Calm anticipation may be only a veneer

Leesburg, Va.: “Calm anticipation” is the only way I can describe the feeling here. I’ve been involved in a wedding or two and by the time they’re less than 24 hours away, there’s usually a degree of hysteria just under a surface that is often very thinly veneered.

Here at the home of the bride, friends and former roommates are coming and going to local shopping malls for last minute purchases. How many “last minutes” can there be? The sought-after sun hats and swimsuit cover-ups, crucial for the bride to survive a Caribbean honeymoon cruise, are apparently in close proximity to a Starbucks, judging by the light brown cups in the hands not clutching Stein-Mart and Ross’ bags.

The groom-elect, as society writers used to call that slightly dazed young man, in this case named Jonathan, seems always destined to arrive at the house about five minutes after the latest posse has departed. Now they’re off to round up a scarf to go with the floppy-brimmed straw hat. The groom-elect manages to look confident, though clueless. As many cell phones as this generation wields, one would think there’s no way they could miss each other.

He wanders off again, but is soon captured and swept off in the company of one brother apiece (his and Abigail’s), plus several college friends, to the obligatory bachelor’s night out. Because two or three of the party are underage, and all are members of strict Reform congregations, their merriment is limited to dinner at Olive Garden and the movie, “Transformers.” Oh, and a last-minute stop at the tux rental.

At the same time, the bride-elect and her sister and a bridesmaid are having what amounts to a sleepover in the basement of her home, a maelstrom of plastic bags and discarded shoes due to be returned to Kohl’s tomorrow. There are five attendants in total, but only one (besides sister Esther) could get here for this part of the ritual.

Gifts arrive and are critiqued – will they go back to the store?

The bride’s mom is in the kitchen calmly unwrapping roses ordered in from California, stripping them of leaves and cutting their stems. She wants to do an arrangement for the Communion table, suitable to carry to the reception later. I got tired of watching her after an hour or so and went back out to the camper.

The bride and her attendants’ bouquets and the groomsmen’s boutonnières are being put together by a local florist. Sometimes Jean knows where to draw the line.

She made Abigail’s wedding gown, after all. They shopped for fabric and patterns back in October, I believe, because Jean knew it was going to be a long project, what with extra beading and sequins on the straps and bodice.

It was actually completed several weeks ago and turned out beautifully, for a beautiful bride. All brides are beautiful, of course, like all grandchildren are perfect, and Abigail is not going to be the exception.

The bridesmaids will be wearing princess lines with simple square-necks in front and deep V’s in the back, all in a shade I don’t quite have a word for. Grape comes closest. Too dark for hyacinth, too blue to be merlot as the groom’s mom suggested. “Purple” is inadequate.

They’ll carry bunches of purple hydrangeas, white freesia, and lavender dianthus, and each will have her hair in her preferred style – long and smooth, short and bobbed, pulled up into tight curls.

But I’m ahead of myself. Our raison d’etre in Leesburg is to keep the babies out from underfoot when their parents were busy. Not sure that happened. At 18 months and nearly 4, they’re going to do pretty much what they want to do or make the rest of the world regret interfering. How do you explain a wedding to a toddler, especially a boy toddler to whom dressing up and flowers and decorum don’t mean squat?

The little one (the one I’ve been asked to stop calling Bubba; got approval for U.J., for Uriah John) is just learning that he can get a huge reaction from the elder by committing drive-by carjacking. Samuel always has at least one car in his “good” hand, the one on the unbroken arm, and if he’s not paying close attention, loses it regularly to his fast-moving brother. Samuel knows he dare not retaliate, so the ensuing bedlam is all he has left.

We’ve taken them for walks as often as we could, despite 90+ degrees and high humidity, and one evening we let Samuel watch “Cars” for who knows how many times. He recites the dialog almost perfectly and with the same gestures and emphases, and even manages to tootle along with the music. I know, I wouldn’t believe it either, but I was there. And they think his speech development is slow? Ha.

Incidentally, a full arm cast has interfered with his life only marginally. He manages quite well with his teeth and chin and left hand and doesn’t seem to worry much about falling while running.

Anyhow, minding the boys seems the best gift we can give Jean until the wedding is over.

If Dave makes it that long...