Sunday, June 27, 2004
Wedding Weekend
Saturday evening, my little brother got married. We’re all overjoyed because we adore his wife and because they get along so well. Good work, Chris.
Father Ashley married the couple in a little church along the Hudson River. I've been to six of Father Ashley weddings. He always gives a warm, intelligent talk, and later tells me about his research on immigration in NYC and his walking tours of the Lower East Side. Sometimes, he'll discuss his radical days in Chicago hiding Black protesters in the basement of his church.
The reception was just as we like it. Low on the ceremony, large on absurdity.
Absurdity was aided by all those three feet and under. About 15 young kiddies raced in circles around the dance floor and hid under dining tables. Of course, my kids were in the thick of it. No matter how many times, we counseled Jonah not to tackle his cousin, Arianna, it just never sunk it. Like a drunken Kennedy, Ian with his strawberry blond hair lurched around in increasingly, grubby preppy clothes guzzling Shirley Temples. He joined in on the tackling and managed to survive the long day without a meltdown.
Chris gave the DJ very strict instructions about acceptable music and about refraining from commentary. But Vinnie in his knee length formal coat could not be contained. Simply playing Van Morrison and Aretha Franklin was beneath him. At the end of the evening, Vinnie broke free from Chris’s short leash and forced everyone on the dance floor in a big circle around the now less than happy couple and crooned New York, New York. Good times.
All day, I felt like someone beat me with a stick. All the bending down in high heels to scoop up kids off the floor. But I managed to get some good reading done and packed a couple of boxes.
Saturday evening, my little brother got married. We’re all overjoyed because we adore his wife and because they get along so well. Good work, Chris.
Father Ashley married the couple in a little church along the Hudson River. I've been to six of Father Ashley weddings. He always gives a warm, intelligent talk, and later tells me about his research on immigration in NYC and his walking tours of the Lower East Side. Sometimes, he'll discuss his radical days in Chicago hiding Black protesters in the basement of his church.
The reception was just as we like it. Low on the ceremony, large on absurdity.
Absurdity was aided by all those three feet and under. About 15 young kiddies raced in circles around the dance floor and hid under dining tables. Of course, my kids were in the thick of it. No matter how many times, we counseled Jonah not to tackle his cousin, Arianna, it just never sunk it. Like a drunken Kennedy, Ian with his strawberry blond hair lurched around in increasingly, grubby preppy clothes guzzling Shirley Temples. He joined in on the tackling and managed to survive the long day without a meltdown.
Chris gave the DJ very strict instructions about acceptable music and about refraining from commentary. But Vinnie in his knee length formal coat could not be contained. Simply playing Van Morrison and Aretha Franklin was beneath him. At the end of the evening, Vinnie broke free from Chris’s short leash and forced everyone on the dance floor in a big circle around the now less than happy couple and crooned New York, New York. Good times.
All day, I felt like someone beat me with a stick. All the bending down in high heels to scoop up kids off the floor. But I managed to get some good reading done and packed a couple of boxes.
