All Whimsy Were the Corcorans, Part 1
I don’t want you to think that I only post about my family. BUT I love them and they are hugely influential on my writing and sense of humor (and sense of humor about my writing). This is part one of a two or three-part series about my sister’s wedding. I promise it’s worth it. Also, bonus points if you “get” the title of this post. Enjoy! –Sarah
Three weekends ago my sister got married. The whole event was magical; as my friend said, after hearing my synopsis of the weekend, “It sounds like something out of a fairytale.” Yes, yes it was. Their rehearsal dinner was at a toy store (complete with a hand-carved carousel, homemade fudge, llamas, and miniature golf). The wedding was at the history museum, where his niece performed a haunting rendition of “Here, There, Everywhere” by the Beatles on her ukulele (seriously, it was one of the few times I got teary-eyed during the ceremony). The bride wore ivory lace and the groom wore a grey suit and polka-dot tie. Their flowers were artificial* but looked and felt real. The decorations included old piano music that belonged to our grandmother, stacks of old books with classic cameras on top, and flowers made from both sheet music and the pages of old books. The DJ played a great mix of slow ballads and fast jams, and everyone danced the night away**. Instead of rice or bubbles, the couple left the reception through a thirty-one sparkler send-off salute. If I had seen a shooting star, or a unicorn, it totally would have fit with the evening. Which is good, because when we were shopping for wedding dresses, my sister told me that the word she and her then-fiancé, now-husband had in mind when they were planning the wedding was “whimsical.” I’d say they hit that note just right.
Anyone who has been involved with a wedding knows, however, that there is a lot of behind-the-scenes putting-out of fires and duct-taping oneself into Spanx*** that happens in order to get the cogs to line up in such a way that the gears run as smoothly as one’s thighs after slathering on chafing lotion.**** My sister, who is indecisive, quickly settled into decision-making mode the day of. It probably helped that she had kind of a Type-A maid-of-honor keeping her on task. Or as on-task as one can keep someone when they only have a bare-bones itinerary with which to work. For a previous wedding in which I was maid-of-honor, the itinerary was down to the minute. As in, 9:00 to 9:07 Driving to the reception site to check the decorations; 9:07 to 9:23 Setting up centerpieces: filling vases with cedar bark, three sprigs of holly, a slide whistle, and a cocoon; 9:23 to 9:25 one of three allotted bathroom breaks for the day, etc. (Okay, that’s an exaggeration. It was four bathroom breaks.) Conversely, my sister’s itinerary only had a few times on it. Which is why I, the maid-of-honor, became almost rabid about those times.
“Libby, it says we’re supposed to be back at the house at 11:00 a.m. so you and the bridesmaids can start getting ready. It’s 10:22 and you haven’t gotten your hair done yet,” I said, trying to control the minor panic I could feel rising in my chest.
“It’s fine,” Libby said, with a wave of her hand. And it was, after I knocked over the teenager***** who was next in line in order to shoe-horn my sister into the open spot in the hairdresser’s chair. Libby’s lack of planning
sometimes almost always works to her benefit. I don’t know if it’s her incredible luck (seriously, if she had her name in a drawing once and I had it in 50 times, she would win 99 times out of 100…and that 100th time would have been rigged), or her irresistible cuteness combined with being the youngest child that makes people want to help her, but she didn’t have any transportation planned between the ceremony and the reception for herself and her newly-wedded groom, so the night before the wedding her personal attendant, who is also one of her new sisters-in-law, called and asked if she would like to ride in a vintage fire truck. Um, yes?! If anyone else hadn’t planned transportation, they would be riding in the back of someone’s dirty old Pinto with Clif bar wrappers, dirty laundry, and cans of Mt. Dew competing for space in the backseat. Or they would have to hail a cab. And my sister gets a fire truck. If she wasn’t so darn adorable…
Stay tuned for the next post in which I let you in on the behind-the-scenes action relating to my toast.
*This is the first time I’ve noticed the connection between artifice and artificial. Intriguing…
**Major points to my two cousins, David and Robert, who owned that dance floor like it was the set of Step Up and they were the main characters. You guys are awesome!
***No one has ever done this that I know of, but I’m sure it’s happened somewhere.
****Okay, someone did actually do this. And it may have been me…
*****Don’t worry, I didn’t really do this. And the teenager there was the aforementioned singer, who was part of the bridal party, so she graciously allowed the bride to go ahead of her.