A Casual Wedding

A Casual Wedding

By Noel Laflin

10-21-12

Photo by Rachelle Waite Christian

   “By the authority granted to me by the great state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

   And just like that, as the sun silently slipped behind Mt. Charleston, Peg and Jeff Vaughn kissed once more before turning to face the adoring, applauding back yard congregants.

   The final decree had been delivered flawlessly.  The recently minted Right Reverend Laflin had not screwed up.  And as his ministerial duties had now been formally fulfilled, the man with the Indian Head Nickel bolo tie suddenly found himself in need of a drink.

   Now, I had never planned on joining the ministry, especially at this stage in my life; but Jeff forced my hand when he asked me publically on Facebook one fine April day whether I would marry Peg and him.  Just as some are called upon by the Lord to do his bidding and take the cloth – well, I was called out by Jeff Vaughn, on his FB page no less, and dug out the old bolo tie.

   Thus, for twenty-seven dollars and ninety five cents – plus another seven dollars and ninety-five cents to cover shipping – I soon had my official (suitable for framing) certificate from the Universal Life Church (ULC) granting me the authority to perform weddings, hand holdings, funerals, etc.  The church does counsel against the performing of circumcisions, however – wise advice, no doubt.

   Needless to say, I got my money’s worth as there were several other additional nifty items that came with the suitable for framing certificate, such as a ULC bumper sticker, press pass, wallet identification card, ULC clergy parking pass, etc.  Wow, what a deal. 

   Now, I’ve had something official to do with a number of weddings over my lifetime. I have been a groom (twice), a best man, a guest speaker and an assistant flower coordinator.  However, making the official pronouncement and tending to the legal ramifications was new to me.  So, with two months by which to prepare, I got cracking with the nitty-gritty details.  

   It seems Nevada allows any minister to perform wedding ceremonies within their boundaries just fine.  But if you are credentialed in another state, as was the very recent case for me, I had to fill out an application (which I downloaded and printed out from the Clark County website), as well as submit an affidavit from my church that I was a member in good standing.  Well, hell, I’d only been a “brother of the monastery” for less than a week, how was I to accomplish this? 

   Turns out, that for a mere twenty-seven dollars and ninety-five cents, plus seven dollars and ninety-five cents to cover shipping (I was rapidly getting used to these familiar figures), the ULC would send me the appropriate documents to submit to Clark County, Nevada.   They arrived within the week – I found a notary down the street to witness the signing of the application – and presto, everything was mailed off to the county clerk.  Five days later an official packet arrived from Nevada containing the marriage certificate form, a simple page of instructions pertaining to the filling out and returning of said form and a letter saying that I was good to go for the performing of a wedding for Peg Lyman and Jeff Vaughn on or around June 23, 2012.  Yee-ha – Brother Noel was legally recognized by the Silver State!

   We all met up prior to the wedding of course to review everything.  Input from the bride and groom were important to this first time novice.  It proved invaluable.  They both told me to do whatever I wanted. They were sure that I would come up with something swell. On that helpful note we all went out to dinner, dirty martinis and gambling.  It was like old times with Jeff once more.

   So, I was pretty much on my own when it came to figuring out a ceremony.  The ULC web site had wedding planning guides for sale naturally.  I think they all went for twenty-seven dollars and ninety-five cents, plus shipping.  I went to Amazon instead and got a great deal on a book that looked promising.  It turned out to be a life saver.

   As the appointed day drew closer, I had a plan in place.  It was going to be a secular/civil ceremony – but would cover all the bases.  I got the whole thing typed out and began to rehearse my lines.  I timed myself in front of mirror ad nausea and was finally satisfied that the entire affair would take no more than twelve to thirteen minutes from start to finish.  Jeff and Peg indicated that they wanted something short and sweet – Jeff especially.  Peg was particularly happy that I was leaving out any antiquated references to wifely obedience.  Both seemed please with the Apache Blessing I planned to use.  We were ready to rock and roll.

