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Getting married three times in one day

Okay, some of my faithful readers might be interested in this new development, and also become even more convinced I am slipping. I got married – three times in one day! Don’t worry it was to the same guy, including the ‘rehearsal”, the second try (which went awry, due to the fumbling official)’ but, finally, on the third try it went well.

The occasion was orchestrated by my capricious granddaughters. On a cold, dreary, rainy day, we had to stay inside. Fortunately, they had fortified themselves with Barbie and Ken dolls. What to do? First, a church had to be built, topped by the cathedral (an umbrella); including a pulpit (a handy box of chocolate covered raspberry-filled donuts covered with shiny gift wrap); pews (lasagna noodles) where the guests (M&M’s, an assortment of brown, red, yellow and blue people) were seated; and a long aisle made of cloth, strewn with flower petals. Now one of my plants is slightly bald, but hopefully will recover.

Then, of course, the Bride to be, the Maid of Honor, the Groom and Best Man had to be outfitted. The Bride was resplendent in lace (sacrificed from a pair of perfectly good Victoria Secrets bloomers), a veil and long trailing thing constructed from toilet paper. Barefoot, her pink shoes were painted on with nail polish. The Maid of Honor was beautiful in a long silk purple flowing creation (formerly a scarf) carefully though a little laboriously, handsewn. The males got new black tuxedos made from an old sock and wore twinkly new cowboy boots of tin foil. We couldn’t solve the problem of cowboy hats and thus will soon make a thrift store excursion to find some. The Ken dolls are cowboys who really should have hats for such special occasions.

Finally, everything was ready and I was pressed into service as the minister, wearing a black leather jacket with a white collar, also made of the handy and all-purpose toilet paper. The main participants were a little wobbly, needing support to stay upright during the service, especially the groom, who was somewhat nervous. That is normal, the girls informed me. The Bride strolled down the aisle to the strains of “I Walk the Line”, by Johnny Cash, which they decided was an appropriate wedding song.

When all was situated, I solemnly turned to the Groom, suddenly realizing I didn’t know his name. “Who is he?” I whispered.

“Dennis!” they giggled. That being my good Irish friend from New York who recently visited, spoiling the girls while here, thus they decided he would make a good grandpa candidate. “Do you Dennis, promise to have and hold and give all your money to your new wife?” I intoned.

He nodded but didn’t otherwise say much, probably in a slight state of shock and as a kind soul, not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings.

Then it was the Bride’s turn. “What is her name?” I whispered.

“It’s you, Grandma!” they giggled again, dissolving into mirth.

“Oh my gosh! Don’t I have a say in this?

“Nope. This is good for you.” So, this is how Grandma Clem’s vows went: me leaping down from the pulpit to participate. “Do you Grandma Clem promise to be nice to Dennis and make him visit us again?” they asked.

“I’ll try.”

With that, we were hitched, both slightly dazed by this unexpected development. Rainy days can apparently be dangerous. We marched down the aisle and since rice was in short supply, got pelted by Lucky Charms, the attendants taking a moment to crunch some of the blue and pink marshmallow stars and later they even devoured the wedding guests!

Then it was time to go on the “HUNNY MOON”, noted with a special handmade card. Due to our geriatric nature, we had to be hoisted onto horses, provided for the occasion. I got to ride Black Beauty, while the groom had to content himself with a plain old brown and white ceramic steed

“Where are we going?”

“Where you want to,” the wedding organizers advised.

I headed for warmer climes, Cancun, while Dennis must have galloped off to the mountains, probably going fishing because I haven’t seen him since. A little distance is sometimes good to make for a happy union, especially as the new couple are both a little old and stuck in their independent ways.

Still, I thought it best to advise him of this development, on the off chance, he might decide to marry someone else, accidentally becoming a bigamist. “Yesterday, you got married and agreed to give all your money away.” Then, I shared the details of the ceremony.

He chuckled, saying “I wondered why I was a little dizzy this morning.” Then he added “I have to keep a ‘get-away’ stash. Us Irish guys always do that.”

Thank goodness, the weather has cleared up and the sun is shining so that the little rascals and I can do less dangerous things, like going swimming or walking downtown to hit the local ice cream joint, the ‘Sugar Boot’. Otherwise, who knows what could happen next?

(Contact Clara Caufield at

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