Going to the Gazebo

Going to the gazebo and we’re gonna get mah-ah-ah-ried (sing to the tune of Going to the Chapel).

There will be seventy-something—I’ve lost count—people in the yard.

Have to make sure nobody slips on a fallen plum and cracks a skull on the flagstone patio. Dog poop. Always the dog poop. Don’t forget to water the vegetables that morning and add a gallon or three to the fountain.

The musicians will sit over there, between the plum and the camphor trees. The cord for the keyboard has to run all the way across the yard. There may be a bit of sun on their spot. We’ll have to set up the canopy. They can’t have sun in their eyes.

The drinks–wine, beer, non-alcoholic—were just delivered and they’re sitting in Polly’s studio. How will we keep all that stuff cold?  

Polly is crossing chores off the list. The wedding outfits are ironed. Must hang the gauzy curtains in the corners of the gazebo. Three house guests from Florida arrive Wednesday night—pick them up at the airporter. Who sleeps in the guest room? Who in my office? Who in the studio? We have some tidying to do. Will those air mattresses actually work? How are five women going to share one and a half bathrooms?

Nephew and his wife and daughter from Minneapolis and niece and her husband from Baltimore are going to spend time in San Francisco and make their way to their Petaluma motels on Saturday. He is the ring bearer, she the flower girl, just as they would have been if we’d gotten married in the Sixties. They thought they were kidding when they suggested it. Gotcha.

How many tables? How many centerpieces? Flowers or plants we can use in the yard? When is the cake arriving, has she called you back yet? Remember we promised to send cake to sister and brother in law in Minneapolis, who can’t come. How do you send cake?

Anyone want to buy a gorgeous little Fiat Spider classic? I really need to get it out of the driveway.

How do we keep  Sophie the cockapoo away from the food? Generally speaking, nothing keeps her away from food.

Oh hell, look at the time. It’s five o’clock. I meant to take a nap.













12 Responses

  1. Oh, Shelley, I’m so happy for you! This sacred right (rite) has been such a long time in coming, and so unfairly held back. Many of us in my Vermont Unitarian Universalist church spent hours in our state capital last year to push through the right to marry–and push past the obtuse Neanderthals…
    Your blog is delightful, but you didn’t tell us what you’re going to wear! What is that outfit you carefully ironed? I want to visualize you and your partner! (I always weep and grin foolishly at weddings…).

  2. We’re both going to be dressed in ivory and a taupey-brown. My poet’s shirt is ivory, with ruffles at the wrists and neck, with brown wide linen pants. Polly has ivory loose pants, a brown V-neck shirt and a flowing ivory jacket. Thank you so much for fighting the fight. Glad you enjoyed the blog.

  3. Don’t worry, somehow, enough of the details get worked out and the event occurs. The only really important detail not to skimp on is the big smooch after the I dos. Have a beautiful day, and a beautiful life. Mazel tov.

  4. thank you. We also plan on crying.

  5. Congratulations and best wishes for a lifetime of happiness, from Meredith, John, and Susan

  6. Mazel tov, Shelley! May you and Polly have many, many years of marital happiness. Enjoy your special day. My best to you both.

  7. Crying’s good, too, but for the right reasons now. This is wonderful!

  8. Take your nap and when you wake up all things will be well. Cheers. 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: