A Blurred Father’s View Of The Wedding

First internal stuff mostly about me…

I may get to the wedding in a bit

It’s now 5 a.m. and I’ve spent the past two hours trying to figure out what happened at the wedding yesterday; it’s all a blur.

To start with Ginny and I did not know Clint and Patricia’s wedding was actually on for January 1^st. We found out on the day after Christmas. There’d been some hitches and we did not know how those things were working out. Then Patricia wrote us an e-mail from downstate where she lives but instead of sending it to us, she’d punched the save draft key on her computer, so we remained in the dark.

Thus, many events caught us by surprise.

Besides, both Ginny and I are a bit hard of hearing so I kept missing names of people, directions, and pieces of vital information. So I’ve been off balance for days now.

However, thanks be to God, there was little we needed to know. Clint and his parents, David and Melonie, handled everything.

Meeting Clint’s parents scared me to death. They are very successful and wealthy people and I felt inferior and ashamed to meet them. David is an executive in the maritime industry and travels internationally managing ships; Melonie owns a shop of some sort. (I didn’t quite catch it).

I did not know we were to meet them till just hours before we did. So I felt nervous. But they acted so gracious and happy and made us feel welcome.

My son Johnny paid for our dinner at that meeting at a restaurant usually too expensive for Ginny and me to frequent. Johnny and David got to be thick as thieves talking about shipboard computer systems.

That was on New Year’s Eve—cold, wet, rainy.

Clint and Patricia had chosen to marry in an outdoor ceremony beneath the branches of Jacksonville’s Treaty Oak.

Wide-spread canopy of branches, lovely flourishes of Resurrection Fern, 25-foot diameter trunk, grassy field, wooden deck—and 800,000, 000 acorns!

Patricia asked me to go early with a broom and sweep the acorns and leaves off the deck. Dad on the go. Up at dawn. Loaded leaf blower in the car. Put on rain gear because it was pouring. Drove to the oak. Located a fuse box and threw the switch. Plugged in my leaf blower and cleared the deck of leaves, sticks, acorns and a used rubber.

Returned the electric switches back exactly as I’d found them. Drove back home soaked to dry off, warm up, and dress.

Hummm—the pants to my suit fit the last time I wore it three years ago.

Must have shrunk.

Try these tan pants instead.

Ginny drove us back to the oak an hour ahead of time. For some reason it was important to the wedding couple to be married at 1 p.m. on 1/1/10. Mystical numerology, I suppose.

Although the rain continued to drizzle, the wind blow and the temperature drop, I managed to work up a sweat carrying chairs from the parking area to the deck.

Tragedy!

My pipe tobacco got damp—could hardly get it lit.

Johnny and the preacher (J.P.? Notary?) were there already. But the first person I met was a lovely young woman who hugged me. Who was this girl?

It was Rachael, whom I’ve known since childhood, but she’s matured so much I did not recognize her. She brought her cello to play for the wedding. She and Johnny rigged a canopy so her cello would stay dry. Among other pieces, Rachael played a hauntingly beautiful rendering of Jesu, Joy Of Man’s Desiring.

More and more people arrived—about 40—but when I tried to seat three more young people with camera’s, it turned out they were tourists in town for the football game and had nothing to do with the wedding.

Finally, the bride, my youngest daughter Patricia, arrived for me to escort down the aisle. As we strolled across the field, I told the nervous child bits of history about the oak.

There were some girls loitering on the steps.

I tried to shew them away, till Patricia informed me they were bridesmaids—I did not know there were to be any bridesmaids.

The preacher asked, “Who presents this woman for marriage”?

I replied, “Her mother, her sisters, her brothers, and I do”.

I retreated to the rear to try to fire up a smoke from my damp tobacco pouch.

Didn’t smoke. Smoldered.

I cried.

Not because of damp tobacco.

Such a terrific young couple:

Scads of people, both families and friends, photographed the ceremony. Ginny took this one from the middle of the group, there were more camera people behind her.

