Whew, glad it's finally over. I take lousy pictures but the one above I thought captured one of the more memorable moments from my son Greg's wedding this past weekend. It shows the best man, my youngest son Scott, doing the traditional toast at the reception.
Scott claimed that his research determined that he could propose a list of laws to guide the new bride in her marriage. I don't remember all of them but one was for Lindsay to take the family dog on its early morning constitutional so Greg could sleep in. Greg looks like he's hoping his new bride sees the humor in his brother's list of do's and don'ts.
Everything went fine. The ceremony, the reception, the music including our family polka band, the dinner . . . in the words of my new daughter-in-law, if she had it to do over again she wouldn't change a thing. My wife and I might differ in that regard, at least with respect to one thing that occurred.
Sometime during the reception at the hall there in Clinton, Michigan, an envelope was dropped off at our table of eight. On the outside of the envelope it read, "Marriage License." And that's what the official looking document inside was. Apparently, we were the guardians of the official marriage license now.
But much later in the night, it disappeared. One minute it was sitting on the table, the next minute it simply vanished. Of course, we were up and down with the dancing, mingling, picture-taking, etc. I hadn't seen Wendy take it anywhere. I asked Greg but he didn't know and didn't seem too worried about it. So I didn't worry about it either.
Next day Wendy wondered what happened to the marriage license while she was unpacking the decorations and other sundries we brought back from the hall after cleaning up the night before. I told her how it just disappeared. She started to worry as the marriage license had been entrusted to her safekeeping.
Wendy called the new bride to see if she had picked it up. No, Lindsay said. She thought Wendy had it. Panic was starting to set in. Wendy called her sister who was also sitting at our table but her sister said she didn't remember what happened to it. But she called back a few minutes later. Her husband remembers me tucking the envelope inside my jacket pocket.
Not true, I protested. I TRIED to put it in my jacket pocket but it didn't fit. Nevertheless, Wendy insisted I check all my pockets from anything I wore the previous night. Frustration was setting in. Voices were being raised. We vigorously searched the car, twice.
My occasional absent-minded forgetfulness was interjected into our discussion. C'mon. Did Wendy think that I may have thoughtlessly packed away the marriage license into my accordion case? OK, I did look there later just in case but I was sure it wouldn't be there and it wasn't.
My family dropped by on their way back home to Bay City. We told them about the missing marriage license. My brother Tim said he remembered seeing me with it. "I'll testify to that," he said. Oh, great. Somebody added that they saw me taking a picture of the license with my digital camera. Yes, true, I did. So what? But I could feel the noose tightening around my neck.
Since my mother was also sitting at our table, I asked her if she remembered what happened to the license. My mom didn't remember seeing anyone take it, but she did remember the bride's grandmother picking up things at our table as they were cleaning up near the end of the evening. Ah, a clue. But hopefully the grandma didn't mistake the envelope for just another extraneous piece of litter.
Wendy called the bride's mother's but got the father of the bride instead. Wendy informed him of the missing license. "My wife's got it," he replied. Time to breathe a big sigh of relief. Wendy and I both learned a lesson. Wendy learned that when she's given a document for safekeeping, to put it in a secure spot right away. And I learned that you can always count on your mom to bail you out of a jam.