stay on target

Another wedding weekend come and gone.

We left at about 11:30p Thursday night and zipped up I-95 with no traffic inhibiting our progress – we even took the GW Bridge through Manhattan at 4am. Although, even at that hour, you have to tighten up the game after getting through the toll booth, and blast across the island with trucks and locals hauling ass all around your personal escape module. It was just like shooting womp rats back home. We arrived at the Lodge in western Mass at about 7:30a, where I proceeded on a journey to napland for about three hours.

I dropped L. off in Brattleboro about noon – she’s a regular at Amy’s , the bead shop, and various bookstores - and then headed to Dummerston to get ready for the rehearsal and follow-on dinner. Everyone had a fine evening and it was quite nice to meet all the family and friends of the groom. The wedding was Saturday afternoon with the reception following just over the mountain in Dummerston proper. The weather fully cooperated for an outdoor event as clouds moved in to temper the heat, and the breeze kept everyone a bit cooler. The reception was a lovely, early evening affair that ran later as the Wonder Twins and bride kept everyone alive and kicking. After these few weeks, I’ve decided that weddings aren’t so bad, as long as no one makes further fun of my Virginia plantation hat and summer sport coat. You know who you are.

We drove back Sunday to beat the Holiday traffic and only had a slight delay in the Bronx as we tried to get onto the GW going west. Nothing significant, but certainly enlightening into how New Yorkers drive.

When we were leaving in the dark of night on Thursday, Lemon positioned herself at the bottom of the driveway, precisely in full view of my side view mirror. This was no accident. She knew we were leaving and she meant to make herself very clear in the unhappiness department. I’d never seen anything like it before, but I shouldn’t really be surprised. She also waited about 24 hours between our return home and her first appearance in the house. She can be a tad difficult.

We have three weeks and counting before a proper, weeklong, vacation at Old Orchard Beach in Maine. This is the second venture beyond the safe confines of Stowe (the first being Magog, Quebec) so the judges will be out in full force.

ramblin' man

I spent Friday and Saturday nights sleeping on couches: one at the groom’s place (the night before the wedding), the other at my sister’s. When you’re young, getting the couch is often like winning the lottery – usually, you and your friends are battling over one couch on offer and the rest of the apartment floor. Of course, it was only me involved so no winning ticket was require, but, in case you weren’t aware, couch sleeping isn’t quite as comfy when you’re older.

The entire wedding shindig was top drawer. From rehearsal to reception everything was beautifully planned and managed. As I told my friends, I’ll go a 1,000 miles for a couple of free dinners and four hours of open bar over two nights. Aside from the formal ceremony, the rehearsal dinner stood out as a chance to meet friends and family while enjoying a fantastic meal at Rainbow on Nicollet. For the first time in nearly 20 years, we all had a chance to spend time with each and see how our lives have changed.

About a dozen attendees ended up at the show on Friday night – including the bride/groom – which ended up being another great social event. I’m only guessing, but I suspect that both were ready for some mindless activity that didn’t involve checklists, planning, and worrying. I was pleased to see them get a chance to decompress before the big day. They managed a respectable bedtime while I ended up eating White Castle (not my plan or execution) and gabbing until 4:30am. Fortunately, by 9am everyone was up and about, and in good spirits, for a round of corn pancakes at (my) legendary Maria’s Café. A corn pancake with a few eggs over easy and a dash of cotija cheese can bring anyone back from the depths of the underslept.

After a bit of the reception on Saturday night, I bid farewell and headed over to Anne’s place for the evening and Sunday AM brunch/fast. We caught up over some wine and then hit the bed (or couch). By mid-morning we joined Anne’s comrades for at Whitey’s in NE Minneapolis before I hit the train for the airport.

