Wedding Weekend: Showtime!

At last, everybody’s up, getting dressed... and Nello realizes he still doesn’t have any pants. Hey, no problem. In a style typical of our resident showman, Nello decides to head out... bottomless. His rationale being that he wouldn’t want to carry around an extra pair of pants once we got there, right? I mean, he’d have other things to worry about.

So, generating a few amused stares from the other guests at the resort, we headed out, somehow arriving only about fifteen minutes past our predetermined arrival time. Thankfully, though, in anticipation of the chronic tardiness of one of our number — who shall remain nameless (and pantsless) — we were still well in advance of when we were actually needed.

And from there... well, everything just happened. Much of it runs together, and much more of it should remain unsaid for the protection of the guilty, but the ceremony and reception were as near-perfect as could have been imagined. Oh, there were a few glitches — a minor change we made to the ceremony (when you close talking about the symbolism of the couple’s holding hands, but don’t actually have them hold hands anywhere in the ceremony, it usually calls for a correction), a mariachi band that got lost en route and never came — but all was handled smoothly, and there was nothing that any attendee would have noticed. Adrian and (bride) Amy’s mother were in complete charge, keeping everyone in line and everything (more or less) on schedule.

The ceremony itself was tear-filled — pretty much across the board — and one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. The bride was stunning, the weather was ideal... we even saw a buck deer strolling beyond the creek bed, which has to be a good omen. The music — a lone guitar player — perfectly complemented the simple ritual. Afterward, as the attendees stayed around for pictures, I gave a toast to the couple — which I’d written that morning, having been tasked with coming up with something meaningful, but not enough to overpower the best man’s toast to come — and several people approached me later to mention how wonderful they thought it was (’cause that’s just what I need, another ego boost).

Eventually, we all migrated up to the main house, an absolute marvel of modern architecture (I’d kill for the front door alone). We basically had the run of the place — patios, trails, pool table, swimming pool. As to the last, we were taking bets as to when someone would end up in the water (either by alcohol-aided accident or deliberate effort), but we ended up disappointed. Even our prime candidate (who shall also remain anonymous, unless he chooses to identify himself) decided — once the temperature dropped past sunset — that the novelty factor quickly evaporated.

The couple cut the wedding cake — a marvelous silver-coated creation — we signed all the paperwork, the newlyweds danced, the party wound down (a planned wine tasting ended up being dropped for time), and we bid them farewell. A little cleanup (the place remained surprisingly intact) and we all (well, the “kids,” anyway) headed back to the casita for our after-party, a fairly subdued affair — except for a bizarre tequila ritual and a couple of folks having just a bit more to drink than was probably wise. This is the part where I shut my mouth and let others speak for themselves (suffice it to say that, for those who know the players in this little drama, they behaved quite true to form). We finally ended around two o’clock (four a.m. D.C. time), folks headed to their respective lodgings, and I managed to get a few hours of sleep before having to wake for my early-morning flight.

(And no, I wasn’t counting on any “perfect plan” this time, either. Maybe my incessant Scotch drinking has built up my alcohol tolerance, but seeing as how I can’t hope to compete with, well, anyone else in attendance, I doubt that was the deciding factor — I’ve just learned not to drink so much anymore.)

I roused myself, woke fellow attendee Raghu (who also had to catch an early flight), and we called up our assigned driver Warren, who (rather surprisingly, given his condition the previous evening) managed to get up, check out of his hotel, pick us up, and get us to the airport in time for our return flights.

Which, technically, ends the tale. Though, as with many an occasion like this, I’m left wondering if any of the connections we made will last beyond the events. There’s always a big show of sharing contact information, promising to visit, but rarely do these pledges last beyond the hazy memories. And in this case, I’d like to see them go on.

Particularly given a rather nefarious plot that was hatched that fateful day... details of which I can assure you will never be shared here.