The Reception
Wedding Day Concludes
The wedding that I've considered
all along as a low-budget one has certainly generated a lot of talk around
town. Three weeks later, I'm still hearing how beautiful the flowers were
in the sanctuary, how well planned it seemed to be, and how sweet it was
(didn't hear that one from the men's camp).
Giddy is a word I don't hear often, but it came from my wife in an observation
she made after the wedding, "Felicia was downright giddy during the ceremony."
Another friend suggested that Cullen and Felicia were so caught up in the
moment they seemed only aware of each other and the presence of the pastor.
I doubt I was as absorbed in the events that day as were many of the guests,
but I do remember telling someone after the reception that the wedding was
one of the prettiest I'd ever seen, and I qualified my sincerity by adding,
"and I don't say that just because I was in the wedding."
Barbara had been escorted and seated in a position of honor at the beginning
of the wedding, and because I sat with her, following my responsibility of
giving away the bride, we were among the first to leave the sanctuary after
the ceremony. Knowing that many of the out-of-town guests would need directions
to the Fellowship Hall for the reception, I lingered on the porch on the
north side of the sanctuary to give directions and to thank guests for attending
the wedding. Once the sanctuary was vacated, I made my way toward the Fellowship
Hall snapping a few pictures along the way of guests waiting in line on the
sidewalk.
Inside the Fellowship Hall, a lot of folks had already gone through the receiving
line, heaped their plates with food and were seated. I sized up the crowds
inside and outside and noted we had not set out enough chairs for extra seating
along the perimeter of the room. However, I saw that someone else realized
the need for additional seating and had brought out several more chairs from
the storage room.
For much of the next hour, I walked around shooting candid shots of guests
and visiting with friends. During that time, someone made the decision to
open another set of doors to the Fellowship Hall effectively allowing guests
to bypass the receiving line and move directly to the food tables. This stressed
the efforts of the caterers and assistants to re-supply food tables and maintain
an adequate supply of clean plates. In fact, when I finally decided to eat
a slice of wedding cake, I asked for mine to be served on a napkin, rather
than wait for a dessert plate.
While the use of white flowers and greenery was effective in the sanctuary
for the wedding ceremony, vibrant colors adorned the tables at the reception.
Granny Smith apples were skewered on metal spikes pushed into the ground
along the sidewalk leading to the reception, and each spike was topped with
a flower arrangement. Granny Smith apples were showcased as topiary centerpieces
at each dining table and a ring of roses surrounded the base of each centerpiece.
One food table specialized with a chocolate fountain and utilized green apples
with a rose inserted into the top of each apple to maintain the green apple
theme. The florist in charge of the floral arrangements also used Granny
Smith apples submerged in water inside huge clear glass vases to hold the
stems of flowers arranged in the vases on the food tables. For those who
came for more than things to munch on, the artistry of the arrangements was
a visual feast.
For a short time, I helped with the transfer of food from bulk containers
to serving platters, simply because folks were consuming food faster than
the small contingent in charge of catering could get the food from the kitchen
to the tables. I’m not sure how much help I was, but it was an opportunity
for me to forget that my feet were beginning to hurt. The Sunday shoes that
I bought last October still aren’t sufficiently "broke-in," and after
being on my feet for several hours, the fourth toe on my left foot suffers
abrasion from by my little toe and begins to ache.
By the time the bride tossed her bridal bouquet over her shoulder to the
excited bridesmaids and single women and the groom had pitched the bride’s
garter to eager groomsmen and single men, most of the crowd of well-wishers
had left the reception. However, there were plenty of folks on hand to shower
the bride and groom with rose petals as the couple dashed for the limousine
waiting to transport them on the first leg of their honeymoon.
My day had started off rather poorly. Felicia’s dead car battery and
other interruptions of the morning were all but forgotten in the excitement
of the wedding and the reception, but the evening picked up where the misfortunes
of the morning had left off.
