PART
THREE
Friday
morning, June 17th, the day before D-Day, everyone hit the floor
early with predetermined assignments at the farm. Tracey’s stepmother, Gloria, her sister and
brother-in-law, Tammy and Steve Dee, who arrived from Chicago the evening
before, Robyn, and various other relatives, who were already staying at the
farm, had a hard day of labor ahead.
They left soon after breakfast at the hotel.
Tasha
remained with me, although she slept half the day. What a day! My best laid
plans were to set up an already prepared blog for Father’s Day. With optimism and proud of being ahead of the
game, I turned on the computer to post the preset blog only to find it had been
infected by an ugly virus – probably because the hotel shared unsecured
service. Not usually a problem, but it
found me today. Google would not accept
the Father’s Day blog. In fact, the entire internet was confounded by the
virus. Disappointed and also aware that
I could not safely work offline on edits I had promised to have completed for
my writer’s group, my day fell deeper into disgusted disillusioned disarray.
So
– I had started knitting a white shawl when we departed New Orleans. I had already tagged it my Oklahoma shawl,
but now with so much time, two whole days of computer withdrawal, I could
really make progress on the shawl. After
walking the floor for thirty minutes, trying to mentally work out a way to fool
the virus, I gave up, closed the computer, settled down to knit, and listen to
Fox News.
Anyone
with common sense knows after a couple hours of news of any kind, your head
begins to spin. I needed something to
do. Remembering a story I had started, I
decided I could risk my own writing offline on the sick computer. After all, if
I created it once, I should be safe to reconstruct it again if the computer ate
my story. However, at my age that’s a really optimistic view to consider. Deciding to take the risk, I worked most of
the afternoon on a story about wolves for young boys. Very entertaining to say the least, and time
to prepare for the rehearsal soon rolled around the clock.
Tracey
and Robyn came through the door later than planned, hot, tired, and lamenting
the amount of work still to be finished before 7:00 the next day. Ready to go, I waited with patience while
they disputed the likelihood of catastrophic events that could occur. It seemed the cattle had escaped through an
open gate creating a rousing roundup that accounted for only two of the three
animals. One was still at large. But, with her forever optimism, Mother of the
Bride insisted, “It will be all right.” In my mind that settles all dissention. Just
get into your jeans and bug spray,
and let’s go.
Mother
of the Bride proved to be right. The
decorations were coming together with charm and beauty. The tables, set up
under the barn’s permanently attached cabana space with dirt floor, stood out
with their cloths and citron candle arrangements. Seating for the rehearsal
seemed adequate. The rustic archway, on
loan from friends and decorated by Heather and Tracey, stood at the designated
space with yards of tulle and flower arrangements in Heather’s chosen colors,
purple, blue, mauve, and white butterflies decorating its frame. Enough chairs
for the disabled old folks sat at the bottom of the semi-barren hill waiting
for the rehearsal.
The
outdoor chapel, if we can imagine that scenario, consisted of the space on an
incline that led from the barn door downward to where the archway stood. Stones laid by the young folks lined the area
that became the aisle for the Bride. A
chapel with the sky for the ceiling, the Oklahoma countryside for its walls,
and the ever- present wind for conditioned air. Amazingly beautiful image for
making wedding memories.
With
the sun still high, the Minister arrived, and the plans began to fall in
place. Several of the elderly folks were
not expected to walk down that incline to the level seating. So the gas-powered
golf-cart, nicknamed Guber (a contraction of golf cart and Uber, of the
ride-sharing business) with an assigned driver escort would drive each of us to
our seats. With this action completed,
the rehearsal began. The Best Man had
not arrived from a distant place and a Groomsman was missing, but the rest went
according to plan. With everyone assured of their part in the event, the
rehearsal ended as the moon rose over the archway giving anticipation for
perfection the next evening.
Following
the plan, pizza arrived just in time for all the hungry wedding party to
congregate under the cabana. By this time, the sun had disappeared, and other relatives
(Heather’s Aunt Nancy and cousins from Idaho) along with other distant guests
had arrived. Like any reunion, the
family mingled rehashing stories and enjoying the tales of the past. I heard Terry telling others the bull had
been found. He lay resting at the gate
waiting to get inside. So much for the
fear the bull might crash the wedding.
Heather, cute in her lacy bridal top, flower
circlet head piece, blue jeans, and cowboy boots weaved through her guests with
the charm and poise of the lovely young woman she has become. No longer a child, she promises to be an
asset equal to none in the environment she has chosen. Nathan, a tall, handsome, appealing young man
with courage to take risks will take her hand in marriage and together they
will challenge the future. They have much in common: their love for music (both
majored in music with exceptional talents), their love for nature and living
near the land, and their devotion to each other. Tomorrow they will say their
vows.
Excitement
ruling the evening, everyone, tired from the day of labor and with more to do
in the early morning, loaded into the vehicles and again made the thirty-five
mile, forty-five minute drive back to civilization (as Tasha said
repeatedly). As we looked to the moonlit
sky, dark shadows, known as CLOUDS, could be seen gathering in the
distance. No, those just can’t be rain
clouds.
Later,
folks, The Wedding.
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