    Of the many memorable images taken away from Peg and Jeff’s wedding, the most enjoyable for me was the casual atmosphere that permeated that day.  Jeff, with a bad-ass stogie firmly clenched between his teeth, bellowed at folks to, “Close the goddamn door!” each time they entered or left the house – so as to conserve the air conditioning within.  Little good this did as that door must have swung open and closed a hundred times as people ran in and out with armloads of flowers, food or decorations for the dinner tables scattered across the lawn. 

   Plastic chairs were also laid out in rows facing an overturned whiskey barrel.  Atop the barrel was a simple but radiant bouquet of sunflowers.  It was Jeff’s homemade alter.  Someone had tied a ribbon around the bulging wooden center.  Behind this stood a white arch decked out in flowers and lights.  Everything was plainly beautiful in its simplicity. 

   Jeff’s cousins had hauled in the biggest Bar-B-Q on wheels I’d ever seen – it was currently filled with hot, succulent skewered chickens and slabs of beef.  Folks brought homemade side dishes of every description.  As it was still near a hundred degrees even as we approached the seven-thirty start time, water misters placed about the lawn and patio cooled the air beautifully.

   People scurried about the house seeing to last minute details.  Several ladies were attending to the final touches of the wedding cake.  Other folks loitered outside of bathroom and bedroom doors waiting their turn to change clothes.  Room was made for me at the crowded dining room table so that I could fill out the needed paperwork and secure a signature from Rick, the Best Man, who was called upon to be our witness.  Rachelle, Peg’s niece and official photographer for the event was snapping informal photos of the wonderful chaos.  She was also helping one of her four sons locate his lost iPod.  Some folks were pleading with Jeff to ditch the cigar, tee shirt and shorts and to please get dressed for the main event. He eventually lumbered off to his bedroom to change and freshen up.   As the time was rapidly drawing near to start the ceremony, I finally went outside to scope out the altar and arch.  I introduced myself to folks I did not know and took a few photos of some of the wonderful chaos that attends most weddings.

   And, what I think I liked most of all was the multitude of children present.  Peg’s extended family, in particular, made certain that there were kids aplenty.  Magically, they behaved as we adults attended to our twelve minutes of solemnity.  Afterward, they were just kids again having a great time - mugging for the camera - dancing like pixies upon the grass – antsy for the cake to be served.  The presence of the children, in my mind, sanctified the day in many respects.

   Finally, Jeff appeared, joining the Best Man, the Maid of Honor and I – all of us crammed close to the overturned whiskey barrel - now turned alter.  Peg suddenly stepped out of the back door and entwined arms with her son.  The crowd rose as they made their way down the grassy aisle.  Peg was radiant.

     Well, as I already mentioned, the brief ceremony went off without a hitch.  As we were running just a little behind schedule I found that I had to put on my reading glasses near the close as the sunlight was all but gone.  I did not want to botch the final lines of my script.  And, miraculously, I didn’t.

   Prior to the official toast to the bride and groom, there were many wonderful tributes to both Jeff and Peg.  There was nary a dry eye in the place, especially when Peg’s son spoke so passionately about his mother’s life or when Peg’s daughter wrapped her arms around Jeff and proclaimed that she had a new dad.  Following this, the torches were lit and the food lines formed.  There were drinks aplenty as well.

   Near the end of the evening, as the weather cooled and the stars blazed overhead, I had a moment to speak with Jeff privately.  I finally asked him why he had chosen me for my role.

   “Our old friend, Ed Cook,” Jeff began - first pulling a nasty looking stogie away from the corner of his mouth and taking a sip of his very dirty martini - “told me how well you spoke at Jerry Bird’s funeral some years ago.”  I had indeed given the eulogy for our mutual late friend, Jerry.

