Last weekend, GottaMan and I attended a wedding in the lovely (and still semi-rural) Central Valley area of California, where the streets are tree-lined, the homes gracious, the people friendly, the business mostly agriculture, and where beef is what's for dinner. Almonds are huge trade, family is everything, and chicken is for sissies. Suits in town but boots at work -- and if you don't have a truck, you probably need one. It's a very nice place to visit, and I'd definitely live there!
This was an old-fashioned wedding, held in the groom's family's backyard. It was the perfect setting for such an event, with huge shade trees, a sweeping lawn, and colorful plantings. There was a dais set up for the wedding party and numerous round tables for the guests to sit at both during the ceremony and for dinner. The catering tent was at the front of the house, so upon exiting the front door, guests found themselves in an oasis of fairy lights, lawn, flowers, candles, topiaries, a fountain, more lawn, more flowers, and many, many tables laden with beverages and serviceware awaiting the buffet immediately following the ceremony.
It was truly beautiful -- lavish, even, but nevertheless with a gentle air of cozy elegance and warm welcome. The ceremony was simple and lovely, the bride stunning, the groom appropriately worshipful of the bride. The food was amazing! The house, of course, was buffed to a high polish, as befitted the celebrated occasion and the fact that it was host to over a hundred family, friends, and acquaintances. To accommodate this influx of humanity into a single-family dwelling, a thoughtful measure had been undertaken to assure the highest possible degree of comfort and convenience of the wedding guests, which is the very definition of hospitality.
On the driveway, across from the festive tent, next to the guest register, standing at rapt attention:
A stark contract to their charming surroundings, two undeniably utilitarian sentinels stood waiting and ready to serve. I did wonder, as we strolled up the drive to the gift table, why no one has ever thought to make porta-potties in less garish colors precisely for these types of events. Or perhaps the rental companies could offer some sort of screen behind which to position the necessary. In any case, despite the rather jarring visual juxtaposition, I thought it was very considerate of the hosts to provide such facilities.
My favorite aspect of this setup, however -- the part which prompted me to risk social disdain by whipping out my camera and take pictures of an outhouse at a wedding -- is in the forefront of the photograph: lacking a water source for hand-washing, our hosts installed a small, discrete table in front of the units to hold hand sanitizer and paper towels for the guest to perform their ablutions upon exit.
Now that's courtesy!
Nevertheless, I still went in the house to use the real plumbing.
