How was the wedding? If I had to identify one of the happiest weekends of my life, the wedding would be on it. ‘I’m eagerly awaiting the explosion of pleasure’, said my uncle Roger, when asked how he was looking forward to the festivities. To me it was more like a soft burning lantern on a cold night, or eating a dripping plate of watermelon on a hot day. It was something to be savoured.
One of the reasons was having the time and opportunity to catch up with old friends. We stayed with our former next door neighbours, Mike and Geoff, who moved in next door to my childhood house when I was thirteen and Duncan was a baby. They and I have been friendly but not close since, and I see Mike once or twice a year usually when he’s visiting Maggie or my parents from Vancouver, where they now live. Geoff played hide-and-seek with the girls on the first morning while we slept in, and then we had a relaxed breakfast together in the luxurious apartment we were all staying in, outlooking past the living room an outdoor table setting, grass strip, cycle path, shady trees and then the sandy, shallow sea.
Within a few hours of re-acquaintance, Rhea and Lara were chatting away and sitting on their knees. Geoff lent Steve his spare bow-tie on the wedding night after Steve’s old one disintegrated due to more than twenty five years of disuse. We talked about things big and small over the weekend, and became closer, setting ourselves up for a further-bonding dinner last week in which Mike shared the story of his newly-discovered half-sister, telling a story similar to my great-Grandmother’s with her six children left behind.
I had some lovely conversations with mum’s good friend Catherine over the days we were there. The girls and I enjoyed meeting a sprinkling of Becky’s friends and family, and the girls made friends on the first day with a nine-year old girl call Samantha from Singapore. They played together at the Gatecrash Brunch on the first day, watching the shenanigans that Steve and I missed due to sleeping in too late: Duncan and the Groomsmen had to fulfil challenges like eating from a plate full of pink icing and marshmallows without using their hands; dancing Gangnam style in enormous inflated suits; drinking some horrible concoctions dressed in their Top Gun workwear overalls; and passing balls between each other via cups tied to their waists, again not using their hands. Once they were judged worthy of Becky and the bridesmaids and Matron of Honour, Lara and Rhea ran off with Samantha to play and by nightfall they were begging for a sleepover in her neighbouring apartment. We had got to know the parents, Clara and Richard, throughout the day, so we said yes. It’s so nice to be a part of community living where there are kids, family and friends all enjoying each others’ company.
Another reason for the slow pleasure of the weekend was the food and the settings. On the first night for Becky’s birthday canapés, there were all sorts of delicious morsels. The Double Happiness Dinner on the second night involved a dinner of fish with seasoned, baked potatoes and a warm slow-cooked leek salad. For dessert there was a selection of my favourites including summer pudding and Pavlova, topped off by ice-creams served in an actual bicycle-powered ice-cream stand. The second night was staged, following a lovely, respectful tea-ceremony on site, at an elevated winery overlooking rolling green hills and vineyards as far as you could see. The temperature was a consistent thirty degrees every day, perfect every evening.
The dinner after the wedding was held at an olive grove in a grassed area overlooking a drier landscape shimmering all the way to the distant sea. There was an hors-d’oeuvres table beside this scene laden with fresh and dried apricots, two large, oozing wheels of cheese with baguettes, salami and cold meats, olives, sandwiches, paté and grapes, presented like a still life from an opulent banquet. The tables were set, fairyland-like, in an open marquee framed and studded with fairy lights with alternating arrangement styles of roses and native flowers. The main meal was slow-cooked beef, melting in your mouth, and dessert was ‘childhood memories’ served arrestingly with dry ice by the chef at the front of the tables. I’m sorry I forgot to write in the guest’s book about what a memorable experience it was, being the recipient of such generosity.
I do like to get dressed up sometimes too, and so did the girls. They wore increasingly lovely dresses each night, from pink and turquoise ones with stylised drawings of a cat above a skirt of ballet netting; to delicate blooming white and pink party dresses embroidered with matching flowers (Christmas presents from mum and Maggie); to the flower girl dresses of plain white satin finished with apricot ribbons around their waists on the wedding night itself. They, Maggie and I all had our hair done – something I’ve never bothered with before, but mum was keen and wanted to pay.
