Nuptials

At breakfast the day after the ceremony, cousin Erica promised a fivespot to anyone who could successfully predict the next cousin to get hitched. My money's on my dappled bay of a brother, of course, but by the time you factor in all the insidious twists of circumstance, will, ambition, and good old Toews-clan neurosis, it's any one's guess. If you want in, shoot me a name and a Lincoln.

The wedding was a Wedding, of the sort that everyone loves and no one can afford. The whole lumbering tribe appeared in full plumage, and amid the excitement of lavish dinners, open bars, a somber string trio, and a fleet of rambling groomsmen, we exchanged the sort of snippety life summaries that are the staple of large and infrequent family gatherings. Anna and Bill pulled off their roles as Main Attractions with characteristic panache, doing all the flitting and buzzing the occasion demanded, spreading Natural Radiance in smooth, even layers, like fertilizer on a new lawn. Their parents were cool under fire, speaking dexterously, mingling with deft formality, charming and warm and welcoming and composed. I didn't know anyone on Bill's side, though Catalina apparently recognized one of his friends as an old crony from the La Sociedad Latina at UVA. We waxed formally nostalgic about by-gone times and moved on with some relief.

Babies were apparently in season. Big ones, small ones, pretty ones, homely ones. I saw the cook eyeing Benjamin's physique with an appreciative eye, and decided to keep him away from the kitchen, lest he decide to put an apple in his mouth and baste him in butter sauce. So we strolled away, past flower pots and beer bottles to the tables where my seldom seen but endlessly fascinating extended family was swapping verbiage over gin and tonics. I made the interesting but obvious discovery that having a baby has a catalyzing effect on one's role within the Tribe: from Autochtonous Agent with Interesting Agenda, one becomes The Accessory, the means to the next generation. Conversations with the baby in tow were, almost without exception, conversations about the Baby-In-Tow, and it became very clear to me that all those simmering preoccupations I carry around with me, those big, endless questions about Wherefores and Whencetos and other basic matters of Life and Self and Meaning about which the wild and willful Toews clan doubtless has wise and relevant things to say, that those questions would need to wait. Which is probably just as well: knowing that Broodstock trumps Philospher-king in tribal poker doesn't change the game, just the strategy.

The drive home was long but uneventful. The last half hour was torture for Benjamin, who formally registered his indignation by taking his first guided steps forward the moment we set him on his feet in the kitchen.