the thing, then pick the guy who came in tenth in the voting as the winner. What could possibly go wrong?

But, at least it’s done now. The kids no longer will have to be called Stuart’s Stars. 

That should fix everything.

Meticulous Planning

For the last six months my wife has been immersed in every imaginable detail of planning a wedding. This feverish planning has produced more spreadsheets and Google Docs than the Mueller Investigation. Meanwhile, I have largely been on the sidelines, a helpless observer, only roused to action when there’s a bill to be paid. As a result, I have felt somewhat useless, like I’m not carrying my weight. So, I have decided do a little planning myself. There won’t be any Google Docs involved, but that’s not to say that I haven’t given this a lot of thought.

In less than five weeks, our first three-week Maine vacation will begin. 24 hours after we arrive at The Chill House on Pemiquid Lake on the 21st of July, Jon, Kaitlin, Patrick and Sarah will fly into Portland, which will give Pam and me one day to buy groceries. Accordingly, I have decided to take it upon myself to plan the menu for the entire three weeks. Here’s what I have so far...

Breakfast:

- blueberry pancakes

- scrambled eggs

- bacon/sausage

- fried bread

Lunch:

- lobster rolls 

- fluffernutters

Dinner:

- steak

- chicken

- shrimp

- lobster

- ice cream

Repeat......

How’d I do??

The handy part of this menu is how easily it can be replicated on our second three-week Maine vacation coming up in September/October!!

What’s so difficult about planning? I mean, seriously??

S.C.C.S...Killer of Good Days

There’s probably nothing in this world more vital, more intrinsically satisfying and reassuring than that morning cup of coffee. For me, it comes around 6 o’clock. It brews while I absentmindedly empty the dishwasher, thinking of nothing. Then I pour it into one of my oversized mugs.  I add a tablespoon of carcinogenic powdered creamer, or Coffeemate, then an eighth of a teaspoon of Truvia, another soon to be discovered carcinogen.        

Then, I sit down on the sofa, open my iPad and take that first delicious sip. Temporarily, all is right with the world.

But every so often something bad happens. I get distracted. Maybe it’s some moronic item in the news, or maybe I get an inspiration for a blogpost. Suddenly, I am in another place, far away from my living room. By the time I snap out of it, a significant amount of time has passed. It’s then that I instinctively reach for my forgotten cup of coffee to finish off what’s left in the mug only to discover that something positively dreadful has happened. It’s ICE COLD. It’s also too late. My mouth is now full of cold coffee and I must make a lightening-quick decision...do I swallow, or expel it back into the mug? Ok, this isn’t exactly the type of lightening-quick decision on which civilization hangs, but it’s no small thing either! The worst part about the surprising cold coffee swig, (or S.C.C.S for short), is that you feel like the victim of a cruel trick, like you’ve been betrayed by your best friend or something. My coffee is cold?? What, in the name of all that is holy, is going on here??!! After this inauspicious beginning, there’s no telling what horrors await you on this day. I mean, if you can be betrayed by your own coffee, anything is possible. So, for the rest of the day, you’re giving everyone the side eye, every interaction shrouded in paranoia. Trust no one. Double check everything. Today, there is treachery in the air. Enough of this sort of thing happens and you wake up one morning to discover that Donald Trump is President!

And... it’s all because of the dreaded S.C.C.S.