I’m a sucker for the odd  and different–and this ukelele band certainly qualifies.  The guy on the end in the red shirt and sunglasses is a friend of my baby brother, which is how I found this.  Nothing very deep here, just enjoy.

I always wanted my name in lights. This may be as good as it gets.

Back to Kaiser this morning, the coughing still continues.  When Gail tells me I sound bad and should go to the doctor, I must be really sick, she’s not the most sympathetic of people when it comes to being ill.

They’re adding on at Kaiser, or remodeling, or something, and the front parking lot is closed.  There were SEVEN guys in hard hat and orange vests standing around holding “Slow” signs and point traffic in, well, the same direction as usual.  No wonder construction costs so much.

Check in at a computer terminal, pay the $25 to the machine.  Should be a good, quick system that uses less labor.  Except it doesn’t tell me where to go from there, so I have to stand in line and talk to the clerk anyway.  I guess they’ll get the kinks worked out sooner or later.

The nurse takes me in, takes my blood pressure and temp and weight and asks me, as always, how tall I am.  As if it has changed in the last 40 years.  So I tell her, as I always do, that I’m 6′ 4″.  That’s how tall I think I am, or should be, and every day I wake up thinking this is the day I start that last growth spurt.  I already have the weight, just need another 6 inches in the legs.

The nurse dutifully writes down 6 foor 4, and I go in to see the doctor.  They either have no eyes, or no imagination, or just don’t care.  I’ll never figure out why they ask that silly question, and I’ll never give them a straight answer.

Since this is an urgent care appointment, I get whatever doctor is on rotation today.  Turns out to be Doctor Shen, who looks and talks and acts just like Ching Chao.  I thought he was going to give me a bridge hand to bid, but he didn’t.  Just listened and poked and prodded and thumped, then told me I had a cold.  Gee, that must be some good med school he went to.

Not just any cold, but a viral cold, so antibiotics won’t do a thing.  The bottom line: I won’t die, will get better eventually, won’t have much fun in the process.  Keep warm, get lots of rest and drink lots of fluids.

Patty Perry told me the same things in an email yesterday morning–I should have listened to her and saved the $25.

Not that I plan much rest.  We had some people over this evening planning the annual gala for the Ruth Bancroft Garden.  It will be pretty splendid this year, maybe I can persuade some of you to go with us.  Tomorrow we’re off to Santa Cruz to play cards with cousin Mary and her husband John.  Then dinner and a movie with them, and Gail’s sister and brother-in-law.  Can’t take a chance that somebody is having fun and we aren’t there.

Mr. & Mrs. Harrington

UPDATE:  All the photos I took are now online here.  You are more than welcome to view, copy, download and print anything you like.

We’re home.  Tired and broke, but home.  We took an earlier flight than planned so we could have a few people over this afternoon, but that isn’t what I want to talk about.

Saturday we went to the wedding of Becky Rice, executive director of the Ruth Bancroft Garden, and John Harrington.  It was a splendid affair, in the classic Southern style, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

The wedding was held in the Rice family back yard–which isn’t like yours or mine, but rather 6 acres of magnificently planned gardens.  Becky comes by her talent and career naturally–her father and mother have a stunning home and gardens in the Georgia countryside.

The weather was perfect–a few clouds, two claps of thunder but no rain, warm but not hot or muggy.

Six bridesmaids in individually designed dresses made of the same material.  One of them 8 1/2 months pregnant, and her 2 year old was the ring bearer.  The service was officiated by the brides great-uncle.  We were offered lemonade, water or sweet tea, served in Mason jars, before we sat down, and each seat had a palm frond fan in the event of heat.  A string quartet played the increasingly standard Pachelbel’s Canon in D and the mood was set perfectly.

The Baptist Church weighs heavily in Georgia, and this was no exception.  There were no less than 4 “let us pray” moments in the quiet and serious ceremony.  The Bride and Groom wrote their own vows, which one couldn’t really hear, but I know them enough to believe their love and devotion to each other.

After a beautiful kiss and exit processional, the party really started.  A very large tent had been erected on the south lawn.  Waiters and waitresses carried appetizers, drinks were served, an 18 piece orchestra played and the celebrating just kept happening.

I like the formality of the South, and the respect given to elders.  Becky’s father is known to her friends as Mr. Paul, and her mother is Miz Peggy.  John calls his new father in law “sir”.  Grandmother is Meemaw, or Miss Clarice.  There are people who call their parents by their first names, but not in Georgia.

Dinner was served, and I thought I was in another country.  Fried chicken, of course.  Tomato pudding, which I had never heard of.  A squash dish I can neither describe not define.  Ham and pecans.  String beans.  Biscuits. Corn Muffins. Virtually nothing you would find on a wedding buffet in California, and all delicious.  Besides the wedding cake, there were 15 Bundt cakes.  Why?  I don’t know, it’s the south.

Mr. Paul offered a wonderful, tear-stained toast to his daughter and son-in-law, then put on his Larry the Cable Guy hatand said we “Got her done!”  Becky and her matron of honor gave a Georgia Bulldogs cheer–they are both double-dogs, having bachelors and masters degrees from Georgia.  The many Californians present (six of us from the Garden alone) made their presence known.  John led a “Southern California” cheer.

Bride and Groom danced.  Bride and Dad danced.  Groom and his mom danced.  Then we all danced.  Anytime I can get Gail on the dance floor is a good day, and this was a very good day.

The photographers took too many photos, Becky and John were missing their own party.  Miz Peggy made cases and cases of jams and jellies and hot sauce and preserves to give out as party favors.  Mr. Paul has the most fantastic workshop/barn I have ever seen, decorated with hundreds of signs and license plates.  The table with wedding gifts was overflowing.  I was getting tired.

So, eventually, we kissed our way out the door and wandered up the road to our hotel.  As one does, I envied the newlyweds their youth and future and passion.

Mr. & Mrs. Harrington

Becky dancing with Mr. Paul

Mr. Paul and Becky coming up the aisle

This needs no caption

I can’t resist babies, so here’s a cute one

First dance for the married couple.