Trena Eiden

After the marriage proposal, we had three months to prepare for our daughter, Lunny’s nuptials in October. We did it, but it wasn’t easy, and I’ll tell you why. Every now and then God has a slow day so tilts my world just because he can. First, right out of the gate, I got sick, then Gar got sick, complete with a hospital stay. He always has to one-up me.  

Lunny decided on a destination wedding because she wanted fall colors. Our Wyoming yard has that, but only through September. By October, the yellow leaves are gone, so Lunny chose Banff, Alberta, Canada, and we’re glad she did — I didn’t have to clean my house for guests. It was a good thing because I made the happy couple a 40-page book and created a little black truck with a bed full of miniature pumpkins and a JUST MARRIED sign on the back. All the crafting supplies propagated and our house appeared to have been ransacked. We couldn’t eat at the table, couldn’t sit on the couch and sleeping in our bed took effort.  

I keep my nails very short, but decided I’d get a French manicure for the festivities. The nail tech started by putting on 2-inch nails then cutting them short. While long, I sent Gar a photo, “Too long, or no?” He texted, “They’re OK if you’re digging up worms I think.”  

One day Lunny texted, “Mama, I’m having a hairdresser do our hair for the wedding, but I’m guessing you’ll want to do your own.” I texted back, “Yes, nobody can make it look cheaper than I do.”  

Banff, Canada is stunning with its 12,000 foot mountains right in town. All the deciduous trees were decked out in golden yellows, oranges and reds against the backdrop of dark green pines, spruce and firs. The views were magnificent, creating dazzling photos. That’s the good part. The bad part is really bad. Have you ever eaten at a Canadian restaurant in the U.S.? No, you haven’t, and there’s a very good reason. Canadians are horrible cooks. I personally know a thing or two about horrible cooks, so trust me. The only great meal we had was the wedding feast, complete with fancy chicken, salmon and steak. There were two salads, one of which was Caprese, which made an 8-year-old granddaughter gush, “That compressed salad was so good.”  

How bad could the food be? Well, first of all it was tasteless, which is why every waiter we had asked, “Would you like me to grate pepper on your food?” It gets worse. One night we ordered three kinds of pizza from a little place down the block. There was pepperoni, cheese, and three-meat. I have to admit, the pepperoni was much like ours except it was dime-sized pepperonis, but the cheese pizza had sugar liberally sprinkled over the top. It was sweet and mostly terrible. The worst was the meat pizza. There was a layer of little pepperonis, then chicken, which I thought was odd, then, and I promise I’m not making this up…bologna. Lord help. At first, I thought it was Canadian bacon and that would have been fine, but no, it was bologna, like they had a personal relationship with Oscar Mayer. I did not eat that. 

The day before the wedding, Will and Lunny went to get their marriage license in the next town while the rest of us decorated for the girls’ party. Before starting, we were chatting around the breakfast table, thinking we had loads of time, when Lunny texted, “Headed back. See ya in twenty min.” It would have been a great video. Seventeen people leaped up and spun around, cartoon-like, leaving a swirl of wind behind us. The guys and grandsons occupied their time riding the gondola up the mountain, while the girls and granddaughters had a spa party.  

Everything was amazing and went about like I’d imagined; a granddaughter lost a tooth, a grandson got stung by a yellowjacket and the very same grandson, when seeing the balloons and party decorations, but oblivious to wedding talk, announced, “Aunt Lunny, we get to sing you happy birthday tomorrow, how old you gonna be?”  

Besides all the wedding pictures, two days later, Will and Lunny had a photo shoot at two lakes. The first was at daylight, while 20 degrees, in a wedding dress, and to get there, they rode e-bikes. Lunny texted, “My hands haven’t been that cold since I was little.” Well, if you’re gonna be dumb, ya better be tough.