Tag Archives: Summer

The Last Wedding Of Summer, And A Full Moon Over Annapolis

A kiss is still a kiss. And yes, people keep getting married, despite rumors to the contrary. Someone is getting married nearly every hour of every day, someplace, somehow.

The fundamental things apply. We enjoyed a wonderful wedding weekend in Annapolis with the large and growing extended family. Continued growth is certain, the eldest uncle predicts with confidence, especially if weddings continue at this pace. (The uncle is usually right, except when he’s wrong.)  Family genes will continue to populate the Earth, nearly forever.

The ceremony was brightened by late afternoon sunshine on the open balcony of the Marriott Waterfront. The assembled witnesses faced east, so Annapolis Harbor was the backdrop for bride and groom and clergy.

If sailing is your thing, or even your unfulfilled wish, you could not want a view more splendid than the sparkling Annapolis harbor. The hotel is so absolutely waterfront that I could have thrown an ice-cube over the yacht, docked below, with room to spare.

After the vows were said, and the other formalities; after the lawfully wedded bride and groom were duly introduced, the couple kissed and beamed. The bride waved her bouquet overhead. They walked, fast, up the aisle, only to endure the time-honored ritual of wedding photography.

For better or worse. In sickness and in health . . .

One and all enjoyed delicious food, imbibed delightful spirits, and generally made merry. Crab cakes are de rigueur in Maryland. The crab cakes we dined on Saturday evening were the best! The fillet mignon you could cut with a butter knife, and the asparagus was cooked to perfection.

The father of the bride, announcing that he was nervous and not in control of his emotions, nonetheless delivered a perfect, heartfelt and humorous few words.

Most importantly, perhaps, we danced all night to the music of a first-rate band. A live band, not a DJ! Hardly ever see a live band, living or dead, these days. Where did all the bands go? The answer my friends, is blowing in the wind.

Well, to be clear, most of us danced most of the night. Many with beer bottle in hand. Some of the  nieces and nephews, flush with the exuberance of youth, hardly paused to get a fresh bottle of beer. (To be fair, in my day, we danced with lit cigarettes in hand.)

Champaign and wine, and an open bar. And coffee. And cake. And dancing. And, too, a full moon.

Exuberance is contagious. So I danced a bit myself. However, my number of fast dances is strictly limited, like the number of pitches in a pitcher’s arm. And the band didn’t play many slow dances. Some relatives and friends of my baby-boomer generation remained calm and took full advantage of the live music, fast and slow. (Did I mention that I am the oldest of said generation in the entire extended family?)

The band was peerless, but still, nary a waltz all night. What is modern music coming to? (I must throw in something critical, else the copy desk will convict me of hyperbole, with exuberance as the evidence. Oh wait, that was when newspapers still had copy desks. Ancient history, nearly.)

After the sun went down, as the evening lengthened and the dancing continued, the last full moon of summer rose high above the Annapolis harbor.

Yes, Virginia, The world will always welcome lovers, as time goes by.

The takeaway: Exuberance is contagious, but the effect wears off quickly. More quickly, say, than a hangover.

Inside information: The legally wedded couple is honeymooning in Jamaica.

A personal afterthought: I am older than all but a very few of those in attendance. How did I get so old, all of a sudden? (Answer: One day at a time.) I believe I must have been the oldest of those still standing to participate in the after-dinner revelry. I’m obviously older than the parents of either the bride or the groom. Anyone can see that. No wonder I feel a letdown after every party lately.

Time goes by.

Recommendation:  Eat, drink, be merry, and dance!  Accept all wedding invitations that come your way, and stay for breakfast the morning after.


Saturday, August 16, By The Numbers

The numbers for Saturday are, 95 degrees Fahrenheit in the part of Maryland where I was out walking. People keep telling me not to move to Florida because it gets too hot there in the summer. Go figure. It gets hot here in summer.

Because of the 95 degrees In spite of the 95 degrees, I hit 10,284 steps on the Fitbit. Only the second time I’ve reached the 10,000 steps goal. Attention fellow baby boomers: Sitting is the new smoking. You need to get up and move. If you sit there, it’s hazardous to your health. It might be hazardous if you go outside and walk in 95-degree temperatures, but what do I know?

I had a good reason to be out walking. I was pursuing one of my goals, which is to find a place to live that I can afford on Social Security. I sometimes rant about the high cost of housing in certain well-known cities and suburbs. Other people rant about taxes; I rant about the cost of living.

Also by the numbers, I found a one-bedroom apartment which rents for $650 per month. Plus utilities, of course. And another apartment for $625. I’m not kidding. I am not going to tell you the location of these low-priced apartments. It’s my secret. Plus, I don’t want to start a stampede.

I realize everyone’s wondering, how far is 10,284 steps? I can answer that question to the decimal point. It’s 4.76 miles, according to the Fitbit. I probably burned 2,314 calories, also according to the Fitbit. But some of my steps included walking into a pizza restaurant for supper. I probably consumed more calories than I burned.

Some people may wonder, how much is 95 degrees in Celsius? The answer is, I don’t know. Who do you think I am, the answer man?

My Saturday was not all work and no play. I also watched a little bit of the Little League World Series on TV at McDonald’s. I went into McDonald’s to get out of the 95 degree heat.

And that’s all I’m going to say about Saturday. Not a bad day’s work, for a Saturday in summer. But then, I’m retired.