My brother Michael has long suffered from a series of unfortunate events. He's been burned by fireworks, hit by cars, laid off, and even targeted by Iraqi militants. It should be no surprise, then, that when I found out he was getting married I started checking the news for SARS outbreaks or imminent asteroid collisions.
To my surprise and great delight, no one caught fire or was impaled by marauding barbarians. In fact, it was a really, really nice ceremony. The setting was beautiful, the weather raised the bar for the word "stellar," and the bride looked radiant. That's not to say there weren't the occasional raised eyebrows--several guests showed up in jeans, and one of the ushers had to be coaxed out of a tree when we tried to take his car keys--but overall it was a glorious event.
There was something about the fresh Northwestern air or the summer-like conditions that was truly invigorating. I shook off the jet lag with some runs through Riverfront Park and the Centennial Trail, took Oodgie to some of my old haunts, and spent the day at the Interstate Fair, splitting time between children's rides and the horror of sheep testicles. And when WCG gave us a night on the town (closing time: 9 PM) we took full advantage. THAT, my friends, is worth its weight in gold.
There's still no place like home, though, and the comfort of our bed is enhanced by Cheeky's still-unadjusted sleep schedule. (Who wouldn't want to get up at 11 AM? Frickin' freeloader.) The cupboards are bare, the e-mails have accumulated like crumbs under the couch, and our Tivo beckons. But our thanks go out to the clan, who don't get to see Cheeky enough, and our congratulations go to Michael and Elisa, who are starting their new lives together.
As I said in my toast, Michael, I'm very proud of you. Well done. And Elisa...he's your problem now. God speed. ;)