wedding

Kathleen Carries On Part 3 or The Wedding Crasher

One beautiful June afternoon, Mother found herself at loose ends. A bit miffed that everyone else had plans that didn’t include her she decided to take the high road and visit The American Rose Center. She strolled around for a while, thinking how cute she must look in her floppy garden hat with its silk roses, neat denim shorts and socks dyed to match her shirt.  She thought she must be about the cutest thing  around with no one there to see her.

Happily, she noticed a quaint little chapel with welcoming doors thrown wide open.  Lush roses bloomed on either side of the doors.  “Oh ! They’re having some kind of program.  How nice.”. She took a seat on the left front pew, hoping there would be good music.  After a while, the speaker wandered to the front.  In rapid succession, Well-dressed people started taking their seats.  As proud as she’d been of her outfit earlier, she started to feel a bit underdressed in her shorts and sneakers.  It finally occurred to her when the mother of the bride was escorted down the aisle by an usher.  The lady gave Mother a hard look as she was seated behind the interloper.  Mother scurried toward the back of the chapel as the organist began the Wedding March.  She tried to be invisible in the corner till the bridal party took their places at the altar

Mother said they were the most unfriendly family she’d ever seen!

Shoots Her Husband For Stepping On The Clean Floor…

A police officer jumps into his squad car and calls the station.

“I have an interesting case here,” he says. “A woman shot her husband for stepping on the floor she just mopped.”

“Have you arrested her?” asks the sergeant.

“No, not yet. The floor’s still wet.”
– Rose Mattix, Decatur, Illinois

Annie’s Gift

Upon noticing the festive music, floral embellishments in the yard and the parade of guests, we surmised there was a wedding in the works across the street. We were vaguely friendly with the Becketts, but often went weeks without having a real conversation, so we weren’t surprised not to have heard of their plans, nor would we have expected an invitation. I alerted the kids to steer clear of the revelry making a point to walk our dalmatian, Annie, in the opposite direction, so as not to interfere with the Beckett’s plans. Annie caught a whiff of the tantalizing aromas wafting from the Beckett’s back patio and realized how desperately she needed to check the situation out.  She enjoyed a close relationship with their dog, Scotty, and realized she’d being meaning to check on him.  Like us, the Becketts had children who were likely to leave doors open, enhancing their dog’s social life.  Annie and Scotty had enjoyed many adventures together.  Consequently, the dogs felt very comfortable “dropping in” whenever the opportunity arose.  We knew Scotty far better than we did his owners. Annie had no doubt her invitation to the Beckett’s shindig had gotten lost in the mail.  She pulled on her leash, anxiously to join the fun.

I dragged her home.  With nose pressed to the living room windows and her eyes glued to the front door, she barked, whined, and cried her heartbreak at being kept from the party.  She would have scratched through the front door if allowed.  With so many guests, Scotty ran wild and free, making a trip or two through our yard, looking for Annie., keeping her desperation at a peak.

Finally, one of the kids left the door open.  Annie was out like a shot, making a beeline for the party.  She got there just in time to bound joyously around family and friends queued up to shower the bride and groom with congratulations as they emerged from their nuptials, the bride resplendent in her lace, the groom tall and handsome.  It was a lovely sight.  Annie was so overcome, she squatted in their path and presented her gift, a huge poop.  She’d been shut in too long to be denied.

It Couldn’t Be Helped Part 3

Mother is sensitive about her height.  For some reason, people feel free asking her how tall she is.  She dodges the issue by returning with a question,  either, “How much do you weigh?”  or “How much money do you have?”  By the way, she is not tall.  Most of her grandchildren pass her up by the time they are ten or eleven.  I was with her on a recent visit to her doctor when the nurse asked her height.

Mother feloniously claimed five foot two inches.  Realizing she was getting nowhere, the nurse took her to measure.  She was busted.

Compounding the issue of her slight build, is her squeaky voice.  She sounds just like Minnie Mouse.  The minute a caller hears her voice, they say, “Oh, hello Mrs. Swain.”  She’d never be able to make crank calls.

Mother was at loose ends one Sunday in June after church so decided to visit The American Rose Center.  As it was already hot that day, she donned her comfortable clothes:  cut off blue jean shorts, (neatly hemmed, starched, and ironed since “her mama raised her right!”) pink gingham shirt, tennis shoes and pink socks that perfectly matched her shirt.  She topped her ensemble off with a big straw sun hat.  She knew she looked cute!

She strolled around for an hour or so, admiring the lovely roses, when she noticed a gathering at a small rustic building.  Thinking there was a “program” of some sort, she decided to check it and cool off for a bit.  Based on the attendance, the program promised to be a good one.  The music was beautiful.  She had to go all the way to the front row to get a seat.  It was a hot day, but she was surprised to see so many hats.  Somehow, she failed to notice the wedding party standing before the altar.

Just about the time she got settled, the organist started playing the “Wedding March.”  It dawned on her that she had crashed a wedding as the usher escorted the groom’s mother to her seat.   Panicked to realize she occupied the seat intended for the bride’s mother, she fled back down the aisle to the giggling of the wedding guests where she was forced to make her way around the mother of the bride on the arm of the usher.  I can only imagine the confusion of the bride as Mother excused herself on the way out.

That was the most unfriendly family she’d ever met.

 

Kathleen Holdaway and Bill Swain June 29, 1946 on the day of their marriage.

 

Not Quite the Proverbial Turd in the Punchbowl

Annie, our surly Dalmatian with gastrointestinal issues was not only a pooping housebreaker (see link below), she was a wedding crasher.  We knew the Craig’s across the street were hosting a wedding, so made a point to give Annie had plenty of time to spend in our yard to conduct business before their guests started arriving at one-thirty in the afternoon. In the interest of being good neighbors, we’d even made a last minute inspection of their yard before the guests arrived, just to make sure she hadn’t left an unwelcome “wedding gift.”

Alerting the family to keep her incarcerated, the whole family was on alert.  Annie was a lazy dog, normally content to sleep the afternoon away, snoring stertorously.  Apparently, the party traffic was disturbing.  She spent her afternoon whining at the back door, dancing with her legs crossed, claiming she had to pee.  We took her out on her leash a time or two, but she came up dry while attempting to escape to the party across the street.  All went well until a neighbor kid came bursting in our back door, releasing Annie just as the wedding party exited the house across the street.  Bowels urgently loaded, she streaked over to join the fun.  In all the excitement of tossing the bouquet, she escaped the crowd’s notice as she laid a prize-winning turd a few feet behind the gaggle of bridesmaids vying for the bouquet.  One of the more top-heavy ones slipped in her offering,  bringing the rest down like a bunch of bowling pins.  Annie scored a perfect strike!  I could have sworn I heard shouts of “Dog-S–T!” rising above that bevy of pastel Southern beauties.  I guess their mama’s didn’t raise them right!

 

Coming up next:  Annie is accused of murder.  Human skull found in our neighborhood and Annie found with detached arm!

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