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The Gorgeous Garden Wedding of Jasmine and Rich

 

A and M
I do love a garden wedding.

This one was special as it was set in a stunning Adelaide Hills garden complete with various rooms of ponds and hidden tables and stools and towering natives and ornamental scrubs. The ceremony took place in an amphitheatre just behind the house with the wooded hills and Gorge Wildlife Park presenting as painterly backdrops.
Occasionally, emu and deer would wander up to the fence like silent but welcome wedding-crashers.

It was also special for it was the wedding of my wife’s youngest brother, Rich and Jasmine.

The week beforehand had been typical of spring- berserk temperature fluctuations, insane wind gusts and weather patterns as fickle and daft as a Trump tweet.

Saturday was warm and gentle and affirming; ideal for late afternoon matrimony. We were in Cudlee Creek by both name and nature.

For Alex and Max it was their first family wedding.

J and R

They’d chosen suits to wear and Max picked out an orange tie. I later showed him how the tie matched both my glasses and Coopers Mild Ale label and he enjoyed this new symmetry. I’m sure that if he’d been offered a cravat, he’d have happily donned it instead. He enjoys being a provocateur, even in a fashion context.

Alex had on a slick grey suit, something Arthur Daley from Minder would’ve called a “nice drop of cloth.” He also wore a red-checked shirt, one like those preferred by his Dad, and a pair of Converse sneakers that suggested a young fella on the cusp of teenage hood.

I was in the black suit that I had worn nearly sixteen years ago at my own wedding – on the day Northerly won his second W.S. Cox Plate- although I dared not do it up in case a button pinged off into someone’s eye like a pebble catapulted from a slingshot and an ambulance was required. I didn’t need the bother.

The ceremony was compact and elegant with vows and photos and tears and laughter and applause. At its conclusion I found myself on the blub. There was no specific trigger; just generalised gratitude and goodwill at the event and its assembled, happy meaning.

A highlight was when the bride, Jasmine arrived and her beautiful dog, Simba was trotting alongside too. Who can resist a dog at a wedding? It’s a twin threat. Max told me Sunday night that Simba was now, “his third favourite dog, behind (our two) Buddy and Angel.” I agreed.

simba

There was a cubbyhouse for the kids as well as a roundabout, sandpit, and slippery slide, and I happily sat in the sun on a chair and watched the colour and movement and innocence.

Over near the grand home was a marquee for the reception. Early on in the evening, I sat for a while next to my other brother-in-law’s partner, Robyn. Along with my Uncle Des and Aunty Claire she’s one of the few people who calls me Mickle. Having dispensed with talk of footy and work and our boys she said, “So what do you think love is, Mickle?”

I offered her a list including shared hope and forgiveness and admiration and awe and respect. I then moved to the idea that George Clooney’s character, Matt King, suggests in one of my favourite films, The Descendants: “You try to make your partner’s passage through life easier.”

The speeches were excellent. Both the parents of the bride and groom were generous and optimistic in their observations and all in the marquee nodded and smiled too, as if a tuning fork had been struck and we were in harmony with this splendid song.

The groom, Rich, spoke with sincerity and thankfulness at how, seemingly, the universe had allowed all these terrific things to happen at just the right time, to him. Being astute in these matters, and of course, his big brother, my wife remarked that she could tell half a minute out, the point at which he’d become choked up.

A, K and M

Music and singing and dancing followed and the father of bride, David and father of the groom, Darryll concluded the celebration at midnight with a port each and I went down the hill to our sleeping campervan.

Sunday awoke to fog and mist but cleared to a sunny morning, and the promise of bacon and eggs and chat, and then late lunch and wine with our Queensland relatives.

It was a wonderful wedding.

j and r 2

 

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A Week Before Our Wedding We Went To The Races

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Here at Mickeytales Towers November Nostalgia continues with much spectacle and sparkling ale. But, you somehow already knew this.

We decided to have a joint pre-wedding party at the now demolished Victoria Park racecourse on Caulfield Cup day way back in 2002. It was a glorious spring afternoon- still, sunny and the good earth itself was bursting with rude health and robust conversation. We set up afternoon camp on the sloping lawns that fell away from the old grandstand.

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Here’s the bride with her mum, Joan and grandparents who’d driven down from Queensland for a few weeks. Griff liked a punt, and for many a year after would talk about this day, especially the bewildering fact that we hadn’t invested nearly enough on the Cup winner, a handy horse named Northerly.

We’d be up in Gympie with the cricket wandering along on their boxy, old TV, when, in complete contrast to the topic at hand he’d announce wryly, “You know what? We should’ve had more money on that bloody Northerly.” He’d then cackle at his own belated wisdom, and drum his fingers in that special way he had.

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Ali Hennessy has ample respect for authority, and of course, there’s no greater authority in Australia than Major Les Hiddins (retired). No, that’s not him on the right as that’s Paul, a Kapunda boy. Les is a devotee of VB, and he used to say, “In the army we’ve a saying. Two cans, per man (or woman), per day. Perhaps.” See what I mean by respect? Of course, it’s possible that Ali’s holding the can for her husband, Hen, who may have ducked across to the betting ring to invest in Waikikamukau, only to be briskly told that the horse was retired, or that he was even less likely to run a place, as he was deceased.

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Here’s Dad. Loves a red wine, loves a chat. Loved a punt. I reckon he had a pretty good day out. I reckon we all did.

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Bronwyn and Jonesy. My dear old friends from Mount Gambier, or the Mount. Of course, when at the races if someone asks where you’re from, and you reply, “The Mount” they could glance towards a nearby gelding and wonder if there’s an equine connection, so be careful. Just sayin’. Social confusion is best avoided.

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Here’s my sister Jill and her husband Barry. They were married earlier in 2002 at Partridge House in Glenelg before the reception, which was at Ayers House. I was their MC (sadly no DVDs available for purchase at time of writing).

Back then people drank Crown Lager as it possessed a rarefied, almost posh image that meant it was an “occasion” beer. Now, it holds the charm of a solitary night in a deserted pokies tavern, complete with stale biscuits and cups of tepid tea.

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A bottle of water? Whose is it? Whew, nobody in our group! Had me worried for a minute.

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From left to right: my father-in-law Darryll, my grandmother-in-law, Jean and my mum, Lois. Note that Jean is holding an ancient parchment called a form guide. It’s not an app, or on a phone or even on the TV with some baritone idiot barking, “The Curse!” or “Happy Puntmas” every nine seconds. Kiddies, ask your elders.

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Dad’s chatting here with his brother John and his wife, Liz, who in a curious twist also happen to be my Uncle John and Aunt Liz. What a crazy life! The coincidences!

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I miss the Victoria Park races, located as they were on the edge of the city. I recall heading in there one July afternoon with Hen (far right) but leaving early to cab down to Adelaide Oval to watch the Dogs play a SANFL fixture. After the match we snuck into the CDFC rooms.

The next day we flew to Brisbane with fellow Kimba-folk, Bazz and Annie, on a mystery flight. While in Queensland, Bazz bought a child’s toy called a “cat in a bag.” With his own money. I often wonder about that cat.

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This was the last time we went to the races there. It’s now an open park although the old, heritage grandstand maintains vigil over the sweeping grass and waving gum trees. Thanks to everyone who shared the afternoon. Now, and then, it reminds me of the many and varied things for which I should be thankful.

I do wish I’d stuck more coin on Northerly though.