For Thursday, October 2, 1997 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 670 words
Marry Kristi Mass
Kristi, my baby, my darling, my daughter, got married last Saturday. Happy. Happy. Joy. Joy.
We held the event at the Green Valley Country Club, out past the end of Lopes Road.
Wedding ceremonies are short, and receptions aren’t much longer, so it’s amazing how long it takes to plan them. A year we’ve been preparing. A year! Imagine that.
Of course, we had a lot of help. Two divorces and four re-marriages (well, three) amongst the parents makes for eight new families to be united as one.
Everyone chipped in on the cost and we had one heck of a holiday. We held the wedding outside on the lawn, under blue skies, before a crowd of 120 people. The bride and groom designed their own vows, which were quite traditional, except for the part about fishing. Afterwards, we retired into the air-conditioned dining hall for champagne toasts and a sumptuous meal. The Italian food prepared by the club chefs was plentiful and endless – fettuccini, ravioli, tortellini, penne, Italian sausage, eggplant Parmesan, and bundles of salad. We ate and ate.
When the air cooled, we ambled out onto the patio to dance. Kristi and Chad alone had the first dance, while the rest of us circled around them and blew soap bubbles. Then the party began to jump. The DJ cranked up some catchy tunes and we rocked into the night. At the end of the evening, while the maids of honor sang "Going to the Chapel" in perfect harmony, the newlyweds hopped into their truck and drove off to San Francisco to catch a flight to Cabo San Lucas, without their tickets.
Ah, well. The day was so splendid and flawless, something had to happen to make the dream a reality. Susan and I drove the tickets over to their airport hotel at midnight, and all went well. They are in Cabo at this moment, probably fishing for marlin or eating the catch of the day.
Again about the planning: My wife and Kristi did most of it. They spent hundreds of hours on phone calls and house calls and road trips and mall browsings. They hand- selected invitations, registries, garments, chairs, flowers, food, wine, beer, music, ministers, photographers, life-savers. Needless to say, they were both rightly frazzled by the Big Day.
That’s where Vicki Dodd came in. Vicki was the life-saver.
Every wedding should have a Vicki Dodd. It should be required by the American Medical Association. Having a Vicki Dodd wedding is now synonymous in my book with stress-free living. She came into our lives recently as our "wedding coordinator," though I’ve known her for years as a big Corby Altman fan. She brought us peace, happiness and sanity.
On that Big Day, and for several days before, Vicki worked her magic. First, she convinced Susan and Kristi to "Relax. I’ll take care of everything. You just have a good time and enjoy yourselves."
It was nice to have a neutral person telling in-laws and ex-laws where to stand and when to sit. Vicki became the voice of reason and authority. She choreographed the wedding, helped organize the chairs, decorated the grounds with her beautiful flower arrangements [Victoria’s Designs 745-6141], made sure everyone got enough to eat, then led the crowd in dancing the Macarena.
If Vicki should ever advertise her wedding-coordinator business on the Internet, she will have to call it "Wedding Dodd Calm."
Susan remained carefree and merry all day. She stood and sat when told. She ate. She danced. She got vicarious thrills clean out of this earthly sphere watching her daughter laugh. She visited every table; said hello to everyone. She came along for the midnight ride to San Francisco. She spent most of Sunday in her bare feet, except for when we went to the movies.
I have watched my baby become a girl, and then a woman, and now a wife. I’m happy for her. So, why do I feel like bawling?
I’m also happy that Susan had fun. Hell, everyone had fun.
Thank you, Claude from the Green Valley Country Club. Thank you for the VIP treatment. Thanks again, Vicki.
Merry Kristimas to all, and to all a good night.