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2006-11-13 - 8:37 p.m.
Thanks Dwyer. You're a peach.
And now the stunning conclusion:Standing at the altar, I tried to look my best. My most confident. I smiled and focused on my bride heading down the aisle, at first obscured by Bob the photographer, then coming into view. It was one of those moments when you tell yourself to be in the moment, and you think, This is the moment, and then, Do I look like I�m in the moment? and then you look out at all the people, and just watch it unfold for a minute, and let your bride float down the aisle toward you, just let it all come to you, and you realize that, for that moment, you�re in the moment. It happened the way it should, all peaceful and present at the crucial time, all the stress and distraction behind me. Moments of wondering if Mark would make it from his boat in the Atlantic in time for the rehearsal, or if there would be enough space for everyone at the rehearsal dinner, or if the programs would arrive on time, or twice mistakenly leaving our cell phone with Isabel, causing too many problems to enumerate�all that was falling away, and it was just me and her, face to face, me fumbling with her ring, and her sliding on mine, and then a kiss and a walk down the aisle to our new lives. --There was the rest of it though, a hell of a party to be sure, a grand spectacle, unforgettable, though it does take a lot out of you. Gladhanding with hundreds of friends, people I was meeting for the first time in many cases. Smiles and thank-yous and photos and niceties, and we did feel very special. The introductions, marching through the room to grand applause, waving to the crowds, gazing down upon them all, kissing my lovely bride on command, suffering through speeches, then delivering one myself own, completely off the cuff, realizing on its conclusion that I had never really thanked Mike and Cynth, who had made it all happen, but now it was too late and we were being whisked off to our first dance. And then, while I wondered if I had gravely offended my in-laws, their song comes on, Mike and Cynthi�s song, not ours, not the one we had rehearsed to the rhumba for weeks. So while we slow-dance, Isabel is shouting to the cameraman a few feet away, hoping he can subtly intervene to play our song, but he�s oblivious, snapping away, and we�re left to wait it our and have a sharp word with the singer when it ends, and tell him, you will now play Stevie Wonder�s You Are the Sunshine of My Life, and we will dance our rhumba. Which we did.--The best part of the whole thing, though, was after the wedding and before the reception, when there was time to kill and we had a trolley to ourselves. We popped our champagne, busted open a few beers, and cruised around town to the water tower, to Buckingham Fountain, down past the museums and Soldier Field, all the way out on the lake to the planetarium, where the lawns were scattered with fellow brides and grooms, and one of our groomsmen passed a beer out the window to a fellow wedding partier. It was like being in a special club, a real once-in-a-lifetime club, where everywhere you go complete strangers shout congratulations and you feel like the best in the world. And I was just happy sitting in the back of the trolley, with my Isabel by my side, and enjoy the ride.