The Ceremony

On September 19, Jesse and Laura got married. Here is the ceremony that I prepared for them......

I’d like to welcome all of you to this wonderful celebration we’re having today. I have to tell you, I find it both amazing and incredibly heartwarming not just to see so many familiar faces, but to realize the distances -- in many cases, great distances -- that so many of you have traveled just to be here. We have folks here from Mississippi, of course, but also Louisiana, Colorado, California, Oregon, Florida, Massachusetts, New York, Ohio, Illinois, Maryland, Virginia, Washington D.C., Delaware, North Carolina, and, yes, even a few from South Carolina. Have I left anyone out? I want to thank all of you for taking the time, for making the effort, to be here and sharing in what is obviously a very special day for us.

Before we proceed, may I ask please who is presenting the bride? Thank you John; thank you Gail.

Laura and Jesse, imagine meeting you here today. Who would have thought even just a few short years ago that one day the three of us would be standing right here right now like this? But, here we are. And, what an extraordinary day it is. I suspect everyone here, if asked, could describe for you in vivid detail the most special days in their lives, but, speaking for myself, I can tell you that there are precious few of them where we can honestly say that we find ourselves surrounded by all of the most important people in our lives: Your family, your friends -- all the people through whom no doubt you can trace every significant step (and misstep) you have taken along the way. There are some people here today who know you as no one else does. They know your strengths, your weaknesses, your idiosyncrasies, your history, your secrets. And, they love you. So, as I say, days like this don’t come along very often. Enjoy these moments and remember them.

I know your relationship started seven or so years ago as a dating one. But, I seem to recall that at some point fairly early on, you deepened that relationship by becoming good friends as well. You learned to trust each other, to rely on each other, and to look out for one another. Essentially, you began the process of becoming partners in each other’s lives. Believe me, I know there were no shortages of parties and good times in those years, but all of us here also know that since those days the two of you have gotten down to the business of sharing your lives together when it’s not all parties and good times. You now know what it is to pay the bills, to put food on the table, to share in day-to-day responsibilities, and to ride out stressful times. You also know what it is to make plans with a keen eye on each other’s likes and dislikes, not just your own fancies. And, yet, through all of this, you have remained sure of each other’s feelings and, best of all… you have remained happy. The trust the two of you have built up in one another is not something you get automatically by simply signing a marriage license; you have to earn it. And, each of you has done just that.

Jesse -- I know you will recall the steady drumbeat of advice you got from us when you were growing up, especially from your mom: don’t you dare get married before you turn 30, we said. We told you that you really don’t know who you are until then; we told you that you would evolve and grow and that your tastes and values at age 30 will bear little resemblance to those you had at age 20. So -- if you don’t know who you are, how can you expect to go about the business of successfully selecting a partner for life? You remember that, right?

Well, Jess, it’s not that we were wrong, not really. We thought that was sensible advice. What we hadn’t counted on… was Laura. Laura, as you know, you have long since become a part of our family. I sometimes feel as if we have literally traveled the globe with you, from Europe to Costa Rica to Indonesia. I don’t remember when it happened exactly, but at some point Lily and I stopped being “ma’am” and “sir” and we became just plain old “Lily” and “Jeff.” And, I have to tell you how delighted we are in the evolution of our relationship with you.

But, apart from our travels with you, Laura, you and Jesse have truly traveled the world as very few ever get to do --- from Africa, to Europe, to Central and South America, and to Southeast Asia. Those have been amazing times for you both, but I also suspect they were testing times for you as well. You don’t need me to tell you that oftentimes, when you’re traveling under less than the best conditions -- something the two of you know a little something about -- qualities such as patience and tolerance are not the ones that always come to the fore so easily. To me, then, what made your travels so special was not just that they enabled you to learn more about each other, but they enabled you to strengthen a relationship that was already strong. Best of all, they enabled you both to envision a future together as well. That’s why I’m thinking that among the many, many irreplaceable memories each of you have of those journeys are not just the destinations you reached, but memories of how you traveled together as well. Somewhere down those roads, Laura, you not only wowed Lily and me, but, far more importantly, you wowed the fellow standing next to you today.

So, Jesse, here we are today seeing you getting married at age 27 and not 30, which means, Laura, that I can say to you that, in your wonderfully disarming fashion, you pretty much singlehandedly shattered one of the basic parenting lessons we had for both Jesse and Alex. And, I am here to tell you how happy we are that you did...this one time. And, Jesse, how happy we are that you so totally ignored our advice...this one time.

