Tuesday, June 28, 2005, 18:23
Bees, Boats and Wedding Bells
It was a gorgeous June day.
June 28, in fact.
And if I could have put in an order for the kind of weather I wanted, this would have been it: bright blue sky, a few wispy white clouds, warm but not too hot, a slight breeze that ruffled the lake, small waves lapping gently against the lakeshore.
The only thing I would not have ordered were the bees.
They were buzzing around my head.
Landing on my dress.
Nosing among my flowers.
I had no idea why the bees wanted my flowers. The bouquet was silk.
Suddenly, in the midst of trying to avoid the bees, I heard the sound of a boat on the lake about a hundred feet from where I stood.
“Wooooo-hooooo!”
“Congratulations!”
“Perfect day for a wedding!”
The boat was filled with people, and they were all smiling and waving.
I waved back, and then the boat roared around in a circle and took off in the direction from which it had come.
I glanced down at my watch — and realized the ceremony should have started ten minutes ago. No wonder it seemed like I’d been standing out here for a long time.
“Why are we still waiting?” I asked. From my position on the far side of the little stone church called Heart Prairie on Whitewater Lake, I couldn’t see much of anything.
The church, built by Norwegian immigrants in the 1800s, had only one room — not to mention wrought-iron oil lamp fixtures, a pump organ, and braided rugs on the wooden floor. Randy was already inside — and since the church only had one room and it’s considered bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony starts — I had been relegated to waiting on the lawn outside the church.
“I don’t know what’s taking so long,” said Deb, who was one of my bridesmaids. “I’ll go check.”
Debbie brought the minister back with her. The delay, as it turned out, was that Randy’s mother had not yet arrived. Randy’s brother, Scott, and their dad had arrived earlier because Scott was in the wedding party. Randy’s mom, sister, and her fiance were supposed to come in a second car.
“We really can’t wait any longer,” said the pastor. “I have another wedding scheduled after yours.”
A few minutes later, I found myself poised to enter the church. The organist glanced up, caught my eye, winked… and then everyone stood up as I began walking down the aisle toward Randy.
When I took his arm, I noticed that he was trembling. And not just a slight tremor. “Shaking like a leaf” came to mind.
When we finally arrived at the altar rail, I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. At least if Randy fainted now, there were other people around to help me catch him.
We were five minutes into the ceremony when a commotion at the back of the church brought everything to a halt. It was Randy’s mom, sister and future brother-in-law. While the pastor waited patiently, they tip-toed down the aisle and slid into place beside Randy’s dad.
The pastor grinned.
“NOW we can have a wedding,” he said.
I glanced at Randy and noticed that he seemed much calmer. He had either gotten over his jitters or was relieved that his mother had arrived — or both.
After that, everything was perfect.
The bees stayed outside.
The sun continued to shine.
Nobody had forgotten the rings.
Later on, we found out that Ruth, Anne and Bernie were late because (are you ready for this?) someone had parked them in at the motel. They had to find the owner of the car, who, incidentally, was terribly reluctant to leave his comfy position by the pool to move his vehicle, never mind that it would be his fault if a woman missed her son’s wedding.
All I can say is — it’s probably a good thing that Bernie is 6’5” and is as muscular as they come. It’s probably a good thing, too, that Bernie was familiar with the area and knew a shortcut…
That was 13 years ago. And even though Randy’s mom, sister and her fiance almost missed the wedding, it still ranks as the most wonderful day of my life.
There’s only one problem.
I can’t believe it’s been 13 years already.
Then again, you know what they say — “time flies when you’re having fun.”
Happy Anniversary, Randy.
LeAnn R. Ralph
Monday, June 27, 2005, 20:47
What to do Next?
I forgot to take my kitty food up to the house last night.
I knew it as soon as I walked in the barn this morning. There was the kitty food bucket, lying on the floor, cover off, kitty food gone.
"Oh, goody," I said, "the raccoon has been here again."
I looked at the horse's water tub -- and felt like crying.
The tub had been filled with 15 gallons of fresh water last night. This morning it was a muddy mess. So were the kitty water dishes.
Drat that raccoon, anyway.
Actually, I had an inkling the raccoon had been around as soon as I stepped out on the porch this morning. Charlie's water dish only had about a cup left in the bottom, although the remaining water wasn't terribly dirty.
After I fed my horse and brushed him and cleaned up all of his bloody fly bites and put medicine on them (the horse flies chew on him until he literally has blood dripping down his legs, and this is in spite of spraying him with fly spray three times a day), I started bailing out the tub. I carried the water to the garden, then I scrubbed the tub and filled it with fresh water.
Seeing as the dewpoints are in the 70s today and it is downright miserably hot and humid outside, I suppose it isn't necessarily a bad thing that the horse got a tub of fresh, cold water this morning -- although I would still just as soon that the raccoon hadn't been paddling around in the tub and eating the kitty food.
I don't know what we're going to do about the raccoon. I've chased him across the yard. My husband has chased him across the yard. Our Shetland Sheepdog, Pixie, has chased him across the yard.
For some reason, he is just not getting the idea that this isn't a good place to be.
When my husband chases him, he takes the muzzle loader and shoots off caps. Pixie barks when she chases him. The last time I saw him, about a week ago, I got the brilliant idea to yank open the truck door and lay on the horn.
As the horn blared out into the darkness and echoed off the surrounding hills, I could hear the raccoon crashing through the underbrush in his haste to get away.
The raccoon hasn't been around for a week -- so maybe I'm onto something with the truck horn.
We've set the live trap dozens of times, too. Doesn't matter what we use for bait, the raccoon is too smart to go in the live trap.
Maybe I ought to drag the hose up to the house and leave it hanging on the porch railing. Then, if I see the raccoon in the bird feeder at night, I can zip outside, take aim and. . .
Nah. That won't work. I'd probably just get my feet tangled up in the hose and fall flat on my face.
Then again, the raccoon is laughing up his sleeve at us already -- or he would be, if he had sleeves -- and it might be worth a try.
LeAnn R. Ralph