I attended my niece’s wedding recently in the heart of Virginia’s wine country. Cattle and horses had their run of the lush green pastures and fields, providing the picture-perfect venue for Dana and her groom, Jack, to begin their married life together. I enjoyed many family weddings in the past, but this one was different. Chalk it up to my 70 plus years, I suppose, but something about it touched me deeply.
It started to rain at the beginning of the ceremony, just as Dana’s father, my brother, Paul, escorted her to a gazebo in front of a lake. I prayed for the good Lord to cut Dana and Jack a break and stop the rain, but the drops fell at a steady rate, soaking my trousers and the shoulders of my suit jacket. A suit soaked in rain, I thought, trying to find some hidden meaning in what was unfolding before me.
The bride and groom spoke their vows to one another. Reading from small notebooks they had written in by hand, they stood face to face sharing an intimate conversation we were all privileged to hear. They recounted how they first met, how their relationship developed over the last few years, setting them on the path that led to this rainy afternoon in Virginia. They choked up at times, laughed at other moments, their words mingling with the sound of the rain as it gently fell on all of us. It was as though the rain brought their words to life, like seeds bursting from the ground. What a gift to witness. I looked at the sleeve of my drenched suit jacket and understood. Rain drives the cycle of life from the joy of its beginning to the sadness of its end.
My four brothers and I met up at the reception and enjoyed this rare time of actually being all together. We shared stories about growing up, toasted our dear parents long gone and posed for pictures like aging rock stars from a bygone era.
The music played. The young folks danced as we sat and watched from a distance. My suit dried and I reminded myself to get it dry cleaned when I returned home.
Rain or shine, I vowed to wear it to the next family gathering.
Joe Cappello lives in Galisteo, NM
You can cut the atmosphere with a scalpel as John drives me to Urogynae. ‘Is it what he did?’ He gestures towards my groin.
Yeah. It rhymes. But that’s not the best part. We’re quite self-deprecating when you examine the body of our work. The tricky part is knowing whether to laugh at our jokes or cringe.
We’re finally at the point where everyone starts complaining about the heat. That means the weather is just how I like it.
It’s a thing. Boomers are getting divorced in large numbers. Sixteen million people aged 65 and older in the U.S. lived solo in 2022. That’s 3 times the number who did so in the 1960’s.
Some people think airplane flights are only about going from place to place. But there’s the added value of enforced approximation with strangers you will never see again.