I think what I’m going to say to you here may sound a little trite, Laura, but I promise you that is not my intention. Your bright, sunshiny disposition just makes things better. Your graciousness and your generosity are of a sort that simply cannot be manufactured. You are truly genuine. Gail and John -- I have to tell you, you’ve done good here. You have raised an amazing daughter. Indeed, if I may say so, you have raised three amazing daughters. And, Laura, just as we have come to embrace you, so has your family embraced Jesse both as a son and a brother. From Jackson to Pickwick, you and your family have always made Jesse feel relaxed, comfortable, and loved. And, for that, Lily and I are truly forever grateful.

Jesse -- the personal growth you have shown over the past several years has been simply stunning to me. I can say this, of course, because, as your father, I am hopelessly and irretrievably biased. I raise this issue here only because it sheds light, in part, on why we believe your future with Laura is so promising. You know, Jess, there was a time in your life when your inclination was “to go it alone” and when you would engage in decision-making essentially by falling back on your own instincts, really to the exclusion of everything and everyone else. I can say honestly that is simply no longer the case. Not from what I’ve seen. What you have gained is a measure of humility and, in my book, it is humility that is a basic building block in any enduring relationship. You have learned to learn from others and to trust their judgments alongside your own. Nowhere is this more in evidence, Jess, than in your relationship with Laura. Just judging from our own conversations in recent months when we‘ve talked about your life plans, your goals, your aspirations, I am struck by how mindful you are of Laura’s happiness, not just your own. And, I have to tell you, this is a wonderful omen.

You will recall that some months ago I asked each of you if you would share with me what you believe you have learned from one another. Jesse, you told me that because of Laura’s influence in your life, you are now more patient, more tolerant, more mature. You say you see yourself now as a far better person since Laura entered your life, and those of us who know you best see how much easier it is for you now to get outside that once stoic exterior and express your feelings more openly. Essentially, Jesse, Laura has begun the process of opening you up, and how wonderful is that?

Laura, you told me that because of Jesse you are now far more adventurous and that you see yourself as a far more independent and confident person than you have ever been in your life. You told me also, Laura, that because of Jesse you now strive for better things in your life. These are amazing qualities to learn from one another. What you don’t know -- indeed, what you cannot know yet -- is that as each of you continue to grow and as you continue to share your strengths with one another, each of you will grow in ways you cannot possibly imagine. And, I dare say, they will all be for the good.

I’m a little bit older than the two of you, and I only have the floor for another minute, so, if I may, I’d like to offer a few of my own suggestions to you: be kind to each other, be generous with each other, laugh with each other, listen to each other, and remember that while it is so important for each of you to maintain your own separate identities in this relationship, remember also that whereas you were once two, you are now one. Think that way. I’m smiling as I say these things to you because I know you know these things; I know you understand them, and I know you try to practice them. I’m also smiling because as a father, and a father-in-law, nothing could possibly make me any happier.

I know the two of you have vows you would like to exchange, so, if you would, please turn toward each other and repeat after me.

Jesse: I, Jesse, take thee Laura to be my wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better – for worse, for richer – for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.

Laura: I, Laura, take thee Jesse to be my husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better – for worse, for richer – for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.

May I have the rings, please?

Jesse, please repeat after me: Laura, accept this ring, and with it my promise of faith, patience, and love, for the rest of my life.

And Laura: Jesse, accept this ring, and with it my promise of faith, patience, and love, for the rest of my life.

Jesse and Laura -- In the spirit of God, and with the hopes and wishes of your family and friends, may the happiness you feel at this moment stay with you the rest of your lives. By the authority vested in me by the State of South Carolina, I now pronounce you husband and wife.

Jesse -- You may kiss the bride

Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you for the first time, Jesse and Laura Golland!


Epilogue

When I was getting dressed for the ceremony, I reached into my bureau looking for a nice watch to wear for the occasion. What I came across was a watch belonging to my father, a watch that had not been worn for the 24 years since his death. I put it on. Lying next to it was my mother’s wedding ring, untouched since her passing 18 years ago. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. I felt like I was in a circle now completed. I felt whole.

In the ceremony, I said to Jesse and Laura that this would be one of the most special days in their lives. What I had not realized, but soon did, is that this proved to be one of the most special days in my life as well. Surrounded by almost all of the most important people in my life and Lily’s -- family and friends -- and feeling the good will, support and love coming from all, I knew this would signal a moment that would be with me forever. Thank you, Jesse. Thank you, Laura. I love you both so much.