On the first night I wore, appropriately, the black dress that Duncan and I bought in New York ten years ago, with earrings and a bracelet made from moss and ferns preserved in plastic. The second night I wore a silk dress made from the very pale pink silk I brought back from China when I was sixteen travelling with uncle Roger and visiting the friends he was visiting who lived there. A dressmaker made it into a timeless dress with tulip-like folds on the shoulder straps and pockets and I wore it to my Year 12 formal more than twenty five years ago. I still like it a lot. And on the last night for the black tie event I wore a floor length dress of a similar peachy hue, fluffy light silk with an airy matching jacket, lent to me by Maggie, as was the necklace, bracelet and earrings I wore with it. Two people I didn’t know commented on how nice the dress was, one of them asking where I had got it from.
And the wedding itself? It was joyous. They had rehearsed (Rhea and Lara too) on the Thursday afternoon so people knew what they were doing. The celebrant had been there reassuring people and taking them through the proceedings. For the wedding itself, Lara and Rhea had acquired a basket filled with flower petals which they threw into the air, chuckling with delight as they walked down the small hill to the awaiting groom and bridesmaids. Mum and dad smiled happily, making the same journey. The four-year old page boy looked very cute in his tiny suit, and his sisters did also. By the time Becky made her entrance on her father’s arm, Lara was back sitting with Steve in the audience. Becky wore a lacy white and cream wedding dress with a split up one side, a veil and a dazzling smile framed by red lipstick against her black hair. Lara watched her, entranced. She summed up her response in one succinct word. ‘Wow,’ she said.
After a soulful guitar and song performance by Becky’s brother and friend, the ceremony began.
‘. . . The other handsome man standing beside Rebecca is Mr Yeoh, her father’, continued the celebrant, reading from her notes. No-one was standing next to Becky at that point; her father was sitting down in the front row. He hurriedly and laughingly stood up to be where he was supposed to be. Meanwhile the celebrant continued: ‘Teflon, can you please get the ring. Teflon?’ A ripple spread through the front rows of the audience. I had struggled with Tewfiq’s name too, but this was a pronunciation that even he had not heard before. He stifled a giggle, as did many in the front seats. ‘One more misstep and this will be reminiscent of that wedding scene in Four Weddings and a Funeral’, I thought. But she held steady and the vows were exchanged without event, indeed, she shared the results of asking them what they loved and (jokingly) exasperated them about each other. ‘Marriage is the union of two people,’ she concluded. A new era of marriage in Australia, and married life for Duncan and Becky was begun.
Led by Sam, Lara and Rhea teamed up with four other children aged around six to nine to rehearse for their second dance performance, the first being the previous night on the dance floor. While the babysitters that Becky and Duncan had organised looked after the babies inside the house, they twirled and cartwheeled near the marquee after the marriage formalities. Maggie and I MC’d Becky and Duncan to open the dancing with a gorgeous choreographed Spanish dance, and then everyone joined in. During dinner, Duncan’s best man spoke of his precociousness, Becky’s father shared some memories of his daughter’s mischievous early years and dad spoke about the types of love (‘I experienced at least three of them in my undergraduate days,’ joked the Best Man). And Becky’s sister gave a moving tribute to her sister’s generosity.
For the end of another perfect night, the children muscled their way to performing for the audience once again. They didn’t take no for an answer, petitioning Becky and Duncan directly after they were told that there wasn’t time for them to perform to everyone and they could perform in the house to their parents, Duncan and Becky. ‘No! We want to dance for you. We’ve practised it’, they insisted. And so they did, without music, and the parents were very proud.
The shuttle buses were leaving on the hour between eleven and two. Eleven seemed too early, so we suggested to the girls that we take the midnight bus. This was the third late night in a row, and the late nights were increasingly later. ‘No. One o’clock,’ bargained Lara defiantly. They snoozed on the bus on the way back, and we left the party at midnight, still swinging.
This was a wedding of music, joy and generosity, with food for all the senses.
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