When my niece got married, everyone knew the wedding was going to be as extravagant and elaborate as they do it down in Austin, TX, where she worked for a couple of years before deciding to go back and get her Master’s in Wisconsin, in either Madison or Milwaukee, quickly done mind you and then soon, and after a slightly postponed European honeymoon and an apartment found, start working as a social worker in one of those two areas.
So you can see, there is a degree of impulsivity, although she was very certain in her choice of a mate and no one was in danger of being left at the altar — less so the details of the actual wedding planning that she fretted over until close to D-Day, as in last-minute decision time. No more delaying. The question was asked of the family if everything was set in place, on the prior Thursday night. The response to that was a bit underwhelming.
But the boat rides on the river had been scheduled, the adjacent and regal hall smack dab in the middle of the downtown rented, the many pictures of the couples who are relatives from old weddings long past had all been obtained (with the exception of a few that basically had predated the dawn of photography) and placed on tables and bulletin boards on stilts (they could not be set up until the day before), the last of the many individual catering and appetizer choices made, and the horse and carriage obtained, OK I’m kidding, it did not go on to that degree …
The dresses were even fully hemmed and shoes fitted, and we’ll let my mom weigh in further on that one. (She dropped a few extra pounds to fit into her new for-the-occasion dress.)
It turned out there is to be another wedding, this one much earlier in the year in 2027, as her sister will tie the knot; her being the practical one, getting the booking done for as they say, off-season when prices are cheaper. So two in what, nine months?
That two-for-one-wearing was what my mom — as a tee-tolling one in this the beer capital of the (known) world, (even if you’re trashed) — was counting on when splurging for her off-grey dress that is turns out matched the bridal parties, complete with shawl overdub, (OK while I’m typing this I’m listening to an early Judas Priest CD). What, going dress shopping again? And for shoes too? And spending hours at a time, and more than once for this first wedding, and driving far to do so. Can’t I just get a fuzzy bathrobe and equally fuzzy slippers to go with, and call it a night? And this is especially so since the dress will need another-several-hours-worth alteration(s)?
Anyway, everything in the long haul went off without a hitch or a glitch. Hey, boats ran late, and some other things were a bit behind, but just talk to that cool bartender who reminds me of one at Hudson Tap — same face, look, demeanor and speech style — for a turn or two longer. Old auntie Marion, literally, and Beth, close relatives, made it from Michigan, as did ALL the rest of that crew. And Joel and Maria, also aged, made it from east-central Wisconsin, as did uncle Brian and members of his family, so all was good. They were in store — a couple who had quite literally never, or rarely, been out of the county — for a real multinational wedding.
And while flitting about, everyone looked just fabulous, (more of that later.) Even if pushing middle-age. I asked my mom about her opinion on MY look, with tie on crooked. Eventually, she said, “you looked fine.” Again, underwhelming.
What, suit and tie? But nobody took a pic!?! Like the bouncer at Dick’s demanded. Amongst the 1000s taken, and then deleted so there could be room for more, and hawked by people like wife of my cousin Heather? That messy paper napkin and spot(s) at the table in front of it — and I was told I could cover it with a carefully folded cloth napkin — was another story.
And the shoes. I wasn’t wearing the ones I got secondhand from a friend down the hall — just because, and yes I crammed them into the suitcase to bring back home … barely. The less tight of the two black pairs kept for occasions like this in my mom’s closet, and no not that closet, not hers actually, were less than thoughtfully selected.
Some things came out of the closet during the speeches that are a prerogative to be given by certain key members to start the dinner, and my family took full advantage, with addresses (that word chosen carefully) that were long and thus revealing. The father of the bride called up to come forward her two brothers, and the three wise men ganged up a bit on my poor niece.
They as a team produced and then stacked replicas of old wooden road signs with pointing arrows for the two states you would predict would produce puns, Texas and Wisconsin. But there was a third, Iowa? That gag came from the time when my niece was 19, her mother found — and of course shared — the fact that a mysterious plastic card was found in the pants pocket doing the laundry. What, did you know that we have a 21-year-old with an Iowa address? The fake ID story will live on in my niece’s infamy.
And as was noted of the couple, he likes to make money and she likes to spend it! Then came into reference at some point during the wedding weekend the initials NSFW — which I think could stand for non-sufficient funds wedding. Or woman. Just kidding. The bills, even though I’m sure they were a whopper, were covered.
Then came the best man, of Indian descent and as such was like many in the bridal party of a full 16. He shared the story of how he fell far from grace and the groom came to his tipsy rescue, in Madison presumably, when he tried to drink like a Wisconsinite, and failed badly with that being the alleged source of the pimples all over his face.
Yes, these were like many a long sermon, but well beyond in both length and entertainment value, and they were in stark constrast to my mom and her squelched voice, who had come down with the inopportune time to get larengitus, in addition to her new hearing aid, as many of the relatives had not been seen for a while and there were many more such yarns to share. So words such as deaf and dumb took on new meaning.
We never got the social opp — and maybe there is an app for that — to ask the best man and others just how they pronounce their names. It all seems to depend on how you bend the vowel. And the groom of both Italian and German descent — long story — is said by many to resemble a compadre as he is new to Wisconsin, Christian Yelich, the lookalike being a star for the Milwaukee Brewers. (One of the nephews, as he has the nose, could be a match for the former manager, Craig Counsel, although he probably would not like the comparison.) And back to the groom? His last name, especially at Christmas, could be mistaken for the suddenly applicable phrase, Bah Humbug!
No, the wedding dance itself was short on polkas. I asked my uncle, sitting next to me at the reception table, what he thought the music would be like, as I have been trying to drag my niece, kicking and screaming, out of the world of pop and indie into the (broader) scope of metal … His response, perhaps reflecting on her Austin experience … lots of country.