Seared Sea Scallops in a Tangerine Reduction Over a Mango and Avocado Salsa

When you're at a loss for what to do for dinner tonight, try this out. I'm telling you, your children and your children's children will be talking about this for a long time. A taste explosion!

ingredients

3 large sea scallops per person
1 ripe avocado
1 ripe mango
1 package string beans
1 can garbanzo beans
1 good sized scallion
1 good handful of cilantro (chopped)
1 medium handful of sundried tomatoes
1 medium handful of pine nuts
olive oil
toasted sesame oil
1/2 cup fresh tangerine juice (or, in a pinch, orange juice)
1/8 to 1/4 cup soy sauce
1/8 to 1/4 cup lemon pepper oil (or the flavored oil of your liking -- maybe basil oil, for example)
1 lime
ground black pepper to taste

the scallops

- place scallops into a hot pan that has been coated nicely with olive oil. use medium heat.
- sear scallop bottoms until nicely caramelized. flip and do the same to the reverse side.

the mango salsa

- chop mango into smallish pieces. same for avocado. add in chopped scallion and chopped cilantro. add in the juice of the lime and the toasted sesame oil. let stand.

the tangerine reduction

- into a saucepan, put tangerine juice, soy sauce and lemon pepper oil. place under medium heat and allow the mixture to reduce.
- when the sauce has thickened, let simmer and spoon on to scallops

stringbean chopped salad

- blanch stringbeans for no more than two minutes in boiling water. drain and put in a bowl of cold/ice water. drain that bowl and add the stringbeans and drained garbanzos to the bowl. add in sundried tomatoes.
- in a pan, toast pine nuts either with a little olive oil or without -- your choice. add in pine nuts to beans.
- sprinkle the mix liberally with olive oil and black pepper and stir.

Serve scallops atop the mango salsa with the bean salad on the side. spoon your tangerine reduction over the scallops.

Wham! One great dinner!

We're Gonna Need A Bigger Boat

You remember that line, right? Roy Scheider utters it in a moment of awe and horror as he takes in the spectacle of the great white thinking lunch thoughts next to Roy’s hopelessly undersized boat. Funny how that line flew into my consciousness as Mojo did his level best to re-enact Captain Sam Quint’s role in “Jaws” this morning. What Mojo clearly didn’t appreciate was that, in fact, he was actually reprising the title role from the 1939 classic “Idiot’s Delight.”

This morning’s jaunt began innocently enough: bright early morning sun, a beautiful low tide, lots of dogs. But, when someone shouted “shark,” that was reason enough to know this was not going to be your ordinary morning. As we turned to the ocean shallows, the large silvery dorsal fin was unmistakable, and while he was no mammoth great white, he was no minnow either. Both two-legged and four-legged life forms immediately got out of, or steered clear of, the water……except Mojo. To the extent that Mojo can be said to think actual thoughts, I felt he was saying, “Damn, that’s one big minnow out there!” Not needing any further encouragement, and having batted zero for a thousand in this summer’s endless attempts to finally land a minnow, Mojo dove into the shallows and attacked the shark. Let me repeat that: he attacked the shark. With his front paws sitting astride the dorsal fin, I feared the Mojomeister was on the verge of having a sushi breakfast were it not for the deft escape maneuver of the shark who proved to be the far wiser of the two animals in this one act play. You could just hear the shark thinking, “What the hell is that lunatic black thing on my back?” as he slithered off to deeper waters.

Normalcy ensued for maybe another 20 minutes or so until the shoreline was visited by yet another shark, this one, to my eyes, even bigger than the last one. (I think the first one went back for reinforcements.) Mojo, having learned nothing from his first encounter, dove into the ocean yet again in pursuit thinking, no doubt, how this really was his lucky day. Never, ever, had the Isle of Palms been visited by such fabulous minnows. In proving yet again how stupid people can be when faced by moments of trauma, I ran into the ocean after him waving my plastic ball launcher as if this were weapon enough should things get dicey. Fortunately, this shark came from the same smart family as the first visitor and found a way to get away from the shark-surfing Mojo and retreat to live another day.

My friend, Brian, tried to convince me that Mojo was not acting stupidly, but was actually indulging in an act of heroism; that Mojo was, in fact, putting himself in harm’s way to save his buddies from an unsavory fate. This is what I will let others think. I would say that Mojo and I know better, but clearly, Mojo does not. When we returned home and I watched Mojo eating his usual breakfast of dry, boring kibble, I wondered whether thoughts of sushi or shark tartare danced in his head.

