Victor and Lyn's Wedding

Victor and Lyn planned to have a goth wedding on Halloween in a cemetary in Salem, then found you have to book a year in advance to do that. So they settled on a gorgeous inn in Maine. (To my unfortunately medicalized mind, the Stage Neck Inn reads "You've got a tumor on your neck, we need to stage it.") I flew into Manchester NH, hung with Chris and Patty (who house sat for me while I was in Australia), picked up Lyn's daughter Amanda at the airport, and drove up to Maine.

Victor called Amanda, whom I'd never met before, to see if she was OK. She reported that she was in a car with someone.

 

Amanda and Holly

 

Lyn said I was supposed to give the groom away. That implies he's mine to give, so I decided to bring him in on a leash and hand him over. "Here, he's all yours". (The leash belongs to one of Lyn's cats.) The service was neo-Celtic. Coming together in a circle symbolized the sun, etc.

 

Everyone held a candle and a camera.
As part of his vows, Victor said "You cannot control me, for I am a free man", provoking quiet sniggers from all the married men.

 

The preacher was a pro. Before the ceremony, he pushed "Everyone here? Why not?" After, he got the maid of dishonor and best monster to do the paperwork instantly, then split. Encyclopedia Crain in a typical "enjoy life" pose. He got into a wide-ranging discussion with a guest in which he quoted everything from 17th century Supreme Court decisions to the world's supply of thorium in cubic meters.

 

Mistress Lisa (Lyn's sister) adores the rabid rat.

Everyone's a critic--and a comedian--and a wedding photographer. At least Lisa's hubbie Troy and executioner David are. Lisa's son Gregg (middle) puts up tents for a living--a surprising occupation they never told me about in high school.

I almost came as an executioner too. If I had, David and I would have been wearing the same costume and I would have had to kill him.

 

 

After a couple relaxed days at the Inn, drove back to the Manchester airport, stopping to hang out in Portsmouth NH on the way. Wish I'd taken pics--was tired and feel down on the job. Best thing was the altgeezer--a 70yo guy hanging on a porch with a full set of leg tats and stretched earlobes. Decided immediately that this place was OK. The decline of the naval presence gave the place a faintly desperate tone. For example, the intriguing looking shops full of nothing much--how do we stock this place on almost no money?

Beautiful night flight over twinkling lights to Dulles, where the 60 degree temperature seemed unhealthy, malarious. Where was all the delicious crispness and woodsmoke-and-oyster air?