Wedding Weekend Activities

I think I’ve had perhaps 8 hours of sleep total over the last three nights.  I’m getting desperately tired, everyone.  Being tired simplifies my job significantly, though.  I’ve gone from the Sweetheart, Will-Do-Anything-For-You HR Manager to the Total Bi*ch HR Manager, which means less people come and bug me about pointless stuff, and if they do I’m rude to them until they leave.  I’m thinking of buying a Harley and getting a tattoo on my forearm that says MURDER in big block letters. . . rolling a pack of ciggies in my left sleeve – or wearing a wife beater – which seems tougher to you?  Vote in the comments.

The Wort Hotel

After the rehearsal in the park, we all walked together to the Wort Hotel, which is in a lovely historic building in downtown Jackson.  The lobby had the stuffed heads of an elk, a moose, and a buffalo, and I was sorely tempted to hoist Jack up on the buffalo one and snap a picture, as that was our big joke of the trip.  (*ahem* Patrick: We’re going to Yellowstone, where we plan on getting a picture of Jack riding on a buffalo. Gillian: Or, even better, we could put his head in the buffalo’s mouth – that would be a great picture. Audience: Yukkity yuk yuk.)  But the poor thing was way high up on the wall, and looked pretty scratchy and rough, so I spared my child the discomfort and my husband the embarrassment.

We ate a wonderful meal of chicken-or-portabella mushroom, and Jack behaved admirably – he spent most of the evening gazing quietly and contentedly at the light fixtures.  The bride and groom gave short speeches of glowing thanks for all of us making the trip out for their special day, and then I, for one, hauled myself to bed.  Patrick and the rest of the crowd went out and stayed up way late and had a wonderful time smoking cigars, drinking whiskeys, and maligning the groom.  And then Patrick foolishly returned to bed at 3:45 am and expected to get some sleep, perhaps sleep in?  Ahahaha, silly silly man.  Jack saw to it that Daddy and Momma were up at 6 as usual, and as Patrick tried valiantly to sleep through the crying, he kept shouting “It’s Fathers Day!  It’s Father’s Day!  I’m supposed to get to sleep in on Father’s Day!  Auuuugh!”  We coffeed up and had a bagel, and Patrick looked at me bleary eyed, opened his mouth to complain about not getting any sleep, perceived that I would have no pity on his piddly little one-night-without-sleep nonsense (hell-O, 58 nights in a row of no sleep here, nice to meetcha), and wisely said “I don’t know how you do it, dear.”  And that, my friends, is the secret to our thriving marriage.

Taggart Lake

Well, it was still another glorious day in Jackson Hole Wyoming, and sleep or no sleep we were not going to miss our chance to see Grand Teton National Park.  We got the scoop on a moderate hiking trail at the base of the Tetons, loaded up the PT Cruiser and drove half an hour there – first through wide green fields carpeted with tiny yellow flowers and grazing horses, and then eventually forests of evergreens, quaking aspens, and safari-outfit-donned tourists.  (Really, it’s ridiculous how many safari outfits I saw on this trip.)   Were it practical (and if it did not require moving myself to an elevation where I would slog through snow for 8 months out of the year), I would fill my front yard with quaking aspens.  A graceful and elegant tree, is the aspen, and my favorite of all.

The Taggart Lake hike was indeed fairly moderate, and only 3 miles round trip, so Patrick hoisted the baby up in the sling and we were on our way.  Every single person who passed us commented on the baby – either to say that we were brave, or the super coolest parents on the block.  I vote for both, though taking a baby on essentially a 3 mile short walk doesn’t require much courage (taking him on a plane – a different story.)  Taggart was a lovely lake, and it was nice to get my formerly pregnant legs pumping again, and after wolfing down a couple of Snickers Energy Bars purchased at the Moose Junction General Store (they were de-lish), we headed to our fancy pants room at the Spring Creek Ranch to check in.  Our room afforded spectacular views of the valley, and also sported a fireplace (of which we made good use!), and we cleaned up ourselves and the punkin’ and then headed over to the little town of Wilson for a pre-wedding picnic.

Wilson

I saw little of wee Wilson but Owen Burcher park, which is where the bride and groom (let’s call them by their names from now on, shall we?  That would be Dan and Liz) held a picnic for all attendees.  It was a lovely picnic, incorporating the following elements essential to a successful day at the park – hot dogs, hamburgers, veggie burgers; bocce ball, horseshoes, and a volleyball; a couple of dogs, a couple of Frisbees, a couple of grazing horses over the fence; beer, beer, and some more beer.  I had to hold the baby for most of the picnic, which limited my ability to do much more than, well, hold the baby – I still had a great time.  Patrick knew a lot of the attendees, but I did not, so I made enough small talk so as not to be thought a rude Mr.-Darcy type character, and then walked Jack around and showed him the horse, and the fence, and the tree, and the leaf, and various other things fairly new to his 7 week old eyes.  I sat on the swingset with him and chatted with a girlfriend about her upcoming wedding, ate a hot dog one-handed (I am getting so good at performing activities with one hand), cheered for Patrick in his bocce game, and, in a memorable moment at the end of the picnic, attempted to toss a horseshoe gently towards its goal and ended up throwing it straight up, nearly onto my own head, and losing it in the bushes on the other side of the fence.  At which point I silently reclaimed the baby from Patrick’s incredulous arms and hid in the car until it was time to go home.

That evening, we had a pair of friends over to our room for a quiet night in front of the fire.  We drank wine out of plastic hotel cups and ate Nutri Grain bars (the only snack we had to offer), and at one point a moose right outside the back patio caught our attention.  She ambled gracelessly along the path, ripping the odd branch off the odd aspen tree along the way, as we stared openmouthed.  We all went to bed early, and Patrick and I slept as best we could, knowing the next day was the Big Day for two very dear friends of ours, and we wanted to be rested and feeling our best.