It was a beautiful day. We remember the sunshine.
The bride cried and dabbed her blushing cheeks with a real hanky (unusual, in a Kleenex world) as she walked down the aisle. The matrons in attendance just smiled knowingly; some of them sighed a little.
We remember that there were tadpoles in the fountain outside church that day, and the children were catching them with their hands while their mothers fussed that they were getting their "good clothes" dirty.
Everything was anecdote-worthy. When my sister popped the champagne cork, it flew twenty feet away and landed with a graceful plop in Uncle Charlie's toasting flute.
Each placecard was trimmed with purple metallic ribbons that matched the tablerunners and the lilac centerpieces and even the bridesmaid's shoes. Erin and Shane got the details right, people said approvingly.
The details were important, were what we remember. We ignore the real story. We avert our eyes and don't like to talk about what happened afterward.
lost sock center makes yummy nodeshell goodness.