My participation in formal ceremonies has varied as much as the results. Decades ago as best-man at Jose's wedding, I had to intervene in the parking lot brawl where the bride's kin wanted to knife the "communist" groom. (They were a little conservative and he, the opposite.) That marriage eventually dissolved.Giving a testimonial to the audience at my brother David's wedding from the pulpit of the San Anto Cathedral pretty much left most gente's mouths open and led to my never being reinvited to that church. Said marriage, dissolved.
I was elated to do the eulogy at my brother-in-law Rick's funeral, not only because it could never be undone like previous events, but also because of the difficulty of the task, given the sometimes opposing assessments of his character. I made him shine. That performance was so well received, I was allowed to do the Xmas "prayer" that year at the in-laws' celebration. But not the following year.
This year, performing the wedding ceremony for teacher friends Josh and Darcy amounted to a higher calling. An outdoor March service in Colorado is always a gamble and of course it snowed the day before, threatening to put a damper on festivities.
Loving Neil Gaiman's 100-word Xmas story and inspired to attempt the same, I decided to create a micro-story for the occasion. If you've never attempted one, you may not know how difficult a task it can be. In truth, I failed. Not only couldn't I contain my fiction within the word limit; mine pales in comparison to Gaiman's.
I chose to call upon the ancients gods and incorporate the discordant weather for a wedding audience presumably unaccustomed to either. The image above is of Ichpuchtli, the Aztec goddess of Sacred Prostitutes, invoked, among other things, for beauty, sensuality, sexual pleasure and a fruitful marriage. The ancient Indians embraced irony like that into their world, something our own would do well to realize the value of.
Below is my piece. The title refers to the fact that I couldn't do it in less than 111 words. 4 represents the word "for." The remainder is the date of the ceremony. I share it with the thought that this one will not suffer dissolution.
High above the blue planet, gazing into the park where Darcy and Josh vowed eternity, Ichpuchtli's scintillating curls outshone even the sun. Her voluptuousness normally drove mortal men insane.
But the goddess fumed, as Josh's glistening whiskers reminded her of another, before Heaven's time.
"He'll be easy," she snickered.
"All mine!" Her bellowing turned into snowfall, threatening the park and families.
Parting her amber tresses, Darcy whispered, "Looks like a little weather."
Then, turning heavenward, she declared, "I. Love. Him."--words that slapped, pulverized the screaming goddess into pink powder.
Chuckling, Josh said, "Darcy, my love--looks like Heaven's met her match."
Darcy glowed with smiles. "No, dear Josh,
but you have . . ."
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