Jackson Weddings
Posted on Thursday, July 2nd, 2009
With the nice weather we’ve (generally) had for the last week, I think it’s finally safe to say summer is finally here. Climbing, road biking, mountain biking, hiking, gardening. Weddings. Or rather weddings. Note that lower case “w.”
There are Weddings and then there are weddings. Thankfully, Jackson, like many mountain towns, tends to inspire the latter. Male guests decked out in Mountain Khakis and Cloudveil button-downs. Perhaps even Prana climbing shorts. Women in cotton skirts and climbing tops or, if they want to get really fancy, a dress, but one of the kind that advertises itself as perfect for travel, i.e that doesn’t require the touch of any iron, even after being balled up on the closet floor since last summer’s wedding season. Flip-flops, sunglasses, and visors or hats all around. Dogs as flowergirl and ringbearer.
But Weddings, of the circus-cum-ceremony kind dozens of magazines and reality shows are dedicated to and a certain type of girl evidently dreams of since the day she emerges from the womb, are a different beast entirely. For starters, they are usually announced by intimidating invitations. Paper of such heavy stock as to require dollars of extra postage and wording that might as well be written in a foreign language. Black-tie recommended? Business formal? Casual business? Temple appropriate? Where’s the interpreter?
Because it is the Wedding of a favorite cousin or best friend from college, you RSVP in the affirmative though, buy your plane tickets, borrow a black-tie, business formal, or temple appropriate outfit and set off. Arriving at the scene of the circus, which – another huge difference – is almost always inside – you 1) make an effort to sit several seats in from the aisle (you usually only know to do this if you’ve got prior experience with this sort of Wedding) or 2) grab the easiest accessible seating and risk an allergic reaction or having an eye poked out as the bride, in a puffy confection of lace, organza, satin, silk, chiffon, taffeta, and/or charmeuse swishes past on her tuxedo-clad father’s arm.
And then there’s the ceremony itself. Native American poems and acoustic-guitar songs played by friends are out the window, replaced by serious sermons, readings from scripture, and skin-jarring organ interludes. Survive all that though, and you’ll begin to enter into more familiar territory: the reception. Free beer and wine seem to have similar effects, whatever the type of crowd.
While out on the dance floor, keep in mind black-tie attire isn’t nearly as suitable for the athletic-type dance moves favored by many mountainites as are a pair of burlap-strong khakis or a soy/cotton blend skirt. And no matter what type of Wedding you’re at, a pair of ripped open tux pants or a dress split open up the back is funny. Unless it’s your pants or dress.
Dina Mishev’s own wedding was in the mountains but, much to her husband’s chagrin had elements of a Wedding, notably big satin bows on the backs of chairs. There was no suggested attire, serious sermon, or scripture reading however. There were two cellos though. They erupted into Eye of the Tiger as she and her new husband were pronounced “man and wife.”
