THE POLICE OFFICER

America are you learning from this weekend's experience? Without law and those to enforce it, we have ANARCHY! I wrote this poem some time ago as a tribute to my brother. It says everything I feel tonight about those who guard my home, and will be there if I need help. What would we do without them?

 

THE POLICE OFFICER

When I hear a siren in the city at night

I cringe at the thought of what may be the plight

Of some young officer who is making that call

Will he survive or is it his time to fall

So many give their all on our streets today

Trying to protect the citizens who pay

Little respect to the police officer who may die

In his quest to keep peace; one must ask why

To know an officer who guards our streets

To know his heart, his strength, his feats

To know his character; his inner soul

To share his vision, his life-long goal

To know he walks with danger each day

To know he is fearful in the same way

As any soldier who has chosen to care

Looking after others, his life to share

I know such a one who is retired today

He holds a gold badge of honor to pay

No fortune was made as a cop on the street

The motor, the squad car or walk the beat

His family lived in comfort, ‘tis true

They lived in fear of each day too

“Will Dad come home after duty tonight?”

Always that little under tone of fright

Many of our citizens understand

The plight of law officers over this land

How the danger rises with lack of respect

The breakdown in society and its effect

  

No longer is an officer in control of a scene

He stands to be judged by a freak movie theme

He is stressed by the thought of losing control

He knows he must stand firm and be bold

Then there are those who in their haste

Make unwise judgments resulting in waste

Or possibly the loss of an innocent life

The officer never recovers from the strife

An officer’s routine has always been clear

Keep his back to the wall and a keen ear

Eyes always moving, a hand ready to defend

With the action required when lawless offend

He may spend hours to direct traffic on his feet

In the hot sun or gusting rain on the street

He walks bravely into the domestic fight

Not knowing what’s next or what is right

He chokes on the nausea that rises to his neck

As he pulls the injured child from a mangled wreck

He struggles with anger and rage when a call

Takes him to a killing, small children and all

He thinks for a moment as he walks to the car

Of the lawbreaker he just beckoned from afar

Will he be a calm citizen who just didn’t think

Or is he a drunkard with too much to drink

And the stopped car the officer must check

Could be a criminal or a dangerous suspect

Who is waiting with hatred for the law

And anxious to kill any officer he saw

Or he may face the stricken deranged man

Who is determined to take his life if he can

In his mindless panic he threatens the cop

Who is there to try to convince him to stop

  

The officer tries to calm the tragic scene

But a distraught broken man it seems

Loses control, the officer faces the gun

Shots are fired; it’s a game never won

In spite of his courage and love for his job

He must feel the struggle and how he is robbed

Of time to be with his family he adores

On overtime he completes paper work galore

He finally goes home, puts his feet on the stool

Turns on the TV and some media fool

Condemns his comrades without reason or facts

Of being in the wrong, always bad police acts

He is the first to condemn his fellow brother

When he makes a bad call in one way or another

He knows they are human and subject to panic

Some may waver, become careless and frantic

He supports the law who take up the task

With investigation and for the facts ask

The officer must be punished for his mistake

He police life is over, the badge they must take

For those in the right who follow the rule

Call for equal justice and tempers to cool

Let the judge make decision of what is fair

No system is perfect, it’s human to err

He asks for respect for his badge and authority

To be remembered as one who in the majority

Upholds the law and respects all human kind

Honor him; THE POLICE OFFICER with YOUR welfare in mind

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA

    "I'm tired and my head aches!"

Independence Day, July 4, 2016, will be dawning in a few hours and the hustle and bustle of celebrating will begin.  I’m awake in the wee hours of the morning contemplating the fact that I have survived another year.  To be honest, I’m reasonably healthy with only a few issues for an old lady of 82 years.  I do have to make adjustments in certain behavior patterns, I’m told, and I have to be willing to accept certain limits and responsibilities. It’s called being agreeable, peaceful, and mature about matters of concern. Sometimes the changes are like pills that are swallowed with difficulty.  I don’t always like what I must do, but as we grow older, issues arise that must be addressed, and not always as I would choose.

As I think about my country, with its 240^th birthday today, I contemplate the fact that it has survived another year. However, in honesty, I’m truly worried about its health. Just like me, America has to swallow some pills she may not like. My observations reveal that without considerable healing, my country’s future may be in dire circumstance. Lady Liberty holds her torch high on her 240th, but she has suffered wounds from without and within, some painful that struggle to heal, some with dreadful side effects that continue to seethe under the surface while she refuses to “search for and respond to” treatment.

