Good Morning.
Okay, I got virtually every single detail wrong about the royal wedding on Saturday. The groom did not wear a red military uniform; he wore navy although there was a red stripe here and there. The bride wore a white gown with a veil the length of my living room despite the fact that she had been previously married. I am probably the only person on earth who wasn't on board with it, but so be it. As a divorced woman, Meghan should not have worn a white dress with a veil that, in addition to its extraordinary length, also covered her face until the groom lifted that portion of it in the traditional gesture of you know what. Please.
I cannot believe the queen approved of the bride's fashion choices, but she reportedly had to sign off on everything connected to the festivities and clearly allowed Meghan to have a strong say in what she wanted. First up, the bride walked
halfway down the aisle without male assistance and without a maid of honor but followed by a flock of toddlers under the age of five and a couple of pages who held the veil. She was then met for the last part of the walk by Prince Charles, and I was wrong about him also. He was extraordinarily gracious toward the bride and also toward the bride's mother when he escorted her into the sacristy after the vows. The old boy did himself proud.
There were a couple of familiar hymns and an anthem by the resident choir but that's pretty much where church tradition
started and ended. The sermon was delivered by Michael Curry, Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church in the United States, who nearly blew the roof off the place. Bishop Curry's preaching, safe to say, had never been heard or seen before at a royal wedding and caused several guests to openly gasp as he raved for thirteen minutes about the transforming power of love, imagine such a thing. I believe he was also having a word with the people back in the country of his birth.
The bishop's remarks were followed by another startling break with precedent, the singing of the 1960s pop hit Stand by Me by a gospel group who gently swayed to the music. Suffice to say, the words And darlin', darlin' had never been sung in a drafty medieval church before, but there also was a spectacular nineteen-year-old cellist, Sheku Kanneh-Mason, who played the Ave Maria - in a nice dark suit - complimented with brightly patterned socks that caught a cameraman's attention.
The Archbishop of Canterbury handled the vows that were an updated form of the old traditional stuff that is now correctly absent of that dreadful obey business. A single first name was used by the bride and groom in a departure from the format at previous royal weddings, but the Brits still make promises about the bestowing of one's body and it sounds a great deal better in a British accent. Everything sounds better in a British accent.
I was also wrong about the luncheon afterward, apparently not a sit-down affair for two hundred but something with bowl food for six hundred that I think means a buffet with small plate items. Elton John sang at the occasion and was there, with his husband, in another nod to Harry's mother, Diana, who was also honored in the lavish display of her favorite flower, the Forget-Me-Not. There were plenty of other celebrities on hand, of course, including Oprah, Serena Williams, the Clooneys,
and the cast of Suits, but thankfully, blessedly, no politicians.
I was wrong about the evening party. That was where the invited number was two hundred of the closest friends. The bride,
now the Duchess of Sussex, changed into another white gown and the groom wore proper formal attire, not the jeans and sneakers I had suggested he might favor. The event that involves the hearty consumption of food and spirits is called a Knees Up for reasons about which I am uncertain, but I shall take my leave now to continue processing an occasion that I liked a great deal. Except for the dress. And the veil.
Best regards,
Elisabeth
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