Jump the Broom

We tried to go to a wedding today. The sister of one of Kathy’s co-workers was getting married, and we were invited. So we got all dressed up and drove downtown to the African American Baptist church where the ceremony was to be held, arriving at ten minutes to two, just before the festivities were scheduled to get underway.

There were no pews, but rather row upon row of plush, cushioned individual chairs. Kathy picked out a seat in the back row and we parked ourselves to watch everyone walk in. The rows started to fill, and one older lady sat down in front of me. I was surprised because everyone else was going up front where they would be able to see all the action. It got to be 2:20 or so, and no one else we knew had arrived, so I struck up a conversation with her.

Her name was Mrs. Jeffrey. I learned a little bit about her, as it was apparent that the wedding party was no where near being ready, and we had lots of time to talk. She had had a stroke a year ago and had been paralyzed on her right side, but had recovered very well. It was amazing how well she looked after all that,though she tires easily and that was why she had plopped down in the back with us. She and her husband had celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary last fall. He had just retired after forty years with UPS. Her mother-in-law had had Alzheimer’s for ten years and died last year. It was Mrs. Jeffery who largely cared for her at home all that time. A brother and sister of hers died in the past year, too. Her son, in his fifties, has cancer, and a second surgery is looming. She blames her stroke on the fact that she is always taking care of someone else, and that she needed to slow down. Did it work? It seemed to me that she was starting to pick up steam again, and she described how she was cooking meals and going around town doing for others once again.

Oh. The wedding. Well, you see, there was some sort of delay. The production didn’t get underway until we had been there for an hour and a half. We practically memorized the program and couldn’t believe what we saw listed in that little booklet. There were no fewer than twenty groomsmen and bridesmaids, plus four flower girls, the miniature bride and groom, a ring bearer, and two “bell ringers”. The boy and girl who were handling the bells walked down the aisle and self consciously repeated the phrase, “The bride is coming…the bride is coming…” It took the whole assembly twenty minutes just to come down the aisle and get into place. Mrs. Jeffrey and I guessed that the bride and groom couldn’t bear to deny anyone the honor of being in the bridal party.

Kathy had formulated a plan. When everyone’s attention was focused on the bride going down the aisle, we would make our escape. We couldn’t stay for the ceremony, since we were scheduled somewhere else for dinner. They finally started the wedding, but it was at the time when we thought we would be leaving the church, not just getting started.

We slipped out the back and drove off, having done our social duty, but feeling deprived of a wonderful, joyful event. Funny, but Mrs. Jeffrey was right on our heels. They had just worn her out with the waiting. We’ll get the inside story on the wedding party’s dawdling once Kathy returns to work on Monday.