[continued from entry of September 24]
Back at the house, Georgie discovered a container of RealLemon juice (as opposed to actual real lemon juice), noticed a recipe for lemonade on the label, began concocting a batch. G. investigated mounting a wall cupboard, quickly came to his senses, we retired to the patio instead to hang out in the spectacular September weather. Minutes later, Georgiana materialized with glasses of faux lemonade -- G., being an excellent father, actually drank some. I took a cautious sip of the glass presented to me. Tasted better than I expected, and I left it at that. (I hate lemonade. There it is -- I'm a grinch.)
Sunshine. Conversation. Georgie made art with a small tub of Floam. Birds chirped. Squirrels swanned about. The minutes slipped by until I got a glance at a clock, realized I needed to get ready to hit the road. Flew upstairs, pulled on clothes suitable for attendance at a wedding (blue shirt, nice dark pants, necktie borrowed from G., pointy boots), dragged my back stuff downstairs, tossed it all into the car.
A short time later found me on the Palisades Parkway heading north, crossing the Bear Mountain Bridge (the river a band of water far below, green mountains rearing up to either side of it), following a shady two-lane toward Poughkeepsie, having plenty of time to spare, taking the drive in leisurely fashion. At Cold Spring, cut across to Rt. 9, which passed under I-84 a few miles up, transforming from a pleasant road into a hellish six-lane lined with malls, gas stations, etc., traffic heavy, halting, miserable. What had been a fast, easy drive became near-endless lines of cars waiting at red light after red light. Until the site of the wedding appeared on the left and I pulled in, mumbling thanks to whomever might be listening.
Locust Grove -- a beautiful spot I would never have expected to find hidden away on Route 9.
Found my way to the visitors center, went inside. The main hall was being set up for a wedding dinner, nary a guest or wedding-type person in sight. Turned out I'd gotten there way early, which gave me time to return to the car, find a shady, secluded parking space, and put in some quality almost-snoozing time. When I finally roused myself later, the place was jumping. Inside, the hall lay ready. Outside, a band played jazz, people in dress-up duds milled about, beginning to lay into the just-opened bar, hoovering finger food from folks circulating with trays.
I located my brother and sister-in-law, then my niece and her beau, exchanged hellos, made brief conversation, then got out my camera. The relations had never seen me with a serious implement of photographic destruction before and expressed suitable appreciation. I was told, however, to check with the event's official photographer to make sure the presence of another picture-taker wouldn't bother her. When I found my nephew (he who was to be married) he said he had yet to see the official photog. and gave me his blessing re: pic.-snapping. I went and did some.
Something I noticed during the ensuing hours: I found myself on the receiving end of interested scrutiny by more than one woman in the 30's-40's age bracket. (Happened earlier, too, in front of G.'s house as we stood talking.) Was it the big camera? The pointy boots? My sparkling personality and undeniable manliness? Or simply my adorable booty? Whatever the cause, it was fun.
The official photographer materialized as the bride and groom appeared for the ceremony, the main event got underway. A short, lovely ceremony illuminated by late-afternoon sunlight, the bride and groom clinched for a fairly lengthy smooch, then everyone began drifting back to the visitors center, members of the two families waylaid for photo sessions en route.
My brother-- the original handyman -- had built the arbor for the ceremony, several males from our side of the event were pressed into service to take it down and pack it into vehicles. The sun had set by then, I found myself donating blood to the legions of mosquitoes that called Locust Grove home. Finally, near dark, we were allowed to go inside and join the party. I found myself at a table with my brother and sister-in-law, my niece and her guy and two guys I hadn't seen in 30 years, cousins of my sister-in-law who were raised in the town my brother and sister-in-law have lived in since going to the local college (where they met and got hitched). In fact, I saw a bunch of folks at this event I knew far too many years ago -- faces I enjoyed seeing, every blessed one of them. In each face, I could see the young person I'd known, still alive, now an active part of the adult attending this event. A strange feeling, that, but seriously enjoyable.
I like people. I like hearing about the course that old friends' lives have taken, I like being able to spend some time with them after a long time away. Call me simple, but there it is.
Dinner. Chat. The wedding toast. The bride and groom out on the floor doing the first dance. The one and only marriage ceremony I've taken part in -- feeling like several lifetimes ago now -- took place in the living room of my ex-in-laws' home. A small, intimate affair -- brief, without all the pomp, without the rituals. It was a sweet, congenial passage, and just right for us at that time. Something about watching my only nephew going through the big, stylized version, almost the polar opposite of the version I experienced, got me watching it with a strange sense of -- not detachment exactly, because plenty of emotions coursed through my system. An odd, vivid sense of it all being a bit foreign. Maybe in part because I don't really know a whole lot about my nephew these days -- about any of my brothers' clan. (My brother drifted away over the last fifteen or so years, especially during the last two or three, and with him the rest of his family.) And in part because the ceremony does feel a little foreign. All that ritualized stuff. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)
And all around me at the table, all those faces from years past. It felt good to be there, sharing the event with them. Strange, but all right.
A long drive lay ahead, and at 9:30, shortly after the ceremonial first dance had morphed into r&b tunes, the dance floor heaving with guests in motion, I started pulling myself together, saying so-longs. Found my nephew to give him a hug, he insisted we sit down and talk for five minutes. We sat, we talked, him clearly a little high on the event, me a little tired, ready to hit the road, but enjoying him. And then I was out the door to the parking lot, my brother along to see me off. A few minutes later I was out on Route 9, then following traffic east through Poughkeepsie to the Taconic Parkway. Dark, no street lights, little traffic. Just me, heading north along miles of winding blacktop and the occasional small town. By the time I'd crossed into Vermont, passing through Bennington and on toward Rutland, few cars were about, most towns and villages were dark.
In Rutland, I stopped at an all-night convenience store/gas station. Filled up the car, parked at the store's far end, got out and walked about, getting some air. Wandered off out of view, along one side of the store -- when I came back into view, the single on-duty employee had come out of the store for a smoke, said a startled hello. Seemed suspicious of my having been off around the corner of the store like that, moved directly in front of my car and leaned against something, watching me rummaging around in the rear of my Subaru for a bottle of water until another car pulled in and she had to return to the register inside.
Later, driving along Along Rt. 100, the narrow, winding two-lane crowded by woods, a fox burst out of the brush on one side, shooting across the asphalt in front of my vehicle, disappearing into the trees on the other side.
Still later, when I'd finally made it to I-89, what would normally be a high-speed part of the journey, I found a road enveloped in fog, visibility close to zero, making it feel like one more two-lane.
Pulled into the garage here at 2:30, nearly five hours after leaving my brother in the parking lot at Locust Grove. Left everything in the car, went upstairs, pulled off clothes, went directly to bed. Woke up four hours later as daylight gathered outside, found myself back in Vermont.
Back in Vermont. For now.
España, te echo de menos.
rws 7:47 PM [+]
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