Next time, big fella, next time.

Life Among the Giants

Mojo has a couple of friends, Mabel and Bosco, whose mere appearance casts shadows across whatever landscape you happen to find yourself in. Mojo is not exactly small in the world of canines; he’s about 75 pounds, give or take. You know he’s there. But Bosco is to Mojo what Mojo is to a cereal box. Bosco, and his mom Mabel, are great danes and they live next door under the same roof as their guardians, Brian and Jan. I see Mabel and Bosco -- oftentimes referred to around these parts as “the ponies” -- at the beach every morning where the vastness of the shoreline can make even these behemoths seem average-sized. But, indoors, they can make your 2,000 square foot house seem like nothing more than a large efficiency in a flash. They fill the space, as they say.

This weekend, Lily and I became dog sitters for the ponies as both Brian and Jan had to be in Chicago for a funeral for Jan’s mom. When Brian asked me if we would take in the big galoots, I didn’t hesitate. I knew they got along famously with Mojo, and I knew this would help out Brian and Jan. The plan was for Bosco and Mabel to stay at their home with me coming over to feed them, walk them, and take them to the beach in the mornings. For a day that worked. While Lily joined me in our early morning beach outing, and was a huge help, I still felt like it would have been helpful to have a third eye and, perhaps, a third arm. Bosco has a tendency to want to explore the rear regions of the deep beach, while Mabel actively seeks out both other dogs and the stray passer-by against whom she does her famous lean which can bowl you over if you don’t pay attention. All the while, Mojo is doing his frenetic “dance in the shallows” looking for minnows, or alternately, leaving tennis balls all over the place which he has passionately chased, but not so passionately returned. And, one of them is surely pooping somewhere during all this, and not always where it’s most convenient. Shepherding these three brutes to more or less head in the same direction is like the proverbial herding of cats. Very big cats. When you finally get them on leashes to get them home, the odds of your getting twisted into a pretzel are of a sort that even Vegas smiles on. So -- this is more than a one-person job, at least for me it is. But, day one, went swimmingly. A good time was had by all.

Day two, however, large and very noisy thunderstorms altered the landscape in more ways than one. Mabel fears thunderstorms the way you and I fear not being able to breathe, so when storms arrive (or even when they’re still in the distance), the poor girl goes into manic mode, drooling, tail curled downward, all the while seeking a safe haven. This is what happened this morning. In an effort to ease her stress, I cajoled her and Bosco -- who is fine with all this climatic drama -- to come over to our house where at least Mabel would have the comfort of human company.

As I write this, this is still a work in progress. What I can say is that Bosco and Mabel follow me around the house in a way that makes me feel like I’m being trailed by two small continents, one on either side. Mojo darts in and around the continents with a toy in his mouth seeking a playmate, two-legged or four -- it doesn’t matter. I feel the need for space.

Sunshine could really help here.

Adieu, Mon Ami

I hope I’m not alone in this. Tell me you don’t have a favorite t-shirt somewhere, or maybe a fleece, or an old pair of jeans, that has outlived its expiration date by, let’s say, 15 years. You know what I’m talking about. Clothing that’s so old it not only looks weathered, but it knows your history; it knows your secrets. It is almost holy in its rankings among your belongings. You put these garments in the laundry and you dearly hope they survive the spin cycle. Why you keep them is obvious. They feel great. They conform to your body in a way that reflects that they are practically human. They know you, right? So what if they are a bit torn, a bit weathered, a tad faded. They are your friends. They understand.

So, when it comes to parting with them you feel a sense of loss that is wholly out of touch with reality; totally out of line with “normal” expectations. They have become a part of you, and tossing them away is akin to tossing away a loved one, sort of. They deserve a fitting burial, no?

This tragic moment happened to me this weekend when I ever-so-reluctantly parted with a t-shirt I loved. It was one I picked up in New Zealand 14 years ago when we were traveling there with Jesse and Alex. It was a muted peach in color -- or at least it became muted after its 4,000th washing in 2003. Over time it became beatifically soft as only a bit of clothing that lasts so long can become. On its back it touted A.J. Hackett Bungee Jumping, an outfit that was responsible for Jesse’s leap into thin air at the tender age of 13 off the Kuwara Bridge outside of Queenstown, New Zealand. A leap that launched an adventurous and -- some would say -- fearless attitude toward life that has suited him well over the past decade. Some would say too well, but that’s another story.