How was transit, you ask? I did take light rail to and from the airport and the Hiawatha line is really nice: great trains, timely schedule, and the fare – for rush hour times – is a flat $2.25. On the way in I rode up to the Franklin St. station and caught the #2 bus west to the Van Dusen Mansion for the rehearsal. The MTA bus system is adequate, but not great. I never feel like you should have 30-minute bus waits, in the heart of a city, on a weekday. Even with that, the routes are strong and the cost (bus-wise) is about what we pay here in D.C. Anne was going to take me to the airport after breakfast on Sunday until I realized that dropping me off at Target Field (about three blocks from where we were) for the light rail was a much better option: 25 minutes later and I’m checking in at the airport. I’d love to see them expand service from downtown to the western suburbs, but I suspect that’s a pipe dream. (They are building a line between MSP and StP, and I see there’s talk of building a line SW to Eden Prairie.)

The flight back was fine – Delta, and all – and I feel like I’m nearly caught up on sleep; only to ready the entire clan for another wedding up in Vermont this weekend.

with this ring II

Another long meeting story in Sunday’s NYTimes wedding announcements

The couple met in 2004 at a Halloween party at a pub on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Mr. Donohue was one of a half-dozen men who dressed as characters from Roger Hargreaves’s "Mr. Men and Little Miss" children’s book series. Mr. Donohue wore an orange suit, the signature color of his character, Mr. Tickle. He had stapled extra long sleeves to the suit so that he would have Mr. Tickle’s tentaclelike arms.

Ms. Cody knew one of the men in the group, Christopher Ahern, who was wearing a yellow suit, the signature color of Mr. Skinny. She asked him who had come up with the idea for the costumes, and he replied that it was his longtime friend Mr. Donahue.

“I thought the idea was extremely creative,” said Ms. Cody, who had improvised a doctor’s costume with the last-minute purchase of a lab coat, and scrubs and a stethoscope borrowed from her roommate, a nurse.

Ms. Cody struck up a conversation with Mr. Donahue and found the man in the orange suit to be “creative, confident in his skin, unpretentious.”

“She came right up and started talking,” Mr. Donohue remembered. “She was funny, honest.”

They spoke until the wee hours, when the party ended.

As I was typing the entry I thought I should have been calling him Mr. Tickle rather than Mr. Donohue; try it on your keyboard, it’s much easier to type. Not only would the finger stretches be easier, but if I know he’s Mr. Tickle based on the long-winded announcement, shouldn’t I just call him Mr. Tickle? Wasn’t that the point? Shouldn’t I call them Mr. and Mrs. Tickle? Or at least Mr. and Mrs. Cody-Tickle. And it's cool to work 'tentacle' into a wedding announcement...odds? I thought the 'when the party ended' was a bit much...as they do.

Mr. Redd, 45, is the founder and chief executive of the Project Management Resource Group, an engineering management consulting firm in New York. He is also a baritone whose appearances have included “Porgy and Bess” with the New York City Opera.

The thing that caught my eye was the baritone. I’m completely void of talent, and anyone who performs with the New York City Opera is amazing to me, but do I need to know this? “Hey X, we got an invitation to the wedding of that baritone guy from the ‘Porgy and Bess’ show. Are we going?” I imagine a response from across rooms declaring that unless it was the alto or harmony guy (I have NO musical terminology skills), we aren’t going. It strikes me that my wedding announcement should include the fact that I CAN’T sing. “Married today at the church, can’t carry a tune in a bucket…”

About half the announcements have photos of the happy couple, and I do wish them all the luck. Lord knows my marriage skills are questionable. But I can’t figure out the photo of just the bride. I’m thinking I should turn the page to see the “wasn’t present for school picture day” laid across the silhouette of some guy.

This week was the first announcements I’d seen that had same-sex marriages (I said it) of both sexes. Wait. Girls and boys. Wait. You know what I mean. I’ve noticed that the announcements with same-sex gals always seem to say “Ms. Debbie Jones (above left)”, but the same-sex guys don’t give the “above left” mapping. I tried to sort out who was who but came up empty.

And I love that Mr. William Mason’s father is “the national accounts manager at Tootsie Roll Industries of Chicago…” That is what life’s about, working at Tootsie Roll. Sweet.

T.