Unfortunately, because our camera batteries died, or because of condensation, or whatever, only about a third of the pictures Ginny took came out; Dozens of people say they will e-mail their copies to us.

Another high-tech thing that amazed me came to light when everyone began talking about going to the restaurant Clint’s parents had booked for the reception. The Hilltop Club is about 15 miles away in Orange Park—only two people in the crowd had ever been there before—so all these high-tech folks whip out GPS locating devices, synchronized coordinates, climbed in their cars and sped away.

I had directions written down on a post-it note.

The Hilltop hardly compares with Dave’s Diner, but it is quite nice:

A 20- foot Christmas tree adorned the lobby. Thousands of lights and scads of poinsettias decorated the porches. Golden koi surfaced near the fountain in the pool…But I asked Ginny to photograph one festive decoration especially for me:

Clint and Patricia’s reception was held in one of the front formal dining rooms, the sort of place you'd expect to run into James Bond:

At Patricia’s request, her sister Eve baked a cat-cake for the occasion:

Mark and Eve, bless them, also paid for succulent prime-rib dinners for Ginny and me.

Cline and Patricia had asked that I give a toast or blessing for the dinner—“Because that sort of things comes so easy for you”—Ha! I worried over this task for days rejecting a dozen ideas till I came up with three short readings from my tattered old Bible:

Here’s what I said:

The kids asked me to open this with a toast or something. I looked up wedding toasts on the internet and they are too obscene for your innocent ears. So I’m going to read three short passages from the Bible: a commandment for Clint, a bit of love poetry for Patricia, and a blessing for us all.

Cline, this is the commandment of the Lord God Almighty!

Rejoice with the wife of thy youth.

Let her be unto thee as a gazelle upon the mountain,

Or a deer in the meadow.

Let her breasts satisfy thee at all times.

Yea, Be thou ravished with her love!

(At first the audience seem stunned, then they began to hoot and laugh and clap Clint on the back).

What, I said. Did you think there were only ten commandments in the Scripture?

Patricia, this love poem by Agar the Seer is for you:

There are three things too wonderful for me to tell about.

Yea, there are four too beautiful for me to describe:

The way an eagle soars in the air,

The way a serpent moves on the rock,

The way of a ship in the midst of the sea,

And the way a man makes love to a maid.

And, now a blessing for us all, the words Aaron, High-Priest of Israel, brother of Moses, pronounced over God’s people:

The Lord bless thee,

And keep thee.

The Lord make His face to shine upon thee,

And be gracious unto thee.

The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee,

And give thee… Peace.

Here’s a photo of Ginny and me enjoying a touching speech Clint made about how he met our daughter:

Later, Patricia came over to our table and I took her on my lap and did that little nursery rhyme motion game, “This is the way a lady rides”—she laughed and giggled just like she used to do when she was two years old.

During one smoke break, I enjoyed a conversation with one of Clint’s aunts who told me about some 1849 diaries in her family kept by pioneer ancestors who migrated west during the Gold Rush. Fascinating.

I am leaving out so much.

I met so many nice people. I heard so many nice things. I learned of so many plans—many of Clint’s relatives are driving downstate for another reception with a hundred or so young people in attendance on Saturday. Ginny and I just could not face that extra trip.

When we got home, she sat reading a murder mystery to unwind. I watched a vcr movie about a prehistoric monster that ate a boatload of people who richly deserved eating—very relaxing.

All day long I’ve been damp and wet and cold. All day long people have hugged or touched me not knowing that almost anytime I’m touched I have panic attacks so bad my breathing stops. All day long I’ve had the neurological shakes that make me tremble so bad I have to hold the cup with both hands to drink coffee. All day long people have swarmed around me. All day long the tooth that needs pulling next week has pained me. My feet hurt. I have a cold that racks me with coughing. All day long I’ve felt inferior and out of place. All day long it has drizzled cold rain. All day long, I’ve had trouble lighting my pipe.

One moment at Hilltop Clint caught up with me on a veranda overlooking the pool. “Mr. Cowart,” he said, “Today has been just perfect. Absolutely perfect”.

I agree with him.