Unlike the joining of the Royals last week, there will be no horses at the wedding of Mike and Sabrina on Saturday. Nor will there be a special Rolls-Royce, polished to within an inch of its life, nor a towering cathedral and Elton John. But it will be sweet, with all of the Pacific nearby. That much we can count on.

But will the Rice Krispies Treats, cut in the shape of hearts and surrounded in Saran wrap, be ready? Will the ranch survive a white glove test? Will the guests coming in from near and far hit their flight connections?

I’m just a guest in all of this, a friend of the family, with no official ties. Kris, as the surviving parent, will be the First Officer, while I endeavor to (1) help out where I can; (2) behave myself at the ceremonies; and (3) otherwise, try not to get underfoot.

On a very small scale, I went through some of this many years ago, nuptials that didn’t even make the local paper. Yet ironically, in the three decades and more as a single guy I’ve found myself as an invited guest to a surprising number of weddings. Given that I can manage a tie and shined shoes, I suppose I was an easy choice. Plus, I can hit the dance floor with adequate ease, and free drinks do have a lot of appeal. But I never sought them out; I always had to be asked, and that pretty much depended on which circle of friends I was moving in at the time. Some years back that entailed a lot of weddings, like it or not, and reminiscent of “Four weddings and a funeral,” which we watched last week.  Of late, things have been quiet on the “I do” front.

Until now. Kris’ daughter announced her — and Mike’s — intentions last year and the countdown has been underway ever since. As I said, my own event was fairly low-key, but this one is major, and really, I had no idea. Never mind how much. I don’t know and probably will never ask. Suffice it to say that there are gowns, site selections and confirmations, food galore, booze, dinners, doubtless a minister or priest, musicians and on and on. You know: the usual stuff that no bona fide wedding can do without.

I’ve had nothing to do with any of it. Well, lots of encouragement here at the home front, otherwise I’ve wisely — I think — left it all in skilled, more experienced hands.

Different story here at the house, where guests will be arriving on Thursday. Kris passed on ordering a new roof, but she has re-painted most of the baseboards and cleaned every light fixture in the place, while I did every window, inside and out. Last weekend we shampooed all of the carpets, plus the washer and dryer have been going non-stop as we laundered everything that wasn’t nailed down. The errant dishwasher has been replaced, along with throw-rugs, and new pillows for the kitchen chairs. And every picture in all the rooms has either been moved and/or augmented with artwork that I pulled out of my storage bin.

The bathrooms remain in place.

Well, you know how it is: you can also count it as spring housecleaning. In any case, I think we’re ready, and we hope for the best for the bride and groom. All they have to do is get married.

And all I have to do is pull on my new suit — bought expressly for this event — and provide sure guidance to a very small sign that identifies the location of the wedding. No problem, right?

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