This past weekend we attended the wedding of our dear friends Alisa and Dick.
The entire affair was absolutely lovely from beginning to end. Alisa got to make use of the church's Easter flowers, and the altar was just a riot of blooms -- they were phenomenal. Everyone looked stunning. But there was something extra-special for me. Not only was this the first wedding I attended as a "young married," it was also my first full Catholic Mass (and Catholic wedding). I was transfixed.
Having never been in a Catholic church before, other than as a sightseer, I was sort of stupidly unaware that there are no Bibles in the pews. Jim mentioned this to our little coterie (Lyette, Jay, and Shannon) as we were heading to the receiving line at the end of the ceremony, and I executed a perfect forehead-slap dorktastic moment by exclaiming, "Oh, right! Like, wasn't that the whole point of the Reformation?"
I hope Lyette didn't bite her tongue too too hard to stop from guffawing at me right then. It probably would have hurt a lot.
The service was fascinating, but I had really hoped to be able to follow along, or at least refresh my memory of some of the major points of Catholicism by paging through the Bible before everything got started. (Me: "What are you looking at?" Jim: "The representations of the stations of the cross around the church." Me: "The what, now?")
I tried not to interrupt Lyette and Shannon with ridiculous questions too terribly often. Instead, I attempted to pay attention and follow what was going on, and I really enjoyed the experience. My reward was getting another glimpse of the feather-decorated bright-yellow-with-black-stiletto pumps worn with fishnets as the lady in question took the Eucharist. Now those were a wedding-guest fashion statement. Those, and the gold-spangled tutu dress that just barely covered the wearer's pupik. (OK, so I'm mixing my Yiddish with my Catholic. Whatever.)
In all seriousness, the wedding day could not have been more wonderful. The weather decided to provide a phenomenally gorgeous backdrop to a wonderful ceremony and reception. Alisa and Dick, ever the foodies, served an excellent roasted pear salad and delicious grilled lamb with a mushroom risotto and asparagus, which was so good that I ate Jim's leftovers. (Yum!) And of course we were seated with Lyette and Jay, which just made the wine -- er, I mean night! -- flow by in a flash. We had such a good time earning our day-after hoarseness laughing and talking and toasting the happy couple over the great jazz.
Most of all, it reminded me how much I enjoyed our wedding, how Rabbi Covitz really made us feel warm and beloved and in love with each other, how we danced the night away and saw an endless sea of smiling faces of our friends and family having fun, and how much we truly adore being married.
Right, and on that gag-inducing sap-filled note, I think it's time to think about starting some dinner. I doubt it'll live up either to last weekend or to the week of French cuisine to come, but I do what I can to make it a religious experience. That's the whole point of serving wine with dinner, right?