In her weakened state threatened from every side, she trembles with the fever of discontentment, refuses to try adjustments in behavior and rejects the responsibility to take risks that have always been common to her existence. She cowers in fear and scuffs at the suggestion that she needs a good dose of history to remind her of where she has been and where she should be going.  She closes her eyes and recoils like an animal that has been beaten and abused instead of rising up as she did in her youth to reject the wickedness and flex her muscles with courage to defend what is right in the world.

She turns her head when healing ideas are placed on her plate, and refuses to consider older and wiser counsel from those who have made the journey before, survived the disease of war and wickedness, and have learned that love and tender care can be a solution, only when there is undivided attention and a dogged resolve to survive.  She buries her head in the sand of pleasure and the comfort of nanny state deep pockets without thought of consequences.  She refuses to recognize enemies (the disease of self-indulgence, hatred, ignorance, and humanistic culture) that has left her exposed without defense against the blight of warriors who have determined to take her life.

As we fire up our BBQ pits, ice down the cold drinks, spread the sumptuous tables with baked beans and potato salad, and enjoy the pleasures of a fruitful nation silently living in a guarded kind of despair, my hope is that my country will submit to self-examination, recognize the pain that comes with aging, and contemplate the changes that must be made to adjust to the illness that has overtaken her by swallowing those pills that she must to make life rewarding to all  citizens, to accept what cannot be changed, and to find contentment in whatever state she is found. 

As I view old glory today flying gracefully in the sun and enjoy the safety of the backyard BBQ, I pray for my country to return to the God who guided our forefathers.  I hope to live to see her 241^st birthday with a new resolve to reassure citizens that she is strong, brave, and willing to guard the freedom so many have died to preserve.  Like me, she is old, but she is strong, she is stubborn, and she may be a bit sick today, but she will not go silently without a fight. Resolve with me today, in that so much as it depends upon you, America will heal and thrive to greet many more birthdays. Happy Birthday, America.

ABOUT WEDDINGS - Homeward Bound

 PART SEVEN 

Back at the hotel after the Wedding, I said goodbye to Tracey’s parents and other family members. Everyone had plans to leave early next morning. After asking several times about our departure hour, I just gave up and when the first light of day drifted through the blinds Sunday morning, I dragged my tired, aching bones out of bed and packed my bags ready to head for home.  Rising early on Sunday is habitual for me as I go to worship at 9:00 each Sunday.

 

Robyn, an early riser, began her “cheer-leading routine” to get everyone down to breakfast ready to depart.  The ride home would include a two-car caravan with Mandy and Maggie traveling with us. Of course, goodbyes took time as Tracey’s family lingered for last moments together. We climbed in the van around 10:00 with destination Paris, Texas. With stretching room available in the van after unloading Heather’s belongings, I had visions of an easier trip home.

However, a wavering edge of concern swept through my mind, as I remembered the fourteen-year-old van had accumulated another 1000 miles since we arrived in Woodward a week ago. Robyn checked the duct tape repairs deciding we may make it home without further attention to that minor   problem. After a brief delay waiting for Mandy, who stayed at La Quinta Hotel close by (where pets are welcome), our caravan headed east toward Louisiana.

Robyn, well-organized, prompt, and impatient, frazzled with the frustrating week of following orders instead of giving them, climbed behind the wheel for the first stint of driving.  Tasha, her navigator with Siri as the source of information, did her best to accommodate her Mom. The truth is not all States are visitor-friendly, and in my opinion, Oklahoma, Texas, and Louisiana fall into the category of limited interest in the plight of their visitors.  The road signs are all there, but you need to be quick to catch them, because there are few warnings about what comes next. 

Tasha, always on the hunt for coffee shops, had predetermined where she wanted to stop. She loaded her X-Files story, leaned back to listen, and navigated.  With Mandy, Tracey, and Maggie following us, we crossed the Oklahoma countryside again enjoying the fascinating windmill farms and other scenery.  I still had the Oklahoma shawl in progress although its length had grown considerably in the last week. I listened to X-files and napped along the way.

