What I Did on My Easter Vacation

My first few hours in San Antonio looked like this.†




There was apparently an accident on the *mgvflrgl* Loop that had the left lane closed. Or two lanes, if you believe the big red X's over the two left lanes on the *mgvflrgl* Loop, which I did, so I crept along in the second-from-right lane until I'd passed that point on the *mgvflrgl* Loop that was supposed to contain the accident.

I believe the Texas DOT and the local radio stations like to play pranks on unwitting tourists.

Anyway, things got better.

For instance, I passed this church...




...which apparently meets in a storage unit. Or possibly a decorative rock sales yard.

Once I got to Wimberley, I checked my email to see if there were further instructions on the evening's activities.

"Meet us at Ike's!" the instructions cheerfully instructed. "We should be there around 9:00! Or possibly 10:00! Or maybe 8:30!"

As it was about 6:00 and my last meal was the latte I had at Caribou Coffee in the A Terminal of DIA, I decided to find something to eat.

The nice woman who runs the Mountain View Lodge suggested Juan Henry's.

Since I'd seen Juan Henry's in my Google search of "best restaurants wimberley texas," it seemed like a good bet.

"Also, there's Juan Enrique's. I read about them too," I said in my head. "I bet they're related. That's kinda clever. Probably owned by the same family or something."

I drove past Juan Enrique's on my way to Juan Henry's. Five miles into the trip, when the road had narrowed to one lane and the pavement was spotty at best, I decided to start over.

After making the whole loop again, I decided Juan Enrique's was just going to have to do and I pulled in.

Just inside the door? A sign that said, "Welcome to Juan Henry's."

When I ordered a margarita, the waitress said, "You're a club member, right?"

"Um, nooooo..." worried that it might be a country club or something... or like those places in Utah where you have to pay a membership fee and bring your own bottle.

"Oops. Well, I just made you a member. I'll bring the application right out."

So I filled out the application and am now a proud Juan Henry's Club member. And I have the card to prove it.‡




I arrived at Ike's about 9:00, worried that I was going to be way early.




Minutes later, I got a text saying, "Forget Ike's - come to the cabins and bring booze!"

We stayed up very late drinking and talking. The next day was the wedding day, so I opted to tourist around a bit.

The reason I picked the Mountain View Lodge out of the host of options available to me was that it had a walking trail that boasted a genuine allosaurus track. Like I'm going to pass that up.

I flipped through the plastic-bound trail guide in my room, but all it had was names of flowers - no pictures. So I deemed it too bulky to mess with and struck out on the trail.

First, there was yucca.




Then I went downhill for a bit...




...then uphill.




Then uphill again.




In my heart of hearts, I will always be sure I went uphill way more than I went downhill, despite ending in the same place I began.

But there were flowers along the way.

Star flowers...




...bell flowers...




...pink flowers...




...Indian paintbrush.§




There were dangerous yucca obstacle courses...




...but I made it.

Without ever seeing the dinosaur track. Turns out I should've taken the bulky trail guide with me.

I decided to head to the center of Wimberley to find postcards for the nephews and grab some lunch.

And take pictures of the bluebonnets. Because that's what you do in April in Texas.







So, funny story: I was unpacking my suitcase when I got there Friday and realised that I'd brought both pantyhose and thong sandles. I deliberately did not bring a razor.

I'd shaved my legs Thursday morning, which would be fine with the nylon illusion of smoothness pantyhose offers, but was completely unacceptable for complete bareleggedness and two days' stubble. In my travels Friday night, I stopped to get some Nair.

I took a little nap Saturday afternoon, carefully calculating just how much time I'd need to get to the wedding in a time and fashion that wouldn't cause the bride a stroke. When the alarm went off, I shuffled into the bathroom, stripped and began applying Nair to my legs.

After the requisite time to dissolve hair, I turned on the water to warm it up. I pulled the shower starter and found the shower head pointed straight to the back wall. I reached up, tilted it down and... it broke off in my hand.

