admitting not impediments

my exquisitely-placed writhing complaints have led many to the likely, but nonetheless incorrect, conclusion that i, somehow, did not want to attend Erica's wedding.

listen carefully, because i'm only going to say these things once.

1. getting to it was a hassle, but the stuff of life resides therein.
2. this wedding was more fun and untrammeled good than, well, most other things
3. my family wins, hands down
4. i really like to dress up, including (but not limited to) the wearing of high heels.

it was just a normal summer morning at the Postema grands' house. dad was up at 5am (because "jet lag" sounds, when read out loud, an awful lot like "getting old" and, moreover, neatly covers for the behaviour of the latter, especially when dragged out into the plea of weeks). he went to open the windows at the Chapel so as to curtail airflow-related disasters later on. after doing so, he hopped back into bed, so when antje got up at 6, she encountered the familiar sounds of somnolence and a family strewn on horizontal surfaces all over the house (she, herself, had been sleeping in the cat-bird, but allergenic, orange couch). heady with the previous day's experience of Running Without Pain in Ann Arbor, MI (a rather absent one in recent memory), she decided to press her luck and repeat the endeavor. on the return loop, she discovered that the bike she had noted on the way out was not only still leaning against its pole, surrounded by garbage, but that in the course of the previous 30 minutes of deliberation, no serious objections to her taking it had presented themselves. that the tires had enough air for immediate riding clinched the deal, and she swung back into the driveway, startling the grandmother (who was calmly sprinkling water on bright flowers).

as was mentioned, it seemed a completely usual day. grandpa was already thinking about inventive egg dishes, while Christopher hid under the covers and away from the lights being, repeatedly, turned on by the father who had awoken for the second time and was now bow-tied and ready to go. it seemed that Erica herself would have been content to huddle in bed until joined by both her siblings and scratched by their sharp appendages and toenails, but there was this foreign veil-affixing ritual to go through. but, first: the eating of the protein-rich breakfast.

meanwhile, there were bagels, grapes, and juice to collect (the necessary arrangements by/for a family of fainters). the four of us—parents, Christopher, and i—arrived at the church hours before anyone else. it could have been missionary spiel time, so great was the atmosphere of the empty basement and the promise of the sanctuary being filled, within a matter of hours, by a captive audience. seized by this spirit, and still only halfway clothed in glory (or, should i say: the flowy silk pants of great style and comfort, the Uniqlo pin-striped suit), there was still ample time to race around and eat the flowers before the photographer appeared.

despite its inevitable "ordeal" (as our friend Seth had put it so eloquently during the rehearsal the previous day), the picture-taking was, notably, before the ceremony. may Erica and Tim be blessed with a long life together—full of happy and foresightful thoughts, such as that which motivated the decision in question.

looking at packed aisles full of faces from all sorts of places and pasts, grandpa Postema managed to get through his sermon without too much choking (after all, Erica herself had explicitly forbidden such activity). everyone was anxiously peering at the second in the (supposed) chain of weepy dis-command, but, of course, my mother was beaming away as she loudly orated the first reading. another (stereotypical) candidate for emotional displays, my father, was far too busy ruing the very existence of the organist—and all the days he had failed to practise the most oft-played-at-weddings pieces in the illustrious history of the formal institution, despite overt and pointed suggestions following the dissonance dis-played during the rehearsal.

although the superb and brilliant antics of long-established dorks with language affinities had lead pretty much up to the last second, the wedding itself played out with surprisingly little in the way of impish commentary and facial expression. my parents, when asked about their willingness to support their daughter in her new role and association to the red-haired man with whom she had just appeared at the front of the Chapel, did not (as they had been threatening and, more fraught with terror (for Erica), practising) seize said Chapel front as the perfect stage on which to present a riveting drama:

he: "i don't know, dear, we haven't really talked about this...."

she: "it's all so sudden, really. i mean, despite the fact that almost everyone who dates for more than 2 weeks at Calvin, especially in the latter part of their college career, ends up getting married—"

he: "—even though the young man called Japan without a firm grasp of time zone differences, such that i (apparently, given that things have reached this critical and advanced stage in which we now find ourselves) gave my initial permission and (perhaps) my blessing, while wearing my underwear and freezing in the unheated house, in less than 14 seconds (in addition to and because of the cold) and, now, beyond recollection...."

