to pee and carolyn

A week ago my friends Pete the Poet and Carolyn "Blade" Thompson were married. A perfect, joyous wedding. The bride, brilliant and always unbelievably humble, wore glasses and Converse sneakers with a very, very glamourous gown. She was completely herself and completely beautiful. The groom, a soft-spoken genius, moved skillfully around the proceedings with real warmth and elegance. Their friend Watie officiated, and wove in a wonderful story about Fra Angelico, replete with diamond dust. All the guests participated in the proceedings with great love and vigor. I mean it, we whooped and cheered and wept and shook our moneymakers for all we were worth.

Shaking his diplomatic tail feather, above: our friend the Ambassador
Getting their backs up off the wall, below: Bruce, Brian, Pete, Tricia


During the toasts, the three-year-old son of the officiant and the matron of honor got up and walked right up to the toastmakers with his little camera, and snapped away. Like, right up to them, like right beneath them. And soon afterwards the mic was spontaneously handed to him.


There was a long pause, barely filled with some nearly inaudible murmurings of maternal and paternal encouragement.

And then this teeny voice distributed itself over the loudspeakers,

hi pee and carolyn...

pause

...'gratulations.

Fantastic.

Congratulations indeed, Pee and Carolyn. You'll go the whole route, I'm sure of it.

*The Gallivanting Monkey offers thanks to The Palace of the Spitting Frog for what she hopes is condoned piracy of the Spitting Frog's excellent photos!