I turned off the water to quell the deluge and sat on the edge of the tub to assess my situation.

I was naked and covered in sulphurous Nair now clotted with dissolved hair bits. I was running the ragged edge of acceptable timing to get ready. Even if I could find a way to get decent and get to the motel office, I wasn't going to have time to switch rooms or have the shower head repaired.

So I performed all ablutions in contortion under the bathtub faucet, occasionally hopping out to let the globs of Nair/hair go down the drain.

I was sticky.

The wedding, however, was lovely enough that it couldn't be tainted even by my slightly over-conditioned hair and strong soap smell.

The altar


The tables and centerpieces



The traditional nuptial salt lick


The traditional raising of the ladder by underaged groomsmen¶


Dave and Kara's son Jasper# in a rare still moment


I don't know this kid or his parents, he just made the picture better


See? Picture without some random kid - not as compelling


Assorted groomsmen at the ready


Kids are doubly cute when they have a job to take seriously


Maisy (Dave and Kara's daughter) is case in point


Some free spirits can use a little guidance


You don't have to be a kid to look cute on the job. This is Jenny, Dave's and Lisa's sister, Matron of Honour


Lisa, the bride


Maisy ate nine or twelve clementines before the dinner was even set up


Ruben (Jenny and Jeremy's son) seemed suspicious of the salt lick.


Kara found the coolest thing for Lisa for a wedding gift.





If I ever get married, you know what to do.

The cake topper was pretty cool.




And I can't stress the joy of lighted things enough. If you have an outdoor night wedding, please consider a wide assortment of things that can light up.††




Sunday, I returned to San Antonio with the intention of having a nice lunch on the Riverwalk and finding postcards to send to the nephews, but was mostly thwarted by the NCAA Women's Final Four.




They had a floating pep rally. Cheerleaders and marching bands on rafts. Awesome.

Too many people forced me to abandon the Riverwalk in disgust, so I had lunch at the airport.

That was my trip to San Antonio. Three weeks ago.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That would be the windshield of a Ford Focus. I may be spoiled by the trademarked whiptastic handling of the Mini Cooper, but my honest assessment is that a Ford Focus handles like a shopping cart with a sticky wheel.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Though I don't for the life of me know what privileges or responsibilities that bestows on me.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The only flower I know the actual name of.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Dozens of adults looked on, never doing more than say, "I wonder what they're doing." Fortunately, they couldn't figure out how to lock the extension, so it wasn't long enough for whatever they were planning on using it for.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): A quick lesson on why I was in San Antonio: Dave and I have been friends since freshman year in high school. Lisa and Jenny are his sisters, whom I've known since Lisa was 13 or so and Jenny was 9 or 10. Kara is Dave's wife, Jeremy is Jenny's husband. Kara and Dave have two kids, Jasper and Maisy. Jenny and Jeremy have one son, Ruben. Or possibly Reuben. And we were all gathered to see Lisa marry Edmundo, despite the fact it looks like I was there to take pictures of plants and make fun of churches.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Particularly if you're going to have stoned people at your event, because it's something stoned people and straight people can both enjoy equally.

Here Now, the News

Quite possibly not the news you would expect, given my latest post and assorted Twitterpation,† but some news.

I have just returned from San Antonio and the wedding of LisaB and Edmundo.% Pictures to follow‡ shortly, but for now, three things:

1. If you have a wedding§ outside at night, hundreds of glow sticks and their flashier cousins@ are utterly cool.
2. Jen, Kara and I should totally form a girl group. Our rendition of "Tainted Love" was ten kinds of awesome.¶
3. If you are going to San Antonio, think twice about going during Final Four# weekend. The floating pep rally†† was fantastic, but the ballers, cheerleaders, bands, coaching staffs and all their dearest friends, family and schoolmates‡‡ were overwhelming.
   

[SUMMARY: There is no summary. These things don't go together except in my head.]

Speaking of...