she: "i know what you mean. they visited us in Tokyo, after all, for several weeks just recently. but they seemed to be cavorting with bagpipers half of the time, and nervously traveling the island for the other half. we never had much of a chance to discuss anything like a wedding—much less a marriage."

he: "but look at them up there, with their flushed and upturned faces—waiting for our response."

she: "you're right. and as much fun as it would be to sabotage the current gathering in hopes of another one of its size, rarity, and populace, perhaps we should take advantage of the situation in which everyone is already gathered from a good proportion of Erica and Tim's various stages in life and location."

he: "besides, i've heard that, immediately upon the act being finalised, marrying off one's children results in a swift and absolute ineligibility for inclusion in our medical insurance. perhaps we can apply the same principle to other financial responsibilities. perhaps i should go investigate this. or put it in my iCal or something...."

she: "wait. i think we're being asked about this matter now."

he: "oh, no! i don't have my pen in the pocket of my shirt anymore. how can i do anything, let alone figure out this current dilemma?!"

she: "calm yourself. certainly we can give them a provisional blessing, wouldn't you say?"

he: "yes, i think that would be possible. i can retrieve my pen from where i have stashed it in the organ (after using it for emphasis in a certain talking to). and, besides...i feel a strange impulse to burst out into song. it's a new world...a new world. love. Golde...."

she: [snaps] "don't call me that. there will be plenty of time for singing, starving, and fighting in Yiddish with your other wife."

he: "but don't you remember our wedding day?"

she: "which one—the legal or the illegal?"

he: "both, i guess. i was so nervous, you were so shy. but my father—"

she: "—your father was too busy marrying us without a license to be saying anything about 'learning to love each other,' as you may recall. and, really, this is becoming extremely distasteful and cloying. i propose that we get on with granting our blessing—"

he and she: "—and so promise...."

then, as the temperature rose and the nutrition so assiduously imbibed waned in efficacy, as those who knew the first winks of the lightheaded stars by name willed these back into darkness, one who had never experienced anything of the sort began to sway. Ju Shin reached, undetectedly, for the closest arm—and the only one who noticed her doing so (certainly not i, the intended arm-bearer) commenced to leap from his seat.

in a later interview, a casually horrified observer would comment, "i had no idea what this crazed man was doing. at first i thought that he had, at the last moment, encountered some serious objection to the impending bridegroom and was moving in for a tackle at (and as) the apex of the ceremony. but when he directed himself, not towards the central couple, but for the innocent-looking Asian woman at the end of the row, i concluded that his motive must have been, merely and for something completely different, the sheer embarrassment of his children, all of whom happened to be present."

when he had dragged the unconscious Ju Shin into his own seat, it was clear that my father had been wrongly indicted; apparently, long years in the company and service of women for whom both sugar and pressure run low in the blood had rendered him uniquely able to predict, from soundless and imperceptible clues, the next candidate for dust biting before her head resounded on the wooden floor.

as the liturgy proceeded—admittedly, at a faster clip than before (with the exception of the organist who was attempting to mask—and, ironically, revealing them for all their ungainliness—the movements of his hands with excessive, improvised, and unvarying lentos)—Ju Shin revived enough to sit weakly between my parents. Christopher had run down to the kitchen for some water, and was offering it suavely. at this point, my mother's uncanny ability to detect nausea before it manifests itself (clearly, my parents were meant for each other) emerged heroically: she, encapedly, swept Ju Shin from her seat, just in time for the latter to spew into the bushes outside. my mother missed her daughter's wedding vows, mopping the brow of a bridesmaid; if you ask her about it now, you'll hear no hint of regret, but only the glowing marvel of one whose love of a riveting narrative is second only to her proclivity to assist.

down one member of the wedding party, there was the little issue of how to exit the church. it was much more than the third groomsman had bargained for, but circumstances had changed since he had first walked down the aisle—so when he walked back along it, he did so with grandpa on his arm.

in the glare of the sunlight and the crush of talkative people, only one person witnessed Erica and Tim's leaving. it was all well and good—and probably the result of not having any small solids to pelt at them. in any case, it's far far better to eat rice. all of the most important decisions begin with consciousness.