How do I survive the most important day of my life and then blog about it? Well let’s start off with a disclaimer: Nothing I write here can ever begin to describe how great a day it was. Nothing I post could possibly do the event justice, and honestly, I’m starting to have some respect for the writers of history books. How does someone stuff the importance of Normandy into one chapter? How does one put into a few paragraphs an entire weekend of wedding funtimes? Can’t be done.
Let’s give it a shot anyway, if for no other reason than to give my new Uncle Danny and Dave something to talk about at work.
The last time I checked into the RT (with any real effort) was last Wednesday, the 6th, when I was preparing the Garvey mans for the rehearsal gala. Right now, I’m sitting in an airport in Cincinnati, renting wireless access from tmobile, sharing a mint chocolate milkshake with my wife. Here are a few things that happened between those two times:
Thursday: mowed, weed-wacked, mulched, phoned law schools, phoned utility companies. Met up with my groomsmen and a few others for a night of poker wherein they let me win. Lisa got drunk at the square.
Friday: electrical work, yard work, astroturf work. Drove with Lou to get two more kegs of the Flying Bison, and called biological Uncle Dan for help with the taps (he also helped with the ice, with the emceeing at the reception, with a “European Survival Kit” containing “I Am Canadian” tee-shirts, and especially with a big-ass tray of bacon for Sunday brunch. Mad, mad props.) Got to dress in my new Tommy Bahama outfit. Wedding rehearsal. Wedding rehearsal party. Awesome awesome awesome awesome.
Things I’ll always remember about the wedding rehearsal dinner: the fireworks a la the groomsmen; smoked king salmon a la our Alaska trip; Sammy, Miranda, and, well, everyone wearing “Celebrate” glitter on their foreheads; Leonard telling jokes; a wave of babies; Uncle Neil’s toast; everyone noticing and commenting on the lawns; Lisa leaving before midnight, after I gave her the journal I started on September 9th, 2003, when I first knew I wanted to marry her; the drunk brigade who sat with me the night before I got married, eating peanuts, drinking clicquot, and talking about papa.
Saturday: up at 7, surprised to see I got five good hours of sleep, more surprised to see the coffee grinder broken. Saw mom early, made her cry. No real prep work to be done, but Alex and I found things to do anyway, thankfully. Hoffman showed around 12:30, and the guys party took their time getting dressed in the last air-conditioned space we’d see all day. Tuxes: A) looked like waiters B) looked like James Bond C) looked perfect. Trolley was not stocked with cookies , but did contain champagne and a life-size superman cut-out. Met photographers at church, who were attractive young ladies, obviously not turned on by men in sweaty tuxes. The wedding. The wedding reception. Awesome infinity plus one.
Thins I’ll always remember about the wedding: less than you’d expect – it went by so quick, and I was watching from behind my eyes, flying on autopilot. It was hot hot. I didn’t cry until I saw Esther mouth to John that she couldn’t look at me. I remember thinking there was no fourth wall. The doors opened and Lisa and her (now, “our”) father were silhouetted against the quad’s light. I told Father Tunney I arranged all the flowers, and we laughed because I was lying during my own wedding, in front of the alter. Aunt Janet’s reading. Little bottles of water from nowhere. Uncle Neil’s reading, which was the long version of the one we found, and was preempted by “Dear Corinthians, wish you were here…” or something like that. Sarah’s right, though – a long mass is a-ok so long as you mean it. Mom looked so happy, and Dave Hoffmann was visible even thirty pews away. Music – my God, the music. Most are married in the ethereal presence of a choir of angels. We actually arranged to have one sing at ours. Thank you ladies, thank you guys, and thank you Joy for giving me shivers during “River of Glory”. I passed notes to Lisa – did anyone see that? Katie had a bit of tissue on her nose – please, in the name of all that is holy, please tell me someone got a picture of it.
Nope. It can’t be done. This post is even longer than my normal tomes, and I haven’t even gotten to the end of the mass yet. And actually, I notice it’s about time to catch our flight out of here, taking us into the arms of my wife’s ancestral lands. I’ll be on the roads among northern Italy for the next two weeks, but hopefully, I’ll be able to check in if I can find another hotspot. In the meantime, help me fill in the cracks – email me at firstname.lastname@example.org and send me stories, send me pictures, send me the jokes that Leonard told that I’ve already forgotten.
And in case I didn’t tell you this during a drunken stupor on Saturday night, I love you all.
1 year ago