Anticipating this attitude and noting the heat, Pater had argued that shirt-tie-jacket were surely not necessary. Sadly for Pater, I disagreed. A wedding is a wedding is a wedding, said I, and the bride should be able to count on her side of the family to show up dressed for one. And see? Worth the effort. He's on the left, my brother's on the right.
That's my chief rabble-rousing BIL at the end there, setting the example for his wonderfully good-natured, entertaining, talented, and v. charming sons -- it was great to have the younger generation represented, especially given the travel distance/time (away from friends, confined with family) to get there.
Here they are outside the church (a beautifully northern log design) unwittingly displaying their brotherhood through their body language.
The dress their mom, my sister Leona, is wearing, was one I helped her find in Seattle this spring -- it took some chasing down to find (in fact, she could only track down the next size up from what she wears, but bought it anyway and paid $40 to have it altered). It was perfect for the occasion!
The rebel BIL, my sis, and the boys rented a big hospitality suite with a patio and generously hosted us in all the in-between times that always happen at weddings, so our travel was rewarded with ample family time. I can't believe I didn't get a shot of my sisters and I together, but at least someone had the good sense to create groupings and holler for smiles. Finally catching on, I snapped a few. Below, you can see two more fruits of the Seattle shopping harvest -- my sister Rachel, 2nd from right, and the gorgeous Mother-of-the-Bride, my baby sis Hilary (Hilary, by the way, was very good about no longer introducing me as her "oldest sister" after I gently pointed out that my appearance probably already said enough about my age. So good that I have to tease her here by calling her "baby sis.")
And I handed my sister the camera to get this shot for me -- I love it, me and my closest-in-age sib, once upon a time my baby brother. . . There's something very special about the ones who remember those long-ago details that perhaps no one else ever knew, or, if they did, the adults had long forgotten. Why did Dennis B. and his "gang" take after us that summer night nearly 50 years ago? How long did that little feud persist? And what did Grandpa finally let us spend our quarters on when he took us to the PNE one day in the late 1950s? What a different world that was! And here we still are . . .