Good Morning Gentle Readers,
When it became apparent to us a coupla years ago that we had been married nearly a quarter of a century we toyed with the idea of a twenty-fifth anniversary gala. But with family and friends scattered to the four winds the logistics seemed difficult. Then Mrs TWC thought it might be wicked good fun to skip all that and blow the cash on a week's worth of toe wigglin' in the sands of Paradise. Then about ten minutes past April Fools Day, reality reared its ugly head just to remind us that we're grownups with gainful employment, kids in school, dogs that need feeding, and business that needs to be tended to. And, May 18th is on a Tuesday. Big Sigh. But it's all good and we'll spend our day here.....
Twenty-five years ago Lisa was in school and what little available dinero there was went to make sure my employee's paychecks cashed on Fridays. Counting the three bills for champagne and fountains, we did the wedding and reception for a thousand bucks (give or take). Unfortunately, the photographer was worth about what he cost, so we don't have much in the way of photos. Sure wish I'd asked El Jeronimo to bring his Nikon.
Instead of Here Comes the Bride, we got rolling with the studio version of Beginnings. The grandpas dragged Lisa down the aisle, lifting her by the elbows so her feet dangled about three inches off the floor. They were down to the altar and had her plunked before Terry Kath came in on four, which left an extended, FM style of musical interlude, leading to a lot of foot shuffling and murmuring.
That's us with the Most Reverend Joseph L Montoya, a man who once blasted his mother-in-law's false teeth with a .357 Magnum right where they sat. In a glass of Polident. On top of the piano.
There was lots of music, maybe too much music, including some special songs written and played by my ex-brother-in-law.
At the reception, we hired Uncle Rick to serve the champagne punch so as to keep things classy and to keep the Demon Rum away from the youngsters. He was diligent, refusing to serve anyone shorter than four feet tall. He carded Aunt Linda, but since the reception was in Bordeaux he figured thirteen was old enough. Maybe she lied about her age.
If you look carefully through the fountain you can observe as Uncle Rick actually warns off a potential scofflaw looking for a buzz. That's my old buddy Terry helping himself to the feast that the moms and the sisters slaved over. They turned out a grand
buffet that would make any caterer envious.
My sister, Mo, baked a mouth watering, from-scratch wedding cake every bit as lovely as any of the priciest Cardboard & Crisco wedding cakes. I ain't kidding, neither, it was amazing. My uncle ate three pieces. The posterity slice for the freezer? Vanished. No freezer burnt wedding cake for our Silver Anniversary.
By the end of it we were exhausted and famished which led to a forgettable and overpriced dinner at a now defunct steak house. Then it was off to Lost Wages for the honeymoon.