SAGE ADVICE: Something borrowed, blue, Green

For my money, the best part of the wedding had to be the blessing.
OK, so it probably wasn’t the highlight of anyone’s day, but it was pretty good. Though I didn’t quite make the promised, or was it threatened 45 minutes, I went well passed where “God is great …” would have carried me. I even managed a shout out to my late grandfather (the preacher, not the card-playing, moonshine making lumberjack for those keeping score) who ended every blessing of a meal for the food to be used for the nourishment of our bodies.
If you don’t know me, you might be asking, “What bride in her right mind would ask you to give a blessing over a meal when there’s a perfectly good preacher right there?”
If you do know me, you’re probably asking, “What bride in her right mind would ask YOU, of all people, Lord help us, to give a blessing over a meal? Huh?!”
The answer is my sister-in-law. She understands, I think, that I’m not nearly as irreligious as I seem. She might be the only one.
Anyway, it was her wedding, so if she wants me, of all people, Lord help us, to give the blessing, then me, of all people, Lord help us, gets to give the blessing.
The Greens, of which my sister-in-law is one, flat out know how to throw a wedding. The blessing was just a tiny little part of it – though it was pretty good, in a non-Pharisaic way, if I do have to say so myself (and note that I tried not to say so myself, spending more than half of the reception fishing for compliments from the other guests). The weddings those Greens put on are the type that make you want to get married, even if you’re already married, to one of them, just for the reception after. They have shrimp, chicken, whole hogs, bluegrass bands, singer-songwriters, horseshoes, boat rides, volleyball and more side dishes than you can shake a spoon at – not all at the same wedding, of course. But each wedding has more than its share of reasons to get reasonably dressed up – and by that I mean a pair of jeans without any big holes and a shirt that covers up your ratty undershirt until the respectable folk go home.
My sister-in-law’s wedding, even without my blessing, was a good time. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, “No one has a good time at a wedding.” I used to think that, too, till I started going to the weddings of my in-law’s, starting with my own.
I, the official blessing sayer of my sister-in-law’s wedding, swear to you it’s true.
Ask my kids if you don’t believe me. They play with cousins, getting sweaty, dirty and once in awhile lost. They get to take boat rides. They get to watch daddy get slightly ill because he peeled shrimp for them to eat and then ate a roll without washing the shrimp gunk from his fingertips. They get to stay up way past bedtime and hug just about everyone in the room, even the dude that I think snuck in for a free meal.
By the way, he’s the smart one.
Next time you get a chance, go to a Green wedding. It’ll be worth it, even if you’ve got to crash it. Don’t, however, harass my wife about being in a bad mood, even for someone who’s gone 29 or so hours without sleep. My prayers, no matter how heartfelt, won’t do you an ounce of good.