So last night we did a thing, and it resulted in one of the happiest days of our lives.
In front of a crowd that was small in size but huge in heart, a crowd that was made up only with four of Evan's closest friends from Rutgers, his adored cousin Marissa, and twelve newly acquired friends and family members, mostly from Denver, we officially got a daughter-in-law, the best that any set of parents could ever ask for.
I'm up for the challenge of trying to recapture the magic of the experience, knowing that words can never suffice, especially when I'm handicapped while typing with a new manicure that has turned my fingertips into useless talons.
But I must write.
It's like breathing today.
The storms in the forecast never materialized, so while my hair and shoes and dress weren't ruined, my parody of "Get Me to the Church on Time" lost some meaning, because there was no rain to joke about in my "Get Me to Baku on Time."
I'll still forward my apologies to Eliza Dolittle.
Jim and l attempted to sing my lyrics on the Brooklyn-bound bus that most of us shared, but it lost something along the way, which was fine by us.
Baku Palace is the name of the Russian wedding venue in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, a town of diverse neighborhoods bursting with ethnic restaurants and fishermen relaxing on the pier as cyclists ride by.
Baku Palace is a magical place that looks like it might have been the inspiration for "Aladdin."
From ornate decorations and glistening chandeliers, from multiple tables set up with fine linens and beautiful floral centerpieces and aesthetically pleasing cu
tlery and china, the massive ballroom designed for several shared parties is a site to behold.
We had a semi private enclave on a raised platform, two long tables, which gave us great views of the dance floor and all the non-stop action.
But first things first.
A small ceremony was conducted in a private room before the spectacular event proceeded.
For the first time since I was a child at an all girls camp for underprivileged kids outside of Philadelphia, where we'd dress in matching outfits and sing Jewish songs under the stars while sipping grape juice, I had a spiritual connection to my heritage.
Michelle and Evan related to Rabbi Brian almost immediately.
He was randomly selected by them on-line, and his in-depth interviews resulted in getting to know these two on a deeply personal level. Nobody in attendance would ever think they were witnessing a union between a generic couple. It was more about a fairy tale coming to life before our very eyes.
I spent a nice chunk of change having my makeup professionally applied that afternoon, and suffice to say the artists' decision to apply waterproof mascara was a good one.
Evan, the same son who made me crazy at times as a surly teen, who seemed visibly annoyed by my every well-intentioned suggestion, was now the grown man walking down the aisle, linked to our elbows with a smile that stretched for miles, one that could be seen and felt simultaneously, even when I thought I caught him blinking back tears.
We were followed in the processional by Michelle's grandparents and bridesmaid, cousin Regina, and Best Man Matt, Evan's closest confidante since grade school who flew in from Orlando for this magical day, in addition to the bride's cousin Mason, who made a memorable ring bearer, and her best friend and sister, Gaby, the fashionable Maid of Honor/grown up Flower Girl.
There was a hush coming from the small crowd when the beautiful bride began her walk, sandwiched between her beaming parents.
She chose an unusual song for the march, "Dancing Queen," but the slow, instrumental version of this beautiful song made me weep with joy, tears that would have been shed even I were not a rabid fan of ABBA.
The rabbi spoke with eloquence and humor, infusing explanations of Jewish tradition with wit and personal touches and humanity.
The moment came for the exchange of personal vows that neither of them had shared with anyone before, not even with each other.
My son who has shunned the spotlight for as long as I've known him, was a rock star. His words were dazzling; his emotions were on full display as he shared nuances about their relationship that I had never known before. Theirs is not the romance story born on social media but one of deep love and commitment.
Michelle's vows were just as heartfelt and stirring. She is not a fan of the spotlight as well, but on that stage, in front of that chuppah, in front of that unconventional rabbi, shyness was put on the back burner.
Love was proclaimed as loudly as a rocket.
I heard their heartfelt words and will hear them again once the video tape is edited, but I don't think I'll ever be able to lift my jaw off of the floor.
Did my son really write THAT?? Is he really a..poet?
Speaking of editing..I haven't even gotten to the reception yet, but this is not the time to be brief.
My only son got married last night, less than twenty four hours before I attempt to type this.
I'm not turning off my brain yet.
Nor my heart.
The reception was, in a word, spectacular!
There were several occasions being celebrated at once, so maybe it'll be a little odd at first if videography captures a bouquet of balloons for a ten year old's birthday, but I think this is what makes everything so memorable and blog worthy.
If you've ever seen an evening show at a Club Med resort, a European based all-inclusive, then you've experienced a wedding like this one.
From the pulsating beat of Euro-pop tunes on the crowded dance floor, to the spectacular light show and dancers shimmying to ABBA tunes, this was not just having a wedding, it was conducting one.
Steaming plates of savory dishes inspired by Eastern European cooking were non-stop. The heavenly scent of the unfamiilar spices made me crave everything and sample each dish--which according to the scale this morning , I apparently did.
A singer in a beaded evening gown kept the songs coming and the dance floor hopping, and this wasn't even the Big Show yet.
The Big Show begins close to midnight, when guests at conventional weddings are grabbing their centerpieces and wrapped cake, hugging and thanking the hosts as they head home, tired and sated and filled with joy.
A Baku Palace..the night is pretty much just getting started.
Children began to line up their chairs theater style, for better viewing. We missed some of the story's dialogue, even with the help of the bilingual translators in our group, but we got the gist of it. The theme was "Be Careful What You Wish For' and I'm guessing someone wished for fire twirlers and acrobats and and masked creatures imitating slithering snakes with professional caliber choreopgraphy, which is exactly what we got.
This is not your mother's hora dance or your octagenarians doing the "Alley Cat" at the weddings you've probably attended your whole life.
It was unique..and it was unforgettable, from the first "I do" to the last embrace goodbye.
We'll wait for the video to hear each word in the speech privately given by Jim and the Best Man Matt and Michelle's parents.
I'll share the contents of those speeches in a future blog, but for today, I need to capture every detail while it's still fresh in my addled brain.
I'm functioning on about three hours sleep(the party bus returned us to central New Jersey in the wee hours of the morning) so this recap may not be as sharp as some other blogs.
Like the lengthly one I wrote a few days ago about our misadvenures with buying new kitchen chairs.
But even with limited sleep and our minds thinking we might have partaken in an Oz-like dream last night, we still woke up today with a feeling of unparalleled euphoria:
Our son is now somebody's husband.
A spectacular somebody's husband.
This is just the start of their long and beautiful lives together..
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