I finally understand where Steve Martin was coming from.
As the movie "Father of the Bride" opens, his character reclines in an oversized chair, removing his shoes like Mr. Rogers, and explains that he once thought a wedding was a simple case of boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, they find a ring and a dress, then say "I do." Having just experienced his daughter's wedding, the exhausted father of the bride says he was wrong. The above sequence of events describes a marriage; a wedding is an entirely different affair.
Last weekend, I was present at the wedding of a dear friend's older sister in Baltimore. It taught me that weddings are no longer a one-day event, but rather they begin on Thursday night and end with a brunch Sunday morning. In between is an endless stream of luncheons, dinners, relatives and photographers. Just when you think you've caught your breath, someone else is asking you to say cheese or bring them another platter of cheese. There must be something about weddings that makes everyone hungry. No one paused between bites all weekend.
Perhaps the most memorable moments of the weekend had nothing in common with the traditional memories one keeps from a wedding. I will never forget the look on the bride's father's face as one of the caterers shattered a plate in a nearby kitchen while the couple was reciting their vows. He closed his eyes tightly, though not to say a silent prayer or repeat a chant of "Serenity now." Rather, I am fairly certain he was thinking, "I just paid $500 for that plate."
His facial expression was rivaled only by the look on the groomsmen's faces as they watched a spider crawling stealthily toward the best man's black shoe. Knowing the best man was slightly faint at heart when it comes to insects, each groomsman made an attempt to squash the curious spider without the congregation or the squeamish best man noticing.
However, everyone's attention was diverted when another groomsman nearly overheated during the ceremony. The wedding took place at a historic library that habitually turns off its air conditioning system in mid-October. Normally, this would not have been a problem for a wedding taking place in November. But this particular November seems to have ridden in on the coattails of a tropical heat wave, and the poor groomsman was stifling in his all-black tuxedo. He was not alone in suffering the heat: most of the wedding guests were using their handkerchiefs to wipe sweaty brows rather than weeping eyes.
This wedding not only provided me with several humorous memories, but also reminded me what it means to be young, and what it means to be young at heart. Long after the bride and groom's young friends had retreated from the dance floor, the 80-year-old grandmother was still going strong to the sounds of Motown. At one point, the grandmother, given courage by several glasses of wine, abandoned her jacket, revealing a spaghetti-strap dress that rivaled anything the 20-year-old women were wearing. This hip grandma partied until the wee hours of the morning, and no doubt could have danced to another round of The Temptations had the band not tired out first. She had more stamina than half the students on Rugby Road at 2 a.m. on a Saturday night.
Of course, the wedding would not have been complete without a noisy fire alarm that sounded just as dinner was being served. Shortly thereafter, two fire engines pulled up in front of the library to inspect the situation. The groom, being a volunteer firefighter, thought this was the best thing to happen that night since the bar opened. With no fire roaring in the building, the firemen invited the wedding party onto their truck for a few extra pictures. Nearly everyone gathered outside to observe the commotion - everyone, that is, except the bride's grandmother.
She was still going strong to "My Girl" on the dance floor.
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