Her family and friends know that it's difficult for Cecilia to arrive anywhere on time. She freely admits this. And because the church's wedding coordinator--Tight Lips--made it clear to Cecilia that the wedding was to start promptly at 10 AM on Saturday, April 28th, C gave me permission to be the Schedule Police.
Though I had set aside my Gringa habit of punctuality upon arrival in Brasil, I accepted this position and felt up to the challenge of getting Cecilia and 10 week-old Daniel to the church on time. Cecilia and I talked it through. Hair Appointment (45 minutes) for the Bride--8 AM Saturday. Make-Up (15 minutes) for the Bride--8:45 AM. 9:00 AM--Taxi, Pick up Bouquets. Arrive at Church--9:15 AM. Bride Dresses, Groom Dresses Baby, Gringa Finishes Bouquets (30 minutes)--all done by 9:45 AM. Wedding--10 AM Saturday.
Looks good on paper.
Saturday morning arrived. I got up at 6 AM to get ready--hair and make-up--while C had a little more time to sleep. Toast and juice ready, I woke the Bride at 7. Cecilia, Daniel, and I were to leave by taxi at 7:45, to be 5 minutes early for the 8 AM hair gig. Instead, Cecilia began to call the salon about 8 to make sure it was open; saying she didn't want to stand out front with the baby and wait. So we were in our taxi about 8:15. "Okay," C promised, "that's the last tardy I'll allow myself today." Calculations of the Schedule Police: we were running about 35-40 minutes behind schedule, but I was still hopeful that we could make it up and get to the church well before the 10 AM start time.
By 8:25 AM, the salon staff had prepared hot tea for us. I knocked back my Calming Chamomile while Daniel squirmed in his stroller. Because of an unforgivable hair incident with Cecilia's former long-time stylist, C chose to use someone new today, and also chose not to have a trial run in advance. This never-seen-before, new stylist consulted with the Bride about a picture that Cecilia brought of her perfect wedding hairstyle, and the two walked back to a small VIP room where the magic would happen. I would entertain Daniel, dress in my MOG outfit, then help C with make-up before we all left for the church.
My 2 1/2 month-old buddy and I sat and watched all the Saturday early birds primping and pruning and painting, while C's stylist kept moving back and forth from her station to the VIP room. Daniel needed a snack while Mommy got her VIP-do; and when I brought Little Man to Cecilia, the stylist was out of the room. "This woman is clueless," C said in a hush. "She has no idea what she's doing." I knew the stylist was slow, as it was now after 9:15 AM and C's hair was definitely not dressed. Neither was I.
The wedding was to start in less than 45 minutes. Time for the MOG to get a wiggle on. With sign language and props, I asked someone where the dressing room was. It was actually not a room at all, but one of the restroom stalls . . .
Did I ever mention that nearly everyone in Brasil is small? Even slightly overweight people have no turning radius whatsoever in a Brasilian restroom stall. So this slightly overweight Gringa took her rolling carry-on bag and long beige dress on a hanger into my 'dressing room' which was literally the size of an airplane lavatory. I'm relieved to say that I managed to change without major contusions or contamination. Even left the stall with a dry scarf and no toilet paper stuck to my shoe! Dress, check. Shoes, check. Necklace, check. Scarf, check. Hair, whatever . . . Grateful to be the MOG, to whom no one pays attention anyway, I exhaled from the 'dressing room' to check on Bride and Son.
In the last stages of hair-doing at 9:45 (that would be15 minutes before the 10 AM ceremony), Cecilia reassured me that no one expected the wedding to start on time anyway--that's not how it's done in Brasil. It was time to start putting on her make-up. If she did the foundation, I'd help her with her eyes. She surmised correctly that we weren't going to do the half-lashes. As the stylist secured her veil in place, I applied liner, soft shadows, and highlights to accent her pretty brown peepers. "While you put on your blush, is it okay if I call a cab now?"
I felt like we were in a free-fall down a rabbit hole at this point. Women's voices, blow dryers, swivel chairs, flat irons, towels, mirrors--all were floating past at odd angles. Daniel in his stroller and my carry-on bag were the only things that grounded me in space and time. That, and the clock on the wall that said it was now 10:10 AM--10 minutes after Tight Lips said the wedding would start.
I made my way to the front desk pushing Little Man in his stroller and pulling my carry-on bag behind. "Taxi? Preciso um taxi, pronto!" The receptionist handed me off to a young man, telling me that there were taxis just outside ready to take us to the church, and that this aide would help me. With Cecilia still in the salon (but right on my heels--I thought), Daniel and carry-on accompanied the Gringa and Aide out the door and down the sidewalk. Down, and down, and down the sidewalk we walked, until Aide turned around and looked at an empty taxi lane. A long block from the salon door, he instructed me to sit on a wooden bench next to a street vendor. After consulting with a shop owner, Aide began pacing up and down the street in search of a cab.
Cecilia appeared with a puzzled look on her face. "Glad I found you! Where's my purse? I need to pay the salon." So she grabbed her bag, turned, and walked quickly back to pay her bill--veil floating behind. When she returned, our cab was at the curb. Some of our things were in the taxi, but Aide and driver were trying to find the mystery button in order to collapse Daniel's stroller base.