Sports naysayers, avert your eyes:

Due to my beloved Coach K's victory over the WVa team that propelled me to giddy heights of March Madness bracket standings, I have catapulted once again, now ranking a stunning THIRTEEN§§ out of 1124 in the 850 KOA brackets.

All hale the mighty BOB!¶¶



[SUMMARY: Once again, yay me.]

By the way... one of the perqs under this job offer is a full four weeks' paid vacation my first year, plus the eleven paid holidays everybody gets.

The executives making the offer pointed out that I would've had Friday off and paid if I were working for them right now.

[SUMMARY: Some fairy godmothers just don't play fair.]


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): You know how sometimes I think I'm funny? Well, sometimes I think I'm clever too.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which are actually two separate things, as Lisa got married in Wimberley, home of one of the first (when I was eight - not this weekend) of my many near-drownings... a little story I'll probably include when I share the pictures and the shower story. Huh. Water and Wimberley and Marin are a scary combination.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And a funny story concerning a shower.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Or a birthday... or a free Tuesday night...

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Like this.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): There may have been alcohol involved.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Women's. I flew down with no fewer than twelve NCAA women's coaches. I seriously thought there might be some sort of lesbian festival in San Antonio this weekend before I found out I was going to Tournament Town.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Until you've seen cheerleaders form a pyramid on a barge, you haven't really lived.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Not to mention - because the sentence was getting too long, so I didn't - ESPN, CNN, travelling teams from the local news stations pertinent to Stanford, UConn and whomever else was in the women's Final Four.

§§FOOTNOTE (I'm all twirly): I had to write it out because there's no way to capitalise "13."

¶¶FOOTNOTE (beating a dead horse like a drum): Beasts of Burden. B.O.B. My perennial fantasy sports team name... in case I haven't already explained that.

Ein Kleine Wachtmusik

We had an auxiliary father-daughter dinner last night. We† needed to be sure my iPod would jack into Dad's stereo and the sound would be good for dining and dancing at the wedding.

The wedding on Saturday.

[SUMMARY: A moment of stunned silence, please.‡]

Even as I type this, I'm aware the full impact of what I am about to impart will be lost. Y'all don't really know my dad.

This is a man who doesn't own a tie.§

This is a man who won't wear clothes with words or wild prints¶ on them.

This is a man who thinks big, fancy anything is worth nothing more than a headshake.

This is a man who has no idea where his cell phone is. Almost ever.

This is a man of even temper, good cheer, relaxed attitude, low maintenance, low overhead, relentless good sense and an inherent Protestant work ethic.

So when he turned into Groomzilla, nobody was more surprised than me.

Last night:

Dad: So I got the kids -- being flowers -- taken care of and then I was going to set up the speakers...

Me: When you started that sentence, I heard, "I got the kids, whom I decided to dress like flowers to perform some sort of elementary-school-musical-program at the wedding."

Dad: I wanted to do that. I got vetoed.

[SUMMARY: More stunned! More silence!]

And it's true. A month ago, he told me he wanted to have all the grandchildren gather and sing "We Wish You a Happy Wedding"# at the ceremony.

While various evil stepsisters have been true to form, telling their mother how tacky and passé all her wedding wants†† are, I have to tip my hat to whichever one of them undoubtedly gave my father that you've-been-smoking-crack look and said, "No. There will be no children's chorale."

[SUMMARY: W.C. Fields wasn't blowing smoke. Dogs and children; don't do it.]

Anyway, there will be a skit, but it will be performed by the bride and groom.

Not kidding.

Songs that didn't make it to the wedding playlist:

Flight of the Valkyries - Wagner‡‡
Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy Division
Another One Bites the Dust - Queen
Achy Breaky Heart - whoever does Achy Breaky Heart§§
Bolero - Ravel¶¶
She Works Hard for the Money - Donna Summer
The Breakup Song - The Greg Kihn Band
Existential Blues - Tom "T-Bone" Stankus
Danse Macabre - Saint-Saëns
Tom Sawyer - Rush
Gin & Juice - Snoop Dogg, or even the Phish## version

At one time, I considered them all. Cooler heads††† prevailed.

