Robert (gurdonark) wrote,
Robert
gurdonark

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step back in time, step forward in time

I write this post on my parents' computer on what must be one of the slowest connections to the internet since 2400 bauds. Yesterday I finally got two hours of sleep, then did two important meetings, and then hit the road to Arkansas. My parents live in the 14,000 person town of Camden. The postman who lobbied to get the words "In God We Trust" placed on the coins lived in Camden. I could not describe the town better than in that sentence.

A family friend allowed our family to use his gorgeous ante-bellum home for my sister's wedding. Her fiance's family, from Oklahoma, is into horses, so the wedding was an informal wedding with western attire encouraged. I don't have a bolo or ostrich skin boots, so I worried about being misplaced, but fortunately,
"western attire" did not receive any of its more outre interpretations among the guests.

The wedding was attended only by family and a very few friends. The living room of the home had a large "square grand piano" (I/'d never seen such a curious thing before), upon which were placed a Bible (open to the 23rd Psalm--"the Lord is My Shepherd"), huge pots of green caladium leaves, five candles gently burning,
and some antique roses. The bride wore a simple white tea dress; the groom and his father wore jeans and matching western shirts. The minister wore a curious suit that was neither quite a Sunday go to meeting suit nor westernwear.
He was a handsome, earnest fellow. Although I am in the main hormonally impaired to assess male beauty, I do believe that if he hadn't been called to charismatic ministry, he might have carved out a career for himself in charismatic sin.

The wedding was simple and beautiful. No music, no homily about how it is better to marry than to burn, and no trains of people walking about in clothes they buy for just one use. I wish I could say the wedding clean-up was also simple,
but life is not quite *that* romantic.

After the wedding, my brother's fourteen year old son filled me in on all the latest adventures in his Dungeons and Dragons role playing game. I have a strong nodding acquaintance with the game,though I've not played in years,
so I appreciatively joined in with observations in response to his lectures about the differences between dragons with high hit point counts and transmogrified worms with the same hit point counts, the problems of trying to defend yourself by torching a forest when one of the pilgrims in your party is a druid mage (curiously, I run into similar problems sometimes in real life),and what happened to the pixie-thief in their party. The juxtaposition, sitting in a colonial home amid period antiques
listening to somewhat post-modern role playing fantasy game tales was almost lost on me, as I was lost in the moment
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