I always thought that the next time I would go to a wedding would be mine or one of my children’s, but Sharon Marie had other plans. She called me one afternoon in late May sounding a bit downheartedly excited.
“Linda Jean. We’re going to Yosemite.”
“Okay” I said “that sounds like fun. After all I had lived in California for 14 years and had yet to go to Yosemite. Now that I am an Oregonian it seems like the right thing to do. Why are we going?”
“My friends Steve and Kathy are getting married and I am officiating.”
“Oh cool. I’ve never been to one of your weddings. When are we going?”
“August.”
“Can’t they get married in June when it’s not quite as hot?”
“Oh it gets better darling. I went out and bought a nice conservative black suit for marrying and burying and she wants me to dress like Pocahontas. Where do I buy a Pocahontas suit?”
“I don’t know Sharon Marie, but I shudder to think of how many Bambi’s would have to sacrifice their lives to make two tent sized deerskin caftans.”
Over the next few days, I searched the net for every place that could possibly carry buckskin dresses in sizes hippo and rhino when Sharon Marie called.
“Linda Jean, put away the rifle. We get to trade in our moccasins for sandals. She’s decided to go Hawaiian.”
“Oh goodie. I’ve never been to Hawaii.”
“We’re not going to Hawaii.
“But you just said we were.”
“No, what I said was the bride was going Hawaiian. Luckily the bride came to her senses before the execution of those 23 deer per tent outfits and went with a Hawaiian theme instead. I already had a muumuu and they said they’d provide the lei. I told them I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Oh but I am!”
“Linda Jean!”
“Okay, Okay I’ll make up the t-shirts that say “I got Lei’d in Yosemite.”
Making my list and checking it twice, I packed up my trusty steed with the appropriate accoutrements I deemed necessary for the trip at hand. Camp-stove; mess kits; sleeping bags; my electric coffee pot, and an oversized cooler filled to the brim with absolute necessities. Half and half; whipped cream; various assortments of cheese, and wine coolers. We would buy the inconsequentials like eggs, beans and hot dogs there.
After driving for 12 hours I arrived at destination number one; Sharon Marie’s house. Sharon Marie added her necessities to the truck like her muumuu’s, blow drier and curling iron and we were on our way. We stopped by Dick’s for our traditional Burnt Almond Cake (half for me and half for her) but alas, he was closed. With the front seat filled with the 4 basic food groups, Potato chips, cookies, pretzels and candy bars, and Mickey Dolenz blasting through the speakers and our in-sync voices (at least with each other) drowning him out, we were on our way down Highway 680. “Hey, hey we’re the monkees.” Looking back on the occasion no truer words were ever spoken.
Look out Yosemite. Here we come. You have been forewarned.
Arriving in Yosemite, We located family camp and spent the next three hours unloading our gear. We had been assigned our own three sided room, the fourth being a vinyl curtain in place of a door. It was then and only then that we discovered that one of our walls was shared by the bridal lean-to. I knew I would be a guest at a wedding of strangers; I wasn’t so sure I wanted to be included in the wedding night.
We set up our site with the chairs we had brought, along with tablecloths, dinnerware and a floral arrangement for the table. Certainly we’d make the centerfold of the next issue of Good Campsite Keeping. Eat your heart out Martha Stewart.
The bride could make jello nervous. Give her the ice and the tequila and voila margaritas! Who needs a blender with Kathy around? All through the ceremony the groom held her a little tighter to keep her from shaking into oblivion. I just know that everyone in the back row could hear her knees knocking. But, we all got her through it and once the vows were done she was fine as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
After the wedding and pot luck reception we all went back to our lean to’s. Sharon and I gladly accepted the bride and grooms offer of the extra lounge chairs they brought and we enjoyed the rest of the evening breathing in the fresh California air and listening to the aria of crickets, frogs and owls. It had been ages since either of us had toasted marshmallows so we indulged to our hearts content. We stopped mid mallow when the dumpster that was about 100 yards from where we were seemed to come alive.
“What was that?”
From the area of the bridal tent instead of amorous words of love we heard “It’s a bear.”
Did I tell you that my very best friend Sharon Marie, Mother V, or old lady, however you would like to refer to her, is blind? Well let me tell you that I have never seen a blind woman move so fast in all my life. I’m not even sure if her feet touched the ground, I know mine didn’t as I pushed her out of the way trying to get into the tent and out of the line of bear smorgasbord that we all were.
It was only after we were safe inside did either of us realize that although we were tucked deeply inside our sleeping bags all that was keeping us from being Yogi’s midnight snack was a layer of vinyl. Again we did the Keystone Cop ballet of bumping into each other fighting to see who could build the barrier faster. Once done however we breathed a little easier knowing that the plastic foldable lounge chairs would definitely keep Smokey and his cohorts out.
It seemed only a short while after we finally fell asleep that I heard a loud whisper. “Linda Jean?”
Surely I was dreaming?
“Linda Jean. Are you awake?”
“Sharon Marie, do you know what time it is? It’s four in the morning.”
She punched her talking watch and repeated the detestable male robotic voice, “Twelve after.”
“Oh well that makes a difference then.”
“Linda Jean, I have to go potty.”
“Well can’t you pee in a cup?”
“Linda Jean I am not spending the honeymoon night peeing in a cup!”
Come to think of it I had to go too. “Alright. If you have to.”
We both put our shoes and jackets on and each picked up some type of weapon to ward off the Smokey’s of the neighborhoods. Sharon picked up her purse which weighed about as much as most peoples carry on luggage. I had no clue how she could lift that thing let alone swing it as a weapon but then she didn’t know how much good my can of whipped cream was going to do either.
In the dark, we turned and faced what we hoped to be the exit of the tent. Arm and arm we began our quest for the outhouse. After knocking the wind out of each other as we so gracefully fell across the lounge chair bear repellent, we laughed til…Well let’s just say that neither of us had any more need to use the privy.
By the end of our four night stay, we were entirely ready for our photo shoot for the “Don’t Let This Happen to You” issue of the American Association of Chiropractic care. We bid the newly weds farewell and shortened our stay considerably.
On the road again.