And so, when I realized that its threadbare leavings were not up to yet another spin cycle, I made the terrible judgment that its expiration date -- long overdue -- had actually arrived. Life support was no longer an option. The shirt was now semi-transparent and was deserving of a fitting adieu. I touched it with a sensitivity I likely had never before managed; the kind you would experience maybe with a loved one with whom it was time to say good-bye.

I will get over this, of course. But, don’t tell me there aren’t memories embedded in that t-shirt’s weave. Don’t tell me there isn’t something more important here than discarding your every day piece of trash. I won’t hear of it.

Treasure your old garments. They know you as few do.

Jailbreak

We reached the end of the wooden walkway that leads to the edge of the beach. I reached down and spoke softly to the patiently waiting Mojo. “Be careful out there” I whispered to him and then released the latch on his leash and sat back to watch his ecstasy. It was his first day unleashed since early April when he had knee surgery that would require more than three months of rehabilitation. From his ridiculous “Elizabethan” collar, to his underwater treadmill sessions, to his slow return to long walks, to his trots with me around Wild Dunes, his surgeon finally pronounced him ready to return to the scene of the crime, as it were. He was joined on that walkway by his long time compatriots, Bosco and Mabel, the great danes who live next door. Mabel, too, was excited to see her buddy again. In a flash, he was sprinting to the ocean, his home away from home.

If one can paint a picture of happiness, then this was a Rembrandt. Mojo flew to the water and began his eternal pursuit of minnows in the shallows. He fairly leaped vertically as he tried to pivot and intercept the elusive fish. His motions were akin to a frenetic, spastic dance to a music that has no rhythm, but which has a satanic beat. For a creature that has only two goals in his life -- to catch a squirrel and to catch a minnow -- this was serious, if joyous, business. I brought with me three tennis balls to keep him entertained, but they were wholly unnecessary. The minnows, or, more accurately, the promise of minnows was all he needed. Even his other compatriots, Lucy the boxer, Betsy the goldendoodle, Sandy, the miniature something, and other assorted labs were most surely a distraction, but they were only a diversion from the main event. Center stage was reserved for the ocean.

The fly in this ointment is the knowledge that Mojo will be facing more knee surgery in his near future, this time on his right leg. The surgeon told me it was not an “if” question, but a “when” question as to when the other shoe would drop, so to speak. Lily and I held our collective breath as we watched Mojo sprint to the ocean wondering if he’d pull up lame and face a maddeningly hasty return to being under house arrest. In a way, we were already preparing ourselves for this. But, this was of no interest to Mojo who cared only that he could dive through some waves, lie in the shallows, and chase those infernal minnows. Today all went well.

This is how you spell happiness.

"Will you still need me, will you still feed me......."

Back in the mid-60s when Paul McCartney wrote “When I’m 64,” I barely gave it a thought. It was a nice enough song, but one that definitely took a back seat to a host of other Beatles tunes and, for that matter, almost every other piece of music from that fabulous era. If I had given the thoughts behind this song even a nanosecond of my attention, I would have shrugged and concluded, “that’s for other folks.” And, of course, that would have been right…...in 1966. But, we’re not in 1966 anymore, are we? It’s 44 years later and now its lyrics and sentiments resonate a bit more personally than they did back then. Why? Because today I turn 64; that’s why.

Mostly, as we age, we become avid devotees of the “denial” approach to problem resolution as we still, despite all obvious indications, try to siphon off our latent fears that things are most certainly going downhill. What we hear is such tripe as, “60 is the new 40” and so on. Well, I hate to tell you, but 60 is still 60, and 64 is still 64, and until the human species can reliably extend life well into the hundreds, we are marching, unrelentingly, to our expiration dates.

Do I take solace that I can still run 6 miles or swim 60 laps? Of course. Do I try to tell myself that my parents were not remotely in the same shape I am for this age, and that bodes well for me? For sure. Am I convinced by all that? Sometimes… as when I indulge in one of my flights of denial and delude myself into thinking it so. Maybe it’s a pattern for baby boomers who have never taken well to notions that they are not special or cutting edge. We are immortal, no?

I do have to say that the image conjured up by Mr. McCartney of the person who is 64 is of someone who, in my own mind, is hopelessly infirm and tottering on helplessness. I know I don’t feel that way and look forward to many more adventures before I pack it in. But, I would be lying if I said that turning 64 isn’t a dour reminder of something I don’t want to confront. Am I drooling yet? No. Am I googling nursing homes? Hell no. But, there’s something so arbitrary about a number. Is 64 so wildly different than 63? Of course not. Damn you, Paul, for making me think it is.

Nap time anyone?