After a whirlwind 48 hours of teeth-gnashing worry over the impending storm rolling across Ontario, the seemingly endless preparations for the service, and some traditional pre-wedding shenanigans, I am thrilled to report that through the benevolence of three heavenly grandfather/papas, the clouds scattered, the sun broke through, and the wind faded to a welcomed on-shore breeze. All of Maddi and Chris' efforts came to fruition to create a delightfully intimate ceremony complete with joyous tears, full on belly laughs, heart-bursting pride, and cascading waves of love. The expressions of sheer joy that graced the faces of the bride and groom were enough to melt the largest of icebergs as they passionately embraced, scant moments after being pronounced husband and wife, immersed in the grandmother's gleeful shower of shimmering orbs of soap like a swirling love potion cast from the Walmart bubble guns rescued from the end of season bargain bins.
If it weren't great enough fortune to escape the ravages of Mother Nature for the "I do's", the calm lasted just long enough to capture a wide assortment of playful and creative wedding photos, including Father-of-the-groom's pride and joy ... besides his son ... a 1934 Lagonda, looking so much like Disney's Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Almost on cue, as the final photos were snapped, the wind rose, the clouds darkened, and the rain loomed sending everyone scattering for the shelter of the banquet tent.
The reception that followed was a memorable affair, thanks both to the warming shelter of the beachside tent blocking the howling winds and rain that battered its sides, but also to the sincere outpourings of happiness and joy of the intimate number present. Both sides of the aisle made heroic efforts to welcome the others into the fold, sharing cherished family stories in an effort to fortify the blossoming new-found friendships. It really is astounding how quickly those affinities morphed into bonds as common ground is rapidly established. The much anticipated catering effort was most delicious from the inventive hordeurves, to the spectacular chicken/salmon, completed with cannolis, butter tarts and Skor bars. It was the knock out punch for my pancreas after 3 days of feasting. The piece de resistance was an incredible bottle of Macallan (a most delectable Scotch), a Christmas gift that my amazing children bequeathed me last year.
All weddings, regardless of religion or family rites, have their little idiosyncrasies, but they are all more or less similar happenstance. The speeches were full of thoughtful remembrance of significant people or events gone by prompting the anticipated emotional tie with each side's relatives as both Tony and Cheryl Cove offered sincere, eloquent words of appreciation and love. Since I was doing the Father-of-the-bride version off the cuff, I was a little surprised when emotions bubbled to the surface in my toast to my family's notable absences of my father, Terry Porter, and Joyce's father, Jim Foster. It was during the explanation of how each dearly loved their interactions with the then youngish Maddison that my voice cracked, forcing a few momentary pauses to rein in the swell. The only other moment of the night that got the better of me was during the father-daughter dance to Heartland's "I loved her first" where having a personal moment with my now married daughter, and seeing the sparkle in her eye signalling her extreme contentment with the evening, prompted a quiet moment of choked emotion.
The marathon's mad dash to the finish was epitomized by the next morning's planing of a ceremonial Red Maple that will line the edge of the Cove cottage driveway, a glass jar containing the wedding vows and a Polaroid of the happy couple and their attendants. Par for the course on this weekend, the rain of the morning's clean up dissipated as the planting began, a powerful beam of sunshine breaking through the clouds to illuminate the small little area long enough to get the job done.
Where there was once the clamour and energy of 23 revellers, there is now a tranquility in the silence that is only interrupted by the clicks of the keyboard.
I'm a slap-happy pappy who just inherited an amazing son-in-law who adores my only daughter. Could it really get any better than that?
I doubt it.
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