I've been dreading this post. It means that I'll have recorded everything that there is to record about the most amazing party I've ever been a part of and the most amazing day I'll have ever experienced. It means that everything that I had been planning, came into fruition and is now long done. It means that it's all over. *le Sigh*
What a reception though, ya know? In reviewing the pictures, both professional and whatchyacallit... candid, I see more and more images of stuff I KNOW for sure was MY wedding but can't for the life of me figure out exactly where it laces into my own remembered timeline.
Everyone who attended looked great - I was NOT kidding in my speach when I said that they shined up pretty dang good! I had the spicy chicken (the "jerk chicken" hee hee hee) and white wine, and a sweet friend of ours kept open bottles of Mike's Hard Lemonade at my plate. Our entire family was lined up brilliantly behind us at a long table and our assembled throng, assembled around tables in front of us. We ate, the DJ played a Scott-Joplin piece for my father, and we started working the crowd. All too soon, the music started playing and it was time for the father-daughter dance. For another non traditional twist, I did that dance with my brand new father in law who is also a tango MASTER. Seriously, he teaches tango back home and actually won the heart of his own fiancee with his skill. It was a dream. My groom danced with his mom.
I got to dance with my groom too - and we had our first dance to none other than Etta James' "At Last". because dude... AT LAST!
There was dancing in the tent outside, music everywhere, lights hung low enough to be romantic but not in the way (nice touch I hadn't planned on at all.) My folks retired to the inside of the bed and breakfast and entertained the non-dancers and chatted with our friends seeking respite from the frenzy. My feet never hurt, my makeup never bled, my hair didn't budge. There were maracas!!! There was a grass skirt!!! The air grew chilled and people filtered out and trickled home as the merriment carried on for the evening. All I could feel was happy euphoria. It was such an honor to be surrounded by so many fun people, each of whom had personally been a part of my groom's and my life to the point that if it weren't for these people, we wouldn't have gotten married. Or even MET for that matter. You know who you are.
It was a blast. The DJ played Mellencamp's "Jack and Dianne" to the enthusiastic joy of all assembled. My beloved and I danced surrounded by our friends and family. We partied and danced and drank ourselves into the kind of oblivion I think I'll never experience again - the kind you get from being happy to the point of overflowing. NOTE: oblivion was not booze induced. Seriously. I never felt "boozy drunk" the entire night. Just drunk with "lurve".
The crowd finally dwindled, the music came to a close, and we all collapsed exhausted in the main hall living room for some final goodbyes and unwinding.
After some light, exhausted conversation, my husband and I (the last ones awake in the house) locked all the doors, turned off all the remaining house lights tiptoed up to our bridal suite.
The night went brilliantly. It was better than anything I could have prepared myself for and I will always remember the feelings of it - if not so much the nuance. I'm doing a terrible job at capturing it actually, but it was wonderful. It was full of wonder and it was wonderful.
Now, months and months later, I'm a wife. I wear my wedding ring on my left hand and my matching engagement ring on my right hand. My husband wears his ring on his left hand, too, and I'm often found reaching over to just touch it there, strong on his finger. Nothing has changed. We're still us, we still laugh like children when the cat burps, and we still grimmace with stress when something in the house breaks. We are so happy.
We are so, so happy.
Now all I need is a job.