So my daughter recently married…a very nice guy. Her whole life, my daughter has been very laid back, and not a big fan of fanfare. With that, I was thinking of, hoping for a tasteful backyard wedding. One can dream, right? As it turns out, her husband’s family all live in Greece and the horticultural facelift I had planned for my backyard was scuttled. Instead, we had a destination event spanning continents. Listed below are some lessons learned, and if anyone knows how to set up a “Go Fund Me” thing-a-ma-bob, I’d appreciate that info.
Pearl of Wisdom regarding how to pay for such an event: Choose the “Death of a Thousand Cuts” methodology. As much as the pain lingers for an eternity, it definitely beats experiencing a massive, heart stopping myocardial infarction from one large bill.
The Greek people are very warm and friendly. And they speak and understand English a lot better than I do Greek. (Granted, being the ugly American that I am, I’ve set the bar very low.) My feeble attempt to learn key Greek words and phrases was thwarted in two main areas. First, they have a completely different alphabet from what we use in America. (I believe our current administration is trying to fix that, which would be nice. It’s all part of the Make the World Great Again initiative, or MaWGA for short…catchy, right?) But what makes it extremely vexing is that they have a number of letters in their alphabet that look very much like ours. Unfortunately, those similar looking letters have a sound in Greek that is nothing like our English version. What kind of sadist thinks of that? And then the second issue I have, which trumps the first is that I’m pretty sure I have a whopping case of shrinking brain.
We fought off the evil travel gods, and the wedding ceremony went off without a hitch. As it turns out my father of the bride speech was a hit…would we expect anything less? I ended my speech with an old Irish Blessing (available upon request). During the wedding a number of Greek people came up to me and congratulated me on my daughter’s wedding and remarked what a nice time they were having. After a few cocktails, the heat, my hearing aid batteries running out of juice, and my shrinking brain, I just went into autopilot mode. When people would approach me, I’d thank them for their kind words and then tell them, with the biggest smile I could conjure up, “Well that’s great!” Later in the evening a woman who looked to be about my age, went through the same routine with me. But she especially like the Irish Blessing. She made some remark about her family and Ireland. I listened intently, not grasping a word she was saying. I had an extra copy of my speech so I gave it to her. For good measure, I again added, “Well that’s great!” Later in the evening my wife ran into the same woman and as it turns out a family member of this person was to be married to an Irish fellow. But unfortunately, he passed away the night before the wedding. Clearly, I didn’t get that part of our conversation and can only imagine how many decades I’ve set back Grecco-American relations.
Drowning – Once the wedding was over, we hopped a ferry to an Island out in the Aegean Sea. While on the island we chartered a boat to take us for a tour of the picturesque coastal area. The trip was not as extensive as we had hoped as the winds were strong and the sea was choppy. Towards the end, the captain parked his boat outside a beachy area and suggested we swim to the beach. Shortly, he would bring his blowup, six-foot dingy with drinks, ice and snacks. Note: I am not a great swimmer. My wife on the other hand is an excellent swimmer. I look to the shore and it does not seem far at all – and to my credit, I had not been drinking. The captain asks if we want a styrofoam noodle for the swim in. I ponder that thought for a split second, but my wife ignores that comment and dives in. And that settles that, I dive in too. I’m doing freestyle for a while and look over at my wife. Outside of the butterfly, she’s going through every Olympic stroke you can medal in. So I decide, maybe I’ll head to my back and pretend to do “the Squid stroke” and save some energy. (Look for this event in next Summer’s Olympics.) My wife screams over to me, saying that I’m not heading to the beach, but swimming sideways. Again, no alcoholic beverages involved.
I’m starting to get a little tired, so I drop down to see if I can feel the bottom yet. It's nowhere in sight – crap. Then I start remembering a conversation I had with an old friend at the wedding. With beers in hand, he remarked about how he’s had covid three time and the only after affect it’s had on him is that his lung capacity just isn’t what it used to be. I start thinking to myself, as much as I’ve had all of the vaccines, I’ve still had four separate cases of covid. (For a while I was thinking I might get into the Guinness World Record Book.) I’m now treading water, and decide to just float on my back to regain my stamina. That ends quickly when a windswept wave covers my face and I swallow half of the salty Aegean Sea.
I looked back to the boat and then to the shoreline – both seem about 2 miles away. I swear that original view of the shoreline from the boat had to be an optical illusion. I’m now at a point where my lungs just aren’t processing oxygen any longer…could have been me hyper ventilating, but who knows. I make a painfully humiliating decision to wave and call to the captain that he better hop in that dingy and save my bacon. It was that or have my wife save me, but I made the decision early on that I’d rather drown than be saved by my wife. Which is very understandable considering Ancestory.com says that at least 50% of my DNA is Neanderthal. And the final piece of resistance: Captain shows up with his rubber dingy that has a handle on the front. I grab the handle which allows me to relax, straighten my legs out, and sink. And with that, my feet firmly hit the sandy bottom with my chin still above water.
That was great Steve!
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