I went to a wedding in Santa Barbara, California.
That is not the sad thing.
The wedding was really quite unique and happy and a hot affair.
In fact the little ring bearer refused to wear a shirt—because of the triple digit temperature—at least in the sun.
No one seemed to object.
The groom took off his shirt at the reception.
I wanted to object but I did not. I wondered if he knew that his belly was showing.
Perhaps some guests were impressed by the groom's tattoos. I am not an experienced judge of that art—
A very famous country singer aka CS attended the wedding and I won’t mention her name because I don’t want my blog showing up when strangers google her name. She was very gracious and kind and beautiful and I liked her very much. Though tempted, I was controlled and did not ask for an autograph or a photo with her but I did ask her to write a song about cousins because she and I both love our cousins. I am waiting and watching and hoping for a dedication. This photo shows the groom’s mama and CS hugging but you really cannot really see much of famous CS who is married to a famous fantasy husband CS and it was an accident that this photo got taken—mostly. So her identity is safe with me.
Now to the sad part.
I will just be blunt—I left my camera and my case and an extra battery in the rental car in Santa Barbara. I was not rushed. It was not my hubby’s fault. I did not jump out of the car to help a person in distress and then get so busy helping that I was distracted. I just got out of the car, slowly, never looked around and left it in plain view.
By phone, I located my camera the following day, June 6th. However, I did not receive my loved and lost and greatly mourned and missed camera until July 2nd. There were many many important events during those almost 4 weeks. Some sympathizers graciously offered to loan me a camera. However, they did not throw caution to the wind. Perhaps knowing that I am predisposed to losing things they did not risk their best cameras. Even so, rather than be indebted to them for the rest of my life, I mostly declined their offers.
Later, out of desperation, I did borrow DIL Amy’s camera for five days. I attached it to my hip —trying hard to camouflage the carrier that is not usually allowed in public but no adults that knew me were present. I kept my eyes peeled for the fashion police, prepared to gasp and gingerly toss it in a garbage can if discovered.
On about the fourth day, one of my young trendy grands asked me—“Why do you always wear that?”
On the fifth day, I left the fanny pack at home and dangerously toted a purse all day and proudly announce today that the borrowed camera and my cell phone made it home again safely. Although I will admit that I was exhausted from all that responsibility.