Mutual strangers and longtime friends alike congregated to celebrate love at the concession stand, now wedding bar. At one time, peanuts and crackerjacks. Now, non-alcoholic offerings and D.I.Y. Ranch Waters. There will be a form of cake, but first take off your shoes and belt, and raise a glass. Cheers to the home team! And the newlyweds!
I lost the sticker of the brewery I finally got to visit. But collected a baseball wrapped in an indigo-dyed bandana, stuffed in my carry-on like a chocolate orange.
I ate too much barbeque in the morning and had ten tacos the day before. I danced on mulch next to a sandlot baseball field. And walked aimlessly around a park by a river surrounded by tall buildings. Traveling to another state for a wedding is, for better or for worse, akin to traveling to another state of mind for a wedding. All in good jest! Hangovers at your own discretion. But mostly smiles, and happy tears. Live music and a singles table if you’re lucky.
It’s odd to be unaccompanied in the company of others. More peculiar in an unfamiliar city. “How do you know the bride and groom?” (Or any other variation of the nomenclature.) And other questions that are good in nature but partially a nuisance to answer. The open bar eases these moments, again, with discretion.
Pack your bags; it’s always wedding season.
Words + Photo by Samer Khudairi