Willow Green

I have been away from writing for a while but with good cause. In the middle of August, I had cataract surgery for my right eye followed by a visit to the dermatologist which resulted in nine biopsies on my head, face, and back that will require further “attention” in varying degrees.  Unfortunately, the worst was yet to come. On Labor Day, I told Diane I wasn’t feeling up to par, so she suggested taking a Covid test and as a man, I told her that was a silly idea as I’ve already had Covid and have had all my shots and boosters. My personal Florence Nightingale was correct (as usual with everything medical); I tested positive. How could I forget new variants are still present? I have some chronic bronchial issues, and my oxygen level was low so it was off to the Emergency Department at the hospital. Omicron hit me hard with fatigue, weakness, and weight loss. Good news is I am finally feeling better but it really knocked me on my butt for ten days or so.  Unfortunately, I gave my “gift” of Covid to Diane for the second time since it has been around.  I feel badly about this; however, her case was milder though pretty uncomfortable.  With the help of an antiviral prescription, we seem to have weathered Omicron.

That’s the down side of life in the proverbial 4th Quarter, but overall it has been a summer of much happiness and good cheer. As we age, we attend way too many visitations and funerals and that is just the nature of things. However, there is good news as well; it comes in the way of weddings. You remember—young people getting dressed up, professing their unwavering love for one another for eternity, dancing the night away at the reception, then heading off to various exotic and exciting locations for a fabulous honeymoon. Just by point of reference, on August 31, 1968 Diane and Gordy Taylor spent their honeymoon night at a Howard Johnson’s in Kenosha, Wisconsin.  

We had the privilege and opportunity to attend a wedding in May and another in August, and they were both extraordinary. There was so much energy, happiness, enthusiasm, love, laughter, and promise of never-ending good times ahead. We both had a great time and truth be known, the unofficial “dance queen” at both weddings was none other than my wife who after an obligatory swirl with me, was pretty much found on the dance floor the rest of the evening.  We both had a fabulous and fun time.  It does the soul good to be around so many young people beginning the next significant chapter of their lives. 

While attending these weddings, I thought about the wedding of our daughter Jennifer to John Stevenson on June 19, 1999, in Macomb, Illinois. I remember it well, and it started with me feeling a kinship to those Hollywood fathers of the bride, Spencer Tracy and Steve Martin. As a matter of fact, when news of the nuptials was announced in December 1998, I promptly rented the original Father of the Bride movie starring Tracy and the remake featuring Martin. I laughed at their foibles, missteps, miscalculations, and confusion. Certainly, none of those things would ever happen to me. After all, I was Gordy Taylor and our daughter’s wedding would be like hundreds of alumni events I’d planned during my career at Western Illinois University, just a bit more elaborate and sophisticated. Goodness, I was wrong, very wrong.

I should have seen it coming. Little things began to happen. On our coffee table, a series of different magazines began to appear: Modern Bride, Today’s Bride, The Bride’s Magazine. Our trusty mailbox from 1983 was replaced with a shiny new one. The doorbell was removed and one that glowed in the dark suddenly appeared. Our front yard gas light was cleaned and painted. An accent rug was added on top of our newly purchased family room carpeting. The deck was power hosed and stained again. Thirty colorful tuberous begonia plants in willow green sponge-painted pots appeared from nowhere for the table center pieces.  Seventy-three photos tracing our family history were hung on walls throughout the house. A willow green rug, willow green waste basket, willow green towels, and a willow green drinking glass replaced their perfectly functional predecessors in the powder room.  After all, I was told, many of our reception guests would use the powder room and thus everything should be color coordinated, including additional willow green paper cups. 

Heck, we didn’t need a wedding consultant, we had Diane Taylor, mother of the bride, who became Martha Stewart of Macomb. Yes, something was definitely taking place. Diane’s vocabulary was laced with words and phrases like tuxedo, flowers, rehearsal dinner, guest lists, invitations, Thursday night dinner for family, Sunday brunch, money is no object (that phrase really got my attention), she’s our only daughter, cake, hotel reservations, gift registration, photographer, the church, the soloist, her brothers will be in the wedding, and of course, I need a new dress. I didn’t have a chance.  

I do not remember a conversation with Diane in the first six months of 1999 that did not end up in some way referring to “the wedding.”  It became apparent to me that since Jennifer was born in 1971, Diane had been thinking about this gala event. As spring arrived, we grew Macomb’s largest flower garden. After all, the reception was being held in our back yard and flowers planted matched the wedding colors. New shrubs arrived, invitations were sent, a tent rented, cars waxed, services of a string quartet secured, and soon the big day was here.  Jennifer was a beautiful bride. Her bridal gown was sewn by Great-Grandma Arnoldsen and worn originally by Diane’s mom in 1947 and Diane’s sister Ruth in 1983. I refused to wear a willow green tuxedo and settled on basic black. The mother of the bride was beautiful and glowing in her apricot-colored dress.

The weather was delightful—sunny skies, 75 degrees, and a very light breeze. The church wedding and outdoor reception were perfect in every way.  It was a day to remember and all the credit goes to Diane and Jennifer. They thought of everything.  I joked a lot about our respective roles: Diane’s to plan, organize, coordinate, and worry; mine to sign checks, smile, and shut up. I did all right on two out of three. 

Jennifer and John have added Luke 18, James 14, Paul 11 and a couple of big old dogs to the mix. Their house is full of love, laughter, and good cheer; we are both happy and proud of them. For us, in the 4th Quarter, the growth and development of the Stevenson family has been a joy to behold. Time marches on and now both Gordon III and Ryan are married with their own families as well, but I will always remember those famous words of 1999, “Spare no costs, she’s our only daughter.”