haste to the Wedding #1

RPH #10

“haste to the Wedding”

The family referred to is mine, though I am, in law, a step.

This is the loving truth for which I am eternally grateful.

“When one is getting married, one should not be clear eyed and organized. That’s what mothers and sisters are for.” This a law of the Medes and the Persians.

A year and a half ago, I met, all too briefly, Megan, the fiancée of Gregory. I found her smart, funny and well able to deal with our family’s answer to Josh Lyman. In February, Philip and I received a “save the date” card for their wedding and responded in an adult and calm manner: Oh, Yes, Please!” The actual wedding invitation was, although very pretty, pure gravy. Travel planning is one of the joys of my black heart and I went right to work. Finding flights and buying leg room kept me happy for a couple of hours but then, that’s all I had to do. I didn’t need to find a room or even rent a car, because the bride and groom had done it all! This is against the law of the Medes and the the Persians.

(We need, very briefly to talk about the difference between a Boeing and an Airbus. The rational Philip claims that it ain’t the plane but the configuration inside the plane. I, on the opposite side, don’t care. Last summer, when we went to the UK, we rode both planes and I’ll take the Airbus. On our flight to the wedding, we luxuriated in livable space, especially the 6’2” Philip.)

Our flight left at 7am so after a 3:30 wake up and the dither of packing, we got to Oakland International too early. The flight was as good (see above) and all we needed to do was figure out how to get from Dulles to Arlington. Ah, Dulles International Airport, way the hell out in Sterling VA and hard to get from or to. We asked Traveler’s Aid the way to Arlington and they, very nicely, told us about Super Shuttle but sent us in the wrong direction. All was forgiven once we were in the shuttle and on the road. I learned to drive in L. A. and I never, ever, want to drive in, or even around, the Beltway.

The nuptials were held in Arlington, VA where the smarty pants couple reserved rooms at a lovely Sheraton not a full mile from the church. They got a really good group rate and threw the reception at the same hotel. (Greg and Megan ignore the Medes and Persians whenever possible.) After checking in and dropping luggage in the room, we elevated back down to the lobby in search of dinner. As the doors opened, a wonder materialized before my eyes: Michael, the father of the groom. He was in a hurry to the bachelor party because, as the best man, he needed to be there. But, there, across the lobby was Emilia, sister in law extraordinaire and in need of supper. Having her to ourselves, for even a little time, was just wonderful. After making the first stab at catching up, we toddled, almost comatose, to bed. Our room had a spectacular view from the Air Force Memorial, across the wide Potomac, to the Capitol Dome. The Washington Monument was obscured by a lovely tree, thus I didn’t have to contemplate that overblown eyesore every time I looked out the window.