By now, the street was spinning just a little. My right eye was twitching imperceptibly. The Schedule Police had failed her mission for punctuality. But I kept repeating "People are more valuable than things." Everyone was safe, Daniel was calm, and we were all still speaking to ourselves and one another. Small victories are really good!
All in the taxi. From the back seat, Cecilia explained our situation to the driver. He understood that we were very late, agreed to move expeditiously. He also agreed to stop by the apartment on the way so that we could retrieve the unfinished bouquets that were waiting in a bucket of water at the front desk in the lobby. The cabby's radio was set on a Christian station--I recognized some words, and the melody was calming. From my shotgun seat, I told the driver that I was glad for this music--that I really needed it right then. We both smiled. I attempted some deep breathing.
As we rode toward the church, Cecilia tried to phone Will. "Sandy, do you want to talk to Will?" I said that I was okay--no need to chat. "But," she said, "it's bad luck for the Bride and Groom to talk before the wedding." I paused for just a minute, took a deep breath, and then told her to "get over it." It was not my proudest moment. I admit this with no small amount of shame. But I did explain that when they woke up that morning next to each other in bed, they had already spoken to one another, and even kissed good-bye before we left their apartment in the cab. It was a moot point, however, because no one was answering cell phones at the church. Since it was already well after 10 AM, Tight Lips could very well have already started the ceremony.
When C pointed out their apartment, our driver parked his cab across the street in the bus lane. He jumped out and loped across the 6-lane boulevard that is Praia de Icarai--the one that teems with buses, cabs, trucks, and cars at all hours of the day and night. He disappeared into the apartment lobby, and popped back out carrying the bucket with both Flora and Cecilia's bouquets. Hopping sideways back through the traffic, my hero grinned as he delivered the precious cargo to me in the front passenger seat of our idling ride. Our driver had scored the flowers in less than 3 minutes. My jaywalking champ!
In less than 5 minutes we pulled up to the church. Out front I could see Will, a cousin with video camera rolling, and Tight Lips. "Please don't take pictures! She's not dressed!" I pleaded through the window. Will had to make sure Cecilia and Daniel were all right since we were over an hour behind the Schedule Police planned arrival time. Several men came to assist unloading the cab while I paid and thanked our driver. Tight Lips grabbed Cecilia by the elbow and, with a scowl and a few choice words, ushered her away to get in her bridal gown. Bucket of flowers, carry-on, stroller base, bags all disappeared into helpful hands. Just GiGi remained; and at my feet, Daniel sat in his car seat on the sidewalk.
Will took Daniel from his seat and held him while several people tried to get all the padrinos lined up just outside the church doors. Glancing at my son, the Groom, holding his son, I noticed that the baby was dressed in a comfy, utilitarian, white Onesie. A new thought registered in my soupy brain. "Is Daniel going to wear his Onesie when you take him down the aisle?!" I asked. "I guess so," Will said with hesitation. We both knew how important it was for Daniel to have on his carefully chosen wedding outfit. Yet, there we stood--clock ticking, people waiting, priest pacing, and nothing for the baby to wear but his Onesie. Just then, someone appeared with Daniel's wedding outfit--the one that C and I had packed less than 12 hours before. Will sat right down on the sidewalk--just outside the church, in his handsome navy wedding suit--laid the baby on his long legs, and dressed him. Little Man wasn't very happy about the activity, but Will persevered. Up popped Dad with son, both looking like they were going someplace very special.
All the details of the morning had materialized except the unfinished bouquets for Bride and Maid of Honor. I needed less than 10 minutes to wrap the stems with their finishing ribbons. Rich royal blue ribbon overlaid with antique lace was there for the Bride's bouquet. All the materials were prepared earlier in the week, but (a) the ribbons had been whisked away by some helpful gentleman, and (2) there was simply no more time. I handed Flora's gerber daisy bouquet to her and noted how pretty she looked in her lemony yellow dress. My dear high school friend Jo had taken the Bride's yellow roses and dried off the stems so C's ivory dress wouldn't be stained. I wrapped two treasures around this tight bunch of yellow rose buds: Cecilia's grandmother's lovely white rosary, and my mother's embroidered handkerchief. Right next to delicately stitched bluebonnets and tiny red heart were embroidered the words "Deep in the Heart of Texas."
It was now over an hour past time for the procession to begin. Will stepped out first, carrying Daniel. He offered his left arm to me and off we went--the three of us--down the aisle, to wait for his beautiful Bride.
BTW--at the reception, I found Cecilia, Daniel, Will, and Dora in a bedroom with the day's-end light peeking through a curtain. They were providing Daniel a quiet place to nurse, and invited me to sit for a while. Cecilia confessed to Dora and Will, "I was so frustrated this morning when we got to the church. If I was feeling that way, I can only imagine how GiGi was doing, and she still looked all calm and happy. She deserves an Oscar for Best Performance for our arrival at the church!"
I smiled just a little. Oscar, indeed! It was the lesson Cecilia and Will had been teaching me since January:
PEOPLE ARE MORE VALUABLE THAN THINGS
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