We stopped at places we had been before knowing they would have Tasha’s coffee and a rest room, not always easy to find in the rural regions of our route.  In the afternoon with the temperatures climbing to near 100 degrees, Father’s Day travelers abundant, and two cars filled with tired, road weary passengers and a dog, we pulled into the Teepee Truck Stop again. Robyn checked the taillight rigging to see if the duct tape held and breathed a sigh of relief that we were nearing halfway with no additional problems.

Back on the road after food in the Teepee plaza, a long walk for Maggie, and a good stretch for us, we continued making good progress. In spite of the ragged, rough roads just as apparent in the southbound lane as we found traveling northbound last week, the old Dodge van rolled along groaning and complaining with scary sounds to alarm its passengers at times.   I remembered many of the political hopefuls giving lip-service to our failing highway system, but little preference to budgeting for changes when the opportunity arises. They drive from airport to airport in air-conditioned limos and fly over these State highways without spending one minute riding on the surface. Why should they care about my aching bones from a day of riding in a car? Maybe we should stop paying for limos and airplanes and see that our lawmakers spend a few hours living like we do. Use the money wasted on their comfort to rebuild our roads and bridges. What an idea!

Anyway, we arrived at our destination in East Texas, a La Quinta Hotel where Maggie is welcome, later than hoped, dark-thirty. Tired and road-weary, we unloaded and ordered food from a nearby restaurant. Rising early next morning, following a restless night, I waited patiently for the rest. Robyn returned from checking the van to announce we had missed breakfast.  They closed the hotel breakfast area at 9:00 am. Thanks, La Quinta for advising us of that feature of your service. Guess we are spoiled by city behavior and time schedules. Needing breakfast right away, we found a Sonic Drive In with a picnic area that looked appealing.  We could have a leisurely breakfast, and Maggie could join us at the picnic table. Great! A good start for our last day.

Back on the road again, they hashed out which direction we should be going and finally got both cars headed south. Tasha set up X-files to find out “if that last character lived or died” in the long-winded story started yesterday. Also alert and determined to find the coffee shop (the one with the East Texas charm and lousy hot tea), she set a course for an exit that apparently went awry somehow. We wandered throughout the Texas countryside finally ending up on dirt roads with dead-ends and never found the coffee shop. With Robyn’s patience running out, and Tracey questioning from her cell phone of the driving alertness in the lead car, we gave up searching for the charming wooden floors and local cultural appeal of that unique coffee shop. We’ll catch it next trip!

When we began to see the long bridges and swamp lands of Louisiana, and the sun dropped low in my eyes, I had to give up knitting and admit, I’m really tired. Mandy, a careful, obedient to the rules driver, whom I commend for that wonderful trait, apparently got on Robyn’s last nerve.  Her lead foot had only one goal; she had to be at the office the next morning. “Tracey, you drive. I want to get home,” she said as the sun dropped into the horizon, and it became evident, it would be dark-thirty when we arrived in New Orleans.

Back home again, my trappings unloaded, I kicked off my shoes and leaned back in my comfortable chair to contemplate the week. I realized the whole “thing” had been a riveting, stressful experience for me.  A week of being attentive, supportive, and alert with many strangers, in a strange place to honor a young woman, who had been in my life since she was four years old, had been trying at times for an old lady like me, but rewarding as well with treasured memories. And the road trip, oh, well, it’s over.  Maybe I should write about it, after all, that’s what I do with most of my time anyway. And that white shawl, the Oklahoma shawl, I should get that finished too. As Scarlet O’Hara said, “I’ll think about that tomorrow!”

                                                     CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!

                                                                 THE END

                                                                    

ABOUT WEDDINGS - PHOTO OP

PART SIX

I’m sharing photos taken by family members during the week.  Heather will post the official pictures when they are available.  FB Heather Marie Turner.

ABOUT WEDDINGS - The Ceremony

PART FIVE

Mitch recovered from the shock of learning that Guber (gas golf cart) could not be used to move the disabled. The few who initially had been scheduled for his helping hand stood by waiting to be safely escorted down the grassy aisle to the front seats.  I’m one of this group, who graciously accepted Mitch’s arm to be sure no embarrassing accidents occurred with my entrance.

The Groom’s Mother, Nora, elegant in plum chiffon, escorted by his Father, Terry, smiled with pride as she took her seat near where her son stood.  Other family members were seated as well. Steve Dee, Heather’s Uncle, with his guitar tuned and eager to begin, took his seat near the back and began strumming softly to add the mood and rhythm for the moment.   The Minister, Groom, and Best Man took their positions. As the melody lifted on the wind, the Mother of the Bride stepped into sight, and began her stroll down the aisle. Escorted by Robyn, Tracey took her seat on the front row.