   “Well,” Jeff continued, “I figured if you could do that well for Jerry, then you could say the right things here for me and Peg today.  You did great.”  With that he put the old stogie back in his mouth and wandered off to slap a few backs and swap some tall tales with his cousins.  They began to reminisce about the time they had poured oil on a red hot frying pan and nearly burned down a patio.

   I casually slipped away in search of another drink as well as the signed paperwork buried under the wedding gifts and food containers piled high atop the old dining room table.  My work was done here.  It seems the good Lord and Jeff both work in mysterious ways.

 

 

Sunday School

CHOICES
Noel Laflin
10-17-12

If I had only known that there was singing, not to mention the telling of some really tall tales in Sunday School, I never would have given my dad such a hard time about dragging me there in the first place.

As I recall, my father had just explained to me that I was finally old enough to attend class.  We had left the church itself and were walking toward the row of rooms rapidly filling with children.

Well, I told my dad that I was having nothing to do with this idea of his and that I wanted to go find mom.   That is when he stopped in his tracks, took me by the hand and led me to the back of the church – out of view of everyone else.

“Noel, you have two choices,” my father began.  “Either you will go to Mrs. Schooler’s Sunday School class OR (there was a significant pause at this point) I can spank you and THEN you will go to Mrs. Schooler’s Sunday school class.  Now, which will it be?  And remember, you do have a choice,” my father concluded.

Looking back on it, this is probably the first memory I have of old Grace Lutheran Church – the back of it, that is.  Additionally, and more importantly, it is my first clear memory of choosing wisely.  I opted for choice number one.  My father told me it was a wise decision.

I recall being led by the hand, albeit with both heels firmly in place, back to where we started from and proceeded on to my rendezvous with religion.

But, once delivered to the old classroom and deposited into the warm motherly bosom of Evelyn Schooler, embarrassment caused my tears to quickly dry as she introduced me to the other five-year-olds.  She scored more points once the cookies and punch were also passed about.  Somewhere along the line my father made a silent getaway, leaving me in the care of this intriguing stranger with the angelic voice and warm embrace.

The unknown was always a little scary for me back then.  Separation anxiety was also my downfall no doubt.  However, once the singing of “This Little Light of Mine” got under way – well, I was a changed boy.  And, just when I thought we should continue the song a third time, along with the hand motions of guarding our light  – well, then it was time for some fantastic stories about naked people in a garden, talking snakes, shepherd boys, giants, slingshots, muscle men who should never have gotten a haircut and this really nice guy named Jesus. 

Once we got to the part about Jesus – well, that called for another new song (with more hand movements) about some little man named Zacchaeus.  Now, for those of you who weren’t in Mrs. Schooler’s Sunday school class– let me tell you what happens next!  You see, this guy, Zacchaeus, had a really dreadful job – he was a tax collector.  And, even though the entire town hated him because of the annual shake-down, he’s the one Jesus chose to have dinner with the day he came to Jericho.  It just goes to show that some jobs eventually work out despite all the bad press. 

Well, I kind of got ahead of myself with the telling of this tale – giving away the ending and all – but, because Zacchaeus was a “wee little man and a wee little man was he” (I loved the clarification of just how wee he was) he decided to climb a sycamore tree in order to catch a better glimpse of Jesus.  That’s when Jesus spotted him in the tree and told him to come on down “Because I’m going to your house today – I’m going to your house today!” There’s that repetition thing again. But, oh, what fun!  Even five-year-olds understood the irony of the situation – and we took great glee in the fact that the hated wee little man scored with the boss.  And so, under the wonderful tutelage of Mrs. Schooler, we sang our hearts out once more pantomiming short people, tree climbing, finger shaking (on the part of Jesus) and scrambling off to prepare dinner, or something to that effect.

By the time my father came back to collect me at the end of the hour – I did not want to leave.  But, Mrs. Schooler assured me that she would be there next week and the week after and the week after that even – just in case I wanted to come back.  The choice was mine.