A rush of love to the head

Trying to write the entire story of evilcat and povertyrich's wedding would be like stuffing an entire Christmas ham into your craw. Impossible. It was too rich, too lush, too lovely, too crazy and too indescribable. So here I'll commit the snapshots: the little vignettes that stick out in my mind.

Standing in Kamaria's house with inumerable girls--gorgeous, smart, strong women talking about makeup and hair and sex and life and love--giggling and singing and playing with the baby, eating toast with brewer's yeast and drinking gin and juice while we prettied ourselves for the main event. And then, evilcat's arrival. Snapping her up in her corset and crinoline, helping her through the dress and standing there, while Pohaku cried behind the lense of his camera, looking at such a breathtakingly beautiful bride. Then all of us jumping on a trampoline (and not a Mormon in sight?) in our wedding finery.

Processing through the woods to "Sympathy for the Devil" played on acoustic guitar and banjo by Chelsea and her girlfriend, emerging on the bank of the stream to see 200 people beaming down at us from the bridge and across the creek on folding metal chairs, holding their breath in anticipation of seeing the bride and groom. Seeing Po out in the creek, up to his knees with that massive camera. Catching Alissa's eye, and seeing Presley on her hip in his bow tie and suspenders. Watching the creek run past, hearing the vows and reading (without throwing up) what I'd written about these kids to all those eager faces.

Eating tacos on hay bales with friends I hadn't seen for years. Laughing and eating and drinking a compostable keg cup full of champagne until I was past the point of caring that I was on the verge of a wardrobe malfunction. Dancing in the dark to 80's hits and country songs I don't know, almost falling down on the uneven ground, and laughing and laughing.

Watching Zeb take mushrooms and setting off into the dark to find Rachel only to find a woman named Marigold who talked to me for half an hour about the strange twists life takes, until she brought me to a giant pot of hot soy chai, simmering under a tent. Leaving the chai to continue my quest, but being waylaid by Shoshanna by the fire. Staggering off into the night with a punched can lantern to the other field, where I finally found Rachel asleep in the motorhome.

Watching hombrelibre puke up Gatorade and breakfast burrito on the side of the road outside Junction City, taking the wheel and driving almost to Portland, then both of us napping in a rest stop when my eyes started to cross.