Because the Adult Choir had rehearsed in the Choir Room of the sanctuary,
the women of the wedding party used a different room for changing clothes
and primping, one that could not be locked to protect valuables left during
the wedding ceremony. Rayanne, thinking the contents or her purse would be
safe in the church, learned the hard way that people will steal, even in
a house of worship. After the wedding, she returned to the room to gather
up her daughters' things and happened to check the contents of her purse.
All her folding money was missing. A thief had relieved Rayanne and one of
the bridesmaids of almost two hundred
dollars.
It’s been said that a wedding reception takes less time to dismantle
than to erect. Somehow, the truth of the statement is lost in the clean-up
process, as the end of the reception didn’t end with departure of the
bride and groom. Some of us had to stay and help return the Fellowship Hall
to its pre-reception state. This meant taking down all the tables, stacking
all the chairs, and returning them to the storage area, so that the custodial
help could clean the floor. Plus, there are dishes to be washed and leftovers
that needed to be tossed or kept.
Linda Maddox and I were helping the florist and her workers by emptying
containers of water into the storm drains outside the building, when I asked
the florist what she wanted done with the Granny Smith apples inside the
glass vases. She responded that she had no intention of keeping them and
encouraged me to take them home if I wanted them. Not wishing to see the
apples wasted, I accepted her offer.
Linda opened the door for me to take the vases outside and helped hold the
apples in the vases as I poured the water down the drain. We made it fine
with the smaller of the two vases. However, the larger one was more cumbersome.
I didn’t measure it, but it was approximately four feet high, with the
upper half filled with apples. With Linda’s help I managed to get the
vase outside without spilling any of the water along the way or on myself,
and we didn’t lose any apples while draining off the water. Linda opened
the door for me to return the vase to the Fellowship Hall, and as I stepped
into the doorway, I heard the sound of glass striking metal. It’s not
unlike the sound of a rock hitting a windshield, which, for me, produces
a sick feeling in my stomach as I scan the windshield for damage. I paused
midway through the door to look at the base of the vase, as it was the base
that had struck something. To my horror, I saw a chip and a crack at the
point of contact. Immediately, I told the florist I had broken the vase and
offered to pay for the damage.
"No; No," she insisted after a brief inspection, "It was already cracked.
I can still use it. I can hide that with flowers or greenery around the base.
Don’t worry about it."
I could not convince her to let me reimburse her, and while I accepted her
generosity at face value, I’ve not completely stopped worrying about
breaking the vase.
There were a lot of people washing and drying plates and cups and others
rushing around transporting objects to vehicles. It’s no small wonder
that more items didn’t get broken. And, it’s not surprising that
the remnants of the wedding cake ended up on the sidewalk. Sarah and Linda
were transporting the cake on a kitchen cart when a wheel caught in an expansion
joint and the cart tipped. The cake’s forward momentum allowed it to
slide off the cart and onto the concrete. A small amount was salvaged, but
the bulk of it was tossed into the trash.
My family, a tired, nearly exhausted bunch, arrived home shortly after nine
o’clock Saturday evening. I have sought to share the good, the bad,
and the ugly of the day. It’ll be a long time before I forget the bad
and the ugly, but I shall remember much longer and much more fondly the joys
of a hot June day when Felicia Fran Brown and James Cullen Pollard were united
in holy matrimony.
Following the wedding, the couple traveled to Memphis for the night then
flew to Cabo, Mexico the next morning where they spent the remainder of their
honeymoon. Cullen will graduate from Ole Miss in August. The couple will
reside in Oxford. Felicia will commute daily to Tupelo to teach second grade
at Lawhorn Elementary in East Tupelo.
In closing, I feel compelled to state the obvious. I was wrong about the
degree of emotional stress and tension between my sister and my niece. Though
there were perilous times, neither of them killed the other one prior to
the wedding, as I had foretold. In fact, the both of them are happier now
than I have ever seen them. Amen!
