Twenty Years

It's hard to believe, twenty years ago today I was all decked out in a white tux. I had to have some tailoring done to it, because my waist was narrow and my shoulders were broad from days in the gym ... yes, hard to believe. I had a sip of Yukon Jack with the best man before the service, out back, waiting. My bride was beautiful, I gulped when I saw her walking down the aisle with her father; her uncle performed the service in the old chapel and at the end threw his hands up and shouted "Blessed be!"

My musician friends hung out around the bar, her nurse friends danced all night. A bunch of people came to the reception from the Renaissance Fair, in their costumes. Family all over the place: I danced with her mom. My old buddy from the sixties came, he's a twelve-stepper now. A teenager got drunk and caused some consternation, which was ... dealt with, you might say, by his parents, poor kid.

A guy who followed the band I was in did the cooking. We had a ton of tri-tip, which is traditional in that part of the country (San Luis Obispo, California), and after everybody ate there was one little slice left -- we had bought the exact perfect amount. My brother-in-law and I sat in with the band, he played lead guitar on Johnny B. Goode, scared to death. We had just about the same number of party-crashers as no-shows.

Now the kids are big -- the youngest is six foot, can you believe that? All we've gone through -- graduate school, different jobs, traveling, scouts and baseball and PTA and teachers' conferences, working things out -- it's just hard to believe. It's been an adventure, and a blessing.