Bridesmaids, Elizabeth Turner, Tasha Cox, and Elizabeth Quick, wearing chiffon knee length dresses in colors of purple, plum, and pink, with silver slippers and carrying bouquets of Calla Lilies, took their places near the archway. Groomsmen, Paul, Ryan, and Gregg in black with blue, plum, and purple ties, a gift of the Groom, moved into their position.  Maid of Honor, Mandy Morice, wearing a chiffon knee length dress in royal blue with silver slippers, carrying a bouquet of Calla Lilies, preceded her sister down the aisle. The proud Father of the Bride, Jim Morice, stepped forward to escort his daughter.  With his heart visibly overflowing with love for his first-born, he smiled and reached his hand in support.

Heather slipped her arm through her Dad’s and stepped out of the shadows of the barn as the Minister asked the guests to rise to greet the Bride. Radiant with joy, she moved slowly down toward her future. A simple ankle-length white satin dress with a full tulle skirt, sweetheart neckline and fitted bodice, a drop waist gem-decorated ribbon, and slippers of silver were chosen by Heather as her bridal attire. A subtle revelation of her unpretentious, elegant style.   Continuing the simple theme, her long hair, swept up in a bun, accented with small gem-studded flowers and capped by the waist-length veil of white tulle, reflected golden threads of light as she moved in the sunlight. Eyes filled with devotion, she turned from her Dad to stand before Nathan and repeat her vows.

As with all things Heather, the vows were atypical, written by her with sweetness and candid truth. Likewise, Heather wrote Nathan’s vows, cute at times, with phrases like “I’ll reach boxes from high shelves for you.”  When asked days earlier why she wrote Nathan’s vows, Heather replied, “I didn’t want to hear ten minutes of short jokes!”

With the brief ceremony over and the tender kiss in the past, the Minister pronounced the couple as one, husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Turner.  As all Weddings end the same, still this one seemed different. The sun dropped behind the barn, and in this vast chapel of outdoor wonder, the moon already high in the sky became brighter as it assumed the major roll of ruling the night. The couple swept up the aisle with the confidence they could meet any challenge together.

As evening shadows surrounded the guests moving toward the reception area, the photographer, Kelly, cousin of the Bride, discovered the photo op before the wedding yielded unacceptable pictures for memories.  Taken with the sun in their faces, the results were flawed with closed and squinting eyes.  Now, in spite of how carefully they planned to avoid delaying the reception, the photo op must be repeated.

I could hear my tummy rumble as the light lunch had been hours ago. Definitely distracted with the aroma of country cooking floating into the reception area, I found a place to relax at a table and joined in conversation with guests.  It could be a long time before the serving began.  People being who they are, waiting for food could be a bad sign with the treated drinks flowing like Niagara Falls.  Robyn came to check on me and delivered lemonade that did calm my hunger and thirst for a few moments.

 I looked around the cabana area at the décor and how appropriate the candles and table arrangements were for the rustic theme of the wedding.  Lights were strung and came on as darkness fell into the shadows.  Bales of hay, cut from the fields, lined the walls of the barn to provide additional seating. Purple, blue, plum, and white décor in the form of flowers, butterflies, candles, created and prepared by Heather, Nathan’s grandmother, and great aunt, provided soft pools of light adding to the festive mood. The pinnacle of a lovely theme, with rhythm flowing through each carefully orchestrated event of the week.

It seemed like hours, but actually was only minutes, when my turn for the photo op surfaced.  To avoid the long walk, they used the reception corridor where the decorated walls made a colorful background for the photos.  Finally, when every possible configuration of family unit had been photographed, the call to be served dinner drifted through the crowd of guests. 

Being very hungry with too many choices is always a dangerous diet don’t.  “Robyn, just bring me a plate with food,” I said, as I maneuvered my walker back to my table.  With friendly folk all around, the evening hummed with stimulating conversation and laughter. A family reunion, not one family, but several with ties to Heather and Nathan.  I met guests from Illinois, Idaho, California, Florida, Arizona, New Mexico, Louisiana, and of course, Oklahoma, all with one common bond, Best Wishes for Nathan and Heather.