*************

No. 5: Illicit Sex - JEREMY SCOTT [sic] & Philippe Roques (Part 5 in the series)

Marin says: Rose -- deep, woody rose with a definite float of bitter orange and a touch of aldehyde.

For me, this is strongly reminiscent of Chanel No. 5, but with a hair less aldehyde and a bit more rose and a skosh of orange. There's something brilliant about the way it captures that memory of Mom and Dad going out for the evening in a cloud of Chanel, while going just far enough into a contemporary space that I could inhabit happily.

Eventually, it parses down to a clear rose, travelling back into history and faded beauty.

The name, Illicit Sex,‡‡‡ doesn't quite meet up with either the scent itself or the perfumer's notes on fragility and strength in love. Do you suppose they really, really hope sex sells?

Six Scents says: ""Illicit Sex is an essay on love: the encounter of fragility and strength." - Philippe Roques, Perfumer

Ingredients: Bergamot,$ Aldehydic,$ Pepper, Nutmet, Rose,$ Benzoin, Olibanum, Cedarwood,$ Musk.

Hans says: Hmmm. It's pretty light. It smells like... I get some incense.§§§ Like Arabian market.¶¶¶ You smell like an Arabian market, Marin. Good morning.###


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And by "we," I mean, "my father, who has somehow become convinced that I am a technological dummy who will populate his wedding reception with death metal and pimps-n-hos rap music."

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not that we didn't know it was coming, just... still a little stunned.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): A fact that led to a wedding battle over whether or not he should have to go out and buy a tie for this one tiny occasion when a bolo tie should work just as well. For those of you scoring at home, he won that one.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Like stripes.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Y'know... to the tune of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas."

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Balloons. She loves balloons and wanted some, until Evil Stepsister told her it was tacky and totally 1980s. I say let the woman have her balloons. Who cares if it's tacky -- the guest list is comprised of her children and grandchildren and Dad's children and grandchildren. If ever there was a situation when one could get tacky without repercussion, this is it.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I have four musical divisions: Taps for the processional (I'm not kidding and it wasn't my idea -- this is all the groom), an hour of classical music for dinner, The Rose for the first dance, two hours of dance music for the reception. Under the heading "classical music," it appears my taste is unsurprisingly gothic, with lots of skeletons and sturm-und-drang. I'm guessing "O Fortuna" isn't a good idea. I have to go get some Handel and Vivaldi or everyone will lose their appetites.

§§FOOTNOTE (do-si-do): Peach wanted me to put in some country music suitable for line dancing. For my country cousins. I told Dad I figured they can dance the Electric Slide with everybody else if they feel a need to line dance. I am NOT BUYING Achy Breaky Heart. Yes, there will be Electric Slide. Possibly Chicken Dance too, because I think those are funny wedding traditions I am willing to follow for my own wicked glee.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat that... drum): I saw 10.

##FOOTNOTE (I will pound on this until you get it): Please to pronounce "P-hish."

†††FOOTNOTE (three stepsisters, all in a row): Or at least my Inner Evil Stepsister.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (sex on the wrong side of the tracks): Illicit sex should be rumpled, sweaty, hurried, shameful, furtive, seedy, possibly up against the stall wall in a club restroom. There should be nothing fragile or strong about it, unless you count the leg muscles it takes to have sex in a bathroom stall. Essay on love, my ass. Though that may be another way to do illicit...

$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): Well, look at me!

§§§FOOTNOTE (give that man three rounds of applause!): Hans is getting really good at this. Speaking of Hans, he's very disappointed nobody commented on his prom picture. I told him I figure out there was a shocked silence as everybody in his fan club said, "I didn't know Hans was gay." His girlfriend thinks that's really funny.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (camels in the desert): And Hans knows of which he speaks -- he lived in Saudi for many years.