Cold hands, warm hearts wedding

I wanted to crawl into my warm, cozy bed, but I had promised to attend my nephew’s wedding in Joplin, Mo. the weekend winter threatened to visit Arkansas.
To beat the weather, hubby and I packed up and left in the middle of the day. The first snow flakes moistened our windshield as we parked at the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner.
Sis signaled us to join her and her other sons and husband at their table. The men quickly plunged in a lengthy discussion about making hunting bows. Sis and I caught up on wedding events. By the time we left, the frigid air demanded coats and a quick retreat to the hotel.
Frozen out of their original plans for the bachelor’s party, the men took over the hotel lobby for an evening of no-cash poker and pizza. The younger generation of women held a lingerie shower for the bride. Sis and I retired to a hotel room where her first grandchild slept soundly in the port-a-crib. We rarely see each other, so we had plenty to talk about that night – and the next morning as we gathered in the lobby to feast on the hotel’s continental breakfast.
Cool air seeping down my back forced me to find a warm corner where I could watch other wedding guests straggle out of their hotel rooms and down the hall in search of the promised breakfast. I stayed in my warm corner until Sis decided brave the winter winds and dash to the store to purchase a few more items for the week-after the wedding reception with the groom’s Arizona friends and family. I could not make both weekends, so I trailed along to offer my two cents and to continue our conversation.
I let Sis drive our van. She let me clear the snow off the windshield. The road had enough snow to let us drive without too much sliding. A carefully selected path of snow spots got us safely from the van into store.
At the church that afternoon a brisk wind ruffled our hair and sent us scurrying inside for family pictures, pictures of the bride and her attendants, and to greet other wedding guests, including my brother’s family who flew in from Arizona.
A stair-step trio of flower girls twirled around carefree, holding their bouquets of pink tulips, ignoring the blasts of frigid air that cooled the shoulders of the bride and attendants in their strapless gowns. My husband cornered our nephew the electrician to review plans for wiring our attic.
At four o’clock, the stringed quartet began playing the processional, the pastor pronounced them husband and wife and the new couple thanked every guest for coming. Then, they left for a quick photo shoot in the cold, cold outdoors before they made their grand entrace at the reception.
Cold as it was, no one noticed an appreciable absence of expected guests in the overflowing reception hall. A free meal, a warm room out of the weather, and an evening of enlightening toasts from the couple’s families, what more could one want? … a little discussion on archeology and life in the Air Force with the other nephews, according to my husband’s conversations.
We shivered our way back to the hotel room for more minutes of conversation in the lobby that night and at breakfast the next morning. Then, everyone packed up a bit earlier than planned to insure a safe drive back to their warm, cozy beds at home.