Burning House of Love

This weekend I went to the wedding of a co-worker. A Texas wedding. I may be new to the state and perhaps western wedding are always like this so bear with me if you've seen it all before.   The setting: A dusty 3,000 acre ranch in the heart of Hill Country. Longhorns stroll around loose. The green-grey brush ad dry grasses blow in the wind. The car ahead of us is kicking up a mean dust storm. I'm not sure we are going in the right direction. After the initial sing 'Wedding' with an arrow, we have come across a few forks in the road and just followed the car in front. Now its stopped with the window down. I shrug. I don't know either... so we take the lead. After about 10 more minutes we see the outlines of a structure. Up ahead are a few rustic, open buildings. oh boy, my 4-inch heels are in for a treat. This is gravel-land. No smooth surfaces to walk on. What was I thinking? This place is amazing. Right out of a Spaghetti Western.   "There are two kinds of people in the world, my friend: Those with a rope around the neck, and the people who have the job of doing the cutting...."   This is the real deal. Stump seats and open bench seating by a small wooden stage with a bit of white netting tied around the top. It's brutally hot. Upper 90s easily. I am really glad not to be getting married on a day like this.   A lone guitarist sits under a huge tree playing wonderful classical Spanish guitar. The groom and ushers appear wearing crisp chocolate brown embroidered western shirts, ironed jeans and cowboy boots (down here there are no other kind). Then the bridesmaids start the march in aqua-blue dresses and dark cowboy boots. Eventually the bride, flanked by her parents comes out of the back barn and walks down the makeshift aisle. 4 months pregnant, she is radiant but damn its a hot day to be in a long dress with some extra junk dans la front truck.   The ceremony is beautiful. Touching. This couple is truly staggered at the happiness of finding each other. The brides dog is in the front row and has not taken his eyes off her since she walked past. 'I do. We cheer and the real celebration starts. DJ, bottle of Jack, cupcakes and BBQ. Night falls. The DJ rolls on. The bride has not stopped booty shaking all night. Her dog has not wandered more than 3 feet away. No matter what line dance, partner dance or modern dance she does. Her dog is always near. Every one continually takes photos of him. The loyalty is both sweet and heartbreaking. He's in for a shock in about 5 months.     Later, drunken rambling toasts, remembrances, well wishes, line dance after line dance after line dance (I expected the Electric Slide but the Macarena?). Eventually it's last call for the shuttle back to the hotel. Be there or be left in the (literal) dust.   Meanwhile back from the Ranch, celebration Part Deux spins out of control. All hail the local piano bar where co-workers do more than 10 shots (each), heavy metal karaoke (mortifying), and a near fight between a he-man and a gay man who asked his name. Drunken revelry does not even begin to describe the debauchery. "Mrs. Mullen...,""But I don't want to party in the Breakfast room" and  "I was reading her texts as she drove home texting me 'don't text! there are cops everywhere!"...Yeah, you had to be there.  The next morning, bleery eyed with Bloody Mary on my breath, we all stagger to Mexican breakfast. mmmmmm. Gooey cheese and Margaritas. The salve that cures all ills. Texas drinking makes even Frat boys look like sissies.    True Love, Texas Style. This is how we do it.