Almost Lost
Distracted By Song
The mention of distracted driving conjures up a lot of thoughts, mostly related
to drivers talking on cell phones, watching pretty blondes crossing city
streets, applying makeup, and even eating behind the wheel. Somehow, I never
thought to include singing as a distraction, at least until this week.
A county road crew is working on a bridge near Coffeeville along the route
I’ve sort of adopted as the quickest one to use to get me home after
traveling all points south or west of Grenada with respect to I-55. While
there is a short detour that is about one mile, it’s along a graveled
road, and I’d just as soon not get dust all over my black car, unless
it’s necessary.
All week, I’ve been using my old route to get from Coffeeville to Pontotoc,
by way of Bruce, but one evening this week, I decided to drive north of
Coffeeville to Water Valley, hit Hwy. 32, and backtrack over to Banner and
on to Pontotoc.
I had been listening to Southern Gospel on one station and checking the news
from time to time on the Public Radio station. There was little in the way
of traffic, road conditions were dry, my cell phone was quiet, and having
an hour before I was expected at home so I could then go with Barbara to
eat with the Habitat volunteers, here from Chicago, and I felt like singing.
It had been years since I traveled Hwy 32 from Water Valley toward Bruce,
but I opted not to check the map inside the pocket of the door on the passenger
side of my car. Doing so would have required my reaching over the catchall
compartment/ armrest separating the front passenger and driver. The last
time I did that, I bruised a rib and suffered pain from it for a couple of
weeks afterwards.
"Watch the highway signs and you’ll make it fine," I told myself.
There’s a high note in "Danny Boy" that I can’t normally reach
without my voice cracking, but that afternoon, I nailed it the first time,
and it sounded so good (to me) that I repeated the verse just to see if I
could do it again. I did, and shortly thereafter I was on Hwy. 32 in Water
Valley.
I don’t recall the song I was singing when I missed the turn I should
have taken, but I was paying more attention to my singing than I was to the
highway, until the road narrowed, and I suddenly realized I was driving more
to the southwest than I had reckoned I should be if I were heading toward
Bruce which is southeast of Water Valley.
I kept expecting to see the intersection of the County Road that has the
closed bridge and Hwy 32 over the next hill, but the last hill I topped had
a stop sign just ahead. I was almost lost; I didn’t know where I was,
until I saw the Hwy. 7 sign not far from the intersection. Somehow, I had
driven five to ten miles along a loop that sent be back almost to Coffeeville.
Disgusted with myself for a navigation mistake, I kept the current heading
toward Coffeeville, took the detour (dust and all), around the closed bridge,
and made it to Pontotoc about thirty minutes later than I had planned.
I may strike out on unfamiliar roads next week, but I’m reasonably certain
I won’t be driving while distracted by my own singing.
Bodock Beau You
May Live In Mississippi
Thanks go to Sarah Brown for the following bit of Jeff Foxworthy humor. Enjoy
it first, then take a look at the sign which Charles Austin saw in Pontotoc.
Forget rednecks; here's what Jeff Foxworthy has to say about folks from
Mississippi.
-
If someone in a Home Depot store offers you assistance and they don't work
there, you may live in Mississippi.
-
If you've worn shorts and a parka at the same time, you may live in Mississippi.
-
If you've had a lengthy telephone conversation with someone who dialed a
wrong number, you may live in Mississippi.
-
If "vacation" means going anywhere south of Tupelo for the weekend, you may
live in Mississippi.
-
If you measure distance in hours, you may live in Mississippi.
-
If you know several people who have hit a deer more than once, you may live
in Mississippi.
-
If you install security lights on your house and garage, but leave both unlocked,
you may live in Mississippi.
-
If you carry jumper cables in your car and your wife knows how to use them,
you may live in Mississippi.
-
If the speed limit on the highway is 55 mph -- you're going 80 and everybody
is passing you, you may live in Mississippi.
-
If you find 60 degrees "a little chilly," you may live in Mississippi.
-
If you actually understand these jokes and share them with all your Mississippi
friends and others, you definitely live in Mississippi.
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