A perfect wedding

A few weeks ago, I wrote about some of the escapades Claudia and I had with our four children.  I neglected to mention St. Simons.  There used to be a wonderful old two-story clapboard house called Shasta Cottage that we rented several summers, for a glorious week or so at a time.  It was a good three-wood golf shot from where I sat today.

Today Marcus got married. The wedding was so absolutely Marcus, so joyous, so perfect.  And overwhelmingly nostalgic.

Sitting there, I watched Marcus and Geri exchange their vows, under the same tree he and Ellen Frances and Jackie and Max had romped twenty-five or so years before.  I could picture them all, throwing rocks in the water, and eating ice cream cones as they sat on the park benches. Within sight was the pier they loved, the picnic tables on which they ate, and the lighthouse they climbed.

                           

Back then, as we watched our children play, Claudia and I could never have imagined that today we'd be sitting there again, watching Marcus get married.