With everyone fed and happy, watching the newlyweds enjoy interacting from table to table visiting with their guests instead of the typical “receiving line” and quick exit, exposed a feeling of closeness that may be inherent to rural living. City dwellers lose that innocence of just being yourself. Speaking of being yourself and in a spirit of levity, a battle of tiny marble sized balls began to be thrown back and forth.  The balls were a part of a unique votive candle light arrangement that fascinated all the guests. They soon wearied of the impromptu pleasure after spreading the soft gel balls all around the area.

Later, the traditional list to check off, the first dance, (Nathan says, I don’t dance, and Heather doesn’t want to dance), so on to the next; the cake routine is always cute and messy, but especially original at this wedding.  Four cakes baked and decorated in white with butterflies of her chosen colors, were displayed on plates made from rough-hewn logs. A few inches deep, they were placed at different levels of display, with the smallest at the highest point to display a most exclusive “cake topper” depicting the musical talent of the couple (miniatures of Nathan holding a trombone and Heather holding percussion mallets). They had great fun with posing for photos, and the cake, baked by Nathan’s sister, Elizabeth, was delicious.

The Best Man, Gregg, took charge of the toast that traditionally appeals to the wedding party, and another great photo op.  To finish the list, the throwing of the bouquet (caught by Mandy, Heather’s sister), the pitched garter (caught by Mandy’s boyfriend, Mitch), and then, the obvious, “Okay, when is the next wedding?”

Nathan and Heather planned to leave on Sunday for a hiking trip in Colorado.  So with no moment of departure to break up the reception, the older folks, without exception, began to express exhaustion, “It’s past my bedtime.” Tracey’s parents were leaving for the hotel.  Tasha and I joined them to drive the long thirty-five miles.

As we drove away, I looked back over the scene. No doubt they would work into the morning trying to bring reality back to the farm after this long week of building a magic moment for the newlyweds.  But when the last I is dotted, the last T is crossed, they will lean back, relax, and confirm, “It was all worth it.”

 I looked out over the prairie bordering the roadway into Woodward.  The full moon dominated the night with a silvery bath reflecting beauty where none would be found in the sunlight, and shadows hiding beauty that would rule in the morning light.  Everything is relative.  And I remembered being young, unafraid, invincible…  The wise man said, “To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under Heaven.” 

“Nathan, Heather, Don’t waste your time or lose your purpose.  Life is short, and youth soon vanishes.”

Finally, ABOUT WEDDINGS, PART SIX -  PHOTO OP

ABOUT WEDDINGS - The Wedding Day

PART FOUR

Crash, rumble, rip--thunder rolled and lightning flashed penetrating the room darkening blinds on the hotel window. Awakening with the shock of crashing thunder and lightning piercing my vision left me stunned for a moment. The phone showed three o’clock am. I pulled back the blind and observed the rain blowing against the window so forcefully that the view into the street was obliterated.  Oh, no, the Wedding!  Like another bolt of lightning, the thought rushed through my mind. They do have a plan B, I’m told, but with limited space and so many guests. Oh, no, it can’t be raining. But it is!

Later, in the morning, Hallelujah, the rain stopped with clearing skies and the promise of a sunny day ahead. Not only that, but the air felt cooler and more comfortable.  The crew rose early with instructions to get an early start on preparation of food for the reception.  And lights had to be strung all over the reception area. They grabbed a quick breakfast and headed for the farm. I had instructions to be dressed in my lavender suit and ready to depart the hotel at 3:00 pm.  I spent my day alternating between the Oklahoma shawl and the wolf story. Tasha and I sat waiting for them at 3:00 pm.

”Where are they?” Tasha lamented, when the clock reached the upward side of 4:00. “I’m supposed to be there at 4:30 for my hair to be done.” “Don’t worry,” I said. “Just expect it to be late.” Not comforted at all by my solution, she began to call on the cell phone. “I can do my own hair,” she said.

