Arkansas Wedding Part 1 of 2: Dearly Beloved
BLOG POST #002 - Arkansas Wedding Part 1: Dearly Beloved
How I learned to ride a motorcycle, speak Spanish and not die. Riding solo in search of adventure from Detroit to Argentina on a whim.
The "pastor" presiding over my aunt's country-fried Arkansas wedding is from the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. He's wearing a tutu and quoting from the Princess Bride movie like it is his Friday night stand-up set. When I say "from" the church, I mean that it's my brother who answered a few questions online, paid a nominal fee, and then printed his own certificate.
The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster is not just some made up name. It is a real church. Well, that is, to the extent that any churches are real. Since religion is based on faith, and since people can believe in anything they like, there are no limits. You can start a new church based on whatever you want to worship, even if that means dad-jokes and "Pastafarianism". Doubling down on this assertion, their website states that "...satire is an honest, legitimate basis for a religion."
During the ceremony, chickens, pigs and bushy, matted-fur farm dogs roam freely amongst the fifty folding chairs sparsely populated with wedding guests. Holding my mother's hand, I sit in the front row still wearing my motorcycle helmet. It just seemed like it fit the genre of everything else going on. A few months back there was a chance I was going to get ordained so that I could preside over the day's events. It didn't work out, but in my version of the program, the best man would have been a film-set-quality Chewbacca and the maid of honor was going to be Tonya Harding in a sequined Olympic skating outfit. I'm pretty sure she takes bookings through the Cameo app.
About five years ago, my aunt cashed out the equity in her suburban Detroit home and bought this little hillside compound on the edge of the Ozark Plateau. At around 55 or so, she needed a major life change. This place has given her the proper setting to fully embrace her country-girl calling. As the music starts, she's looking happy in her bright summer dress with a ring of flowers around her head. Her groom-to-be is in his best, or perhaps cleanest, or perhaps only, button-down collared shirt. Hillbilly practicality is a life choice, so not having a $500 suit is a point of pride rather than something to be shy about. I get the impression that actually wearing a shirt at all, connotes a formal occasion, compared to day to day life out here.
He looks to be six or eight years younger than my aunt. He is nearly deaf, but manages to read lips and follow the program just fine judging by the occasional nod and big smile on his face. He strikes me as that typical gentle giant who is strong enough to tear your arm out of its socket, but has the default disposition of a butterfly. From all reports he is an open-minded and hard working fellow.
My aunt is not quite a child of the sixties, but she embraces that spirit of hippie social activism with un-flinching precision. When a white-guy electrical contractor casually dropped an N-bomb in conversation a few weeks back, she wasn't angry and didn't argue. She just told him to pack up his sh*t and leave. Among stereotypes about southern rural white folk, conservative christian faith or racism ain't among those that my aunt and new hubby convey. They are very liberal, and give 'em hell down here.
The happy couple delights in my brother's presentation, which is a heartfelt homage to true love mixed with utter silliness. Regardless of the ridiculous scene, the emotions are real, as is the legal bond that they are about to join into. There is funny laughter. There is nervous laughter. There is the laughter of joy that spills over into the eyes, welling up blurry with the overwhelming glee of everything happening around them all at once.
When the magic moment arrives, their big bellies touch as they tilt forward stretching necks to go in for the grand finale kiss. Sweetness overflows from the love and adoration between them. It is a scene of pure happiness that beams in all directions. In this age of changing attitudes towards certain substances, I don't think it is cynical or insulting to say that - genuine elation aside, I also think gummies were involved.
I suppose we can thank the God of Flying Spaghetti, because the formal proceedings were quite entertaining and only eleven minutes long.
The next day we all got our "hick on” and went down to the watering hole for a swim. Thirty or forty relatives had come in from out of town, so it was great to get in some bonus family reunion time. Everyone went home on day three, most of whom were heading back north towards Michigan. Everyone, that is, except for me. I'm not heading north towards Michigan. I'm heading south towards Argentina.
Twenty-two days ago I was living my normal life with no intentions to go anywhere. I had a house, a girlfriend, a $200 per month Comcast cable bill, and a Jeep SUV I can't recall the model name of. Twenty-one days ago I had the idea to buy a motorcycle and go on an adventure. Four days ago I left.
The period between twenty-one days ago and four-days ago was a hell of a blur, as I was getting ready to leave. I had a hard deadline of making it to this wedding, so time was very limited. I had to prepare for a year-long overlanding mission to Buenos Aires, so there was a lot to do. Having never ridden a motorcycle before, that first leg of the journey getting here was a test ride. When I started I didn't know if maybe it would be the only ride because I would hate it, quit, and just fly back home.
Now that the wedding has ended and all the other guests are gone, I have a moment to draw breath. My aunt has invited me to stay as long as I like, but there is no room in the house so I'll have to rough it. I could get a local hotel, but I don't mind a little open-air camping. Besides, it kind of fits with the sparse living theme of having left everything behind.
I decided to stay here and take a few days for some down time. I need a minute to review what I learned and re-calculate the whole plan. It was a pretty white-knuckled journey to get this far, but I made it just fine. Right now I'm thinking Argentina is still on the table.