The couple stood serenely hand-in-hand on the brow of the mountain, the warm, early summer sun lighting their faces with a golden glow. It had been a beautiful, balmy day, perfect for the wedding that was taking place as dusk gently approached. It was a perfect wedding day in the Colorado Rockies, right?
Wrong! It was a cliff-hanger, figuratively and literally. It should have been all the above, since it was the weekend that officially started summer, Memorial Day; however, in Boulder, Colorado, sensible people were still wearing boots and tufted jackets.
I was wearing chiffon, but thankful that I did not have on sandals and that hosiery kept my legs warm. My trusty fleece coat hung on my chair.
My grandson, Douglas McRae, and his bride, Sarah Walker, were having the wedding of their dreams, and everyone was glad it was not the nightmare it had threatened to be.
The weather had been rainy and cold all week. A benevolent sun had finally emerged on the day of the wedding. Plan B, moving inside, was sacked, even though some of the bridesmaids might have looked a pale shade of blue, like their dresses.
Mississippi friends had started the day with a picnic brunch and a hike on Chatauqua grounds. (People are always hiking in Boulder, which bills itself as the healthiest city in the U.S.) The party was a festive start to the wedding day. We rode way out to the park on a party vehicle, the Banjo Billy Bus. It was retrofitted with arm chairs, couches and even a saddle for any would-be cowboy, shabby chic to the nth degree. A batik canopy created the ceiling, music played, and lights twinkled. The bus’s horn was a recording of a barking dog, a fitting response to any dog that threatened to chase us.
The sun blessed us that morning. The hikers looked downright decorative, like vivid, multicolored dots moving slowly up the green mountainside. All the hosts wore red bandanas. In the midst of the frivolity there appeared a staid courier from the company providing the ushers’ matching tuxes. It seemed the groom’s tuxedo had arrived without pants. The conscientious and dignified gentleman arrived at the picnic, bearing aloft in one hand the pants, which flapped behind him, and carrying in the other an alteration kit. He was valiantly prepared to do whatever alterations were necessary right there at the picnic site! None was needed, thankfully. Crisis was averted.
The weather report predicted 100 percent chance of rain for the outdoor wedding. Mother Nature added a little hail as well. The wedding venue was about 30 miles outside the city. Two buses carried most of the guests, especially us out-of-towners. We had a moment of quiet panic when the first bus got stuck in the mud on the narrow dirt road.
Finally we were on the way again. Yet, when we returned late that night, the erstwhile, intrepid bus driver declared she was never going to make that run again. Not for nobody!
The setting sun did shine on the ceremony; then everyone could move indoors to the security of the reception, a seated dinner with toasts and dancing. Fortuitously, the bride’s parents had located a band that could play Latin music as well as regular. The couple’s first dance was a fittingly traditional Peruvian tune. They had met as Peace Corps volunteers in Peru.
The groom’s parents had held up the Mississippi geography theme for the rehearsal dinner the evening before, using magnolia leaves and deer horns. McCarty pottery bowls held candles. The black lines on the bowls depicted the Mississippi River.
Usually the wedding and reception are the climax of such occasions, but the bride and groom could not resist hanging around to run in Bolder Boulder, a 10k run/walk held every Memorial Day, culminating in a dramatic precision parachute jump carrying the American flag. Sarah’s family had always participated in the race, and the McRaes wanted to, also. One other guest and I opted out.
Boulder has a population of 90,000 and hosts about 51,000 for Memorial Day. There were parties, music and dancing everywhere. The terrace outside our hotel looked like a Hollywood spectacular, crowded dancers, girls in hula hops and lots of noise. Those folks really know how to celebrate.
And now, dear reader, if you are still with me, please forgive my writing so much about “our” wedding. It is, simply put, just about all I know.
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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