At nearly 4:00 pm, they rushed in with frustration written all over their faces. The rain had not caused any problems, in fact, the ground was dry. Okay, so all is well, but why are we late and stressed so badly?  No answer for that question. Stressing just seemed to be all they had left to do.  Mother of the Bride, dressed in her lovely, royal blue tulle dress, added appropriate jewelry and silver shoes, fussed with her wash and wear hair, and moved about the room worrying over that last one thing to do. I noticed how innately she looked the part she must play this evening with a calm exterior, even though she may be breaking apart inside.  Robyn, quickly dressed, looking cute and chic in her white pant suit with pink blouse, began her “we’re late, hurry, it’s thirty-five miles” routine attempting to herd us to the van. The weeks of stress would be over soon.  We arrived thirty minutes late for the Bridesmaid’s hair and makeup “party” upstairs in the apartment above the barn.

Hair falls next to the dress and makeup in priority.  Tammy, dressed for the wedding, worked feverishly to make the attendants beautiful with lovely coiffures, and Mandy applied the makeup.  The girls were packed into the small air-conditioned apartment donning dresses and jewelry (a gift from the Bride), and simply trying to stay cool on this hot afternoon. Tammy, stressed beyond her limit with so many hair-dos to complete, muttered to herself and anyone who would listen about the fact she couldn’t use hair spray.  Nathan, it seems, is dangerously allergic to hair spray.  How do you manage fine, long hair to stay perfect in the Oklahoma wind WITHOUT HAIR SPRAY? But, they all were lovely, and Aunt Tammy survived.  Tasha, although arriving late, “had it her way” with a pony tail wrapped up into a bun, no hair spray needed.

I found a corner where I could sit on my walker seat and observe the busy last minute details.  I marveled at how the long corridor through the middle of the barn had been transformed into a lovely reception area where guests would sign the book and walk out into the bright sunny afternoon to find their place near the arch.  With the garage doors up on both ends of the barn, the area, still under construction with crude unfinished areas, had been covered, walls and ceiling, with soft material of royal blue, mauve, and white; flowers and butterflies were interspersed changing the garage to a mood of magic equal to any wedding scene I have experienced.  Robyn, in her WHITE suit, rushed about helping with last minute wind repairs, armed with a staple gun and duct tape. Courier for the Bridal entourage upstairs, she raced up and down many times.

 Leading from the garage down the incline, the grassy path lined with flat stones formed a perfect aisle for the wedding party. Overhead a few puffy clouds floated in the cerulean blue sky that would greet Heather as she stepped out to walk down the earthen aisle.  NO RAIN IN SIGHT. The decorated folding chairs set up in the level area near the arch were only a few rows deep to accommodate the families of the Bride and Groom. Others will stand for the brief ceremony.

About thirty minutes late, the wedding party gathered in the garage to join the photography session carefully planned before the ceremony to avoid delaying the reception.  With the sun still high, guests waiting, and the Minister present, the party moved to the lower level and posed for pictures, always a necessary, but annoying, part of the wedding experience.  Another glitch reared its ugly head when the men discovered that the carefully decorated Guber (gas golf cart) apparently quit running.

 PANIC! How would they get all these disabled elderly folks down to the front row?  Not to worry! “We can walk,” the group responded with enthusiasm. Mitch Mason, the chosen driver for Guber (Mandy’s high school sweetheart, and currently in Navy pilot training) relaxed with a sigh of relief and agreed he could escort us down the aisle, making sure no one stumbled or fell.

The small, air-conditioned food prep area located on the first floor of the barn bristled with activity.  The aroma of cooking meats and a variety of cuisine floated throughout the reception area.  Nathan’s family and others, who joined to help, moved with the precision of professionals as they prepared the feast to serve the guests.  Remarkable people, with an amazing work ethic made farm life appear easy.

They maintained a thriving tee shirt business, cared for the ever-present chores of a farm, cultivated and preserved the farm product, and with a vision for the future, planned expansion.  However, Terry and Nora Turner extended their love for their only son, Nathan, and devotion for his chosen one, Heather, to proclaim, June 18, 2016, as a never to be forgotten red-letter day in the history of their Oklahoma farm.  Life stood still while memories were documented and embedded into family hearts.

The photography session ended, and the Bride and her entourage disappeared into the apartment for wind repairs. Tammy gritted her teeth and did her best without hair spray.  “Now, its time, girls,” the Mother of the Bride declared, following one last look at her lovely daughter. With a quick hug, she swept from the room to take her place downstairs. Clever at restraining emotion, Tracey stood tall, elegant, without a tear, awaiting the ceremony.

Next, ABOUT WEDDINGS – The Ceremony

ABOUT WEDDINGS - The Rehearsal

PART THREE

Friday morning, June 17^th, 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.