raise the [green] flag

It was a wedding weekend for my family: for this region’s, this country’s branch of my family, at least. And I was so grateful to be able to be a representative there for my own immediate branch of the family, which finds itself currently situated in just about the most scattered manner possible., covering the far corners of one country, traversing one ocean, and crossing one other country’s border . . .
But back to the celebration at hand. The chosen day turned out to be the most beautiful day yet, so far as the region’s weather goes. Ideal for an outdoor, mountaintop ceremony and a lakeside reception.
There being sunshine to be soaked up, young ones to play with, and water to be splashed about it, I happily planted myself in the sand-castle-building contingency. My own creation was rather dwarfed by the boys’ “tower of awesome,” which consisted of not one, not two . . . but 23 castle turrets. But I defended my castle’s dignity, pointing out that it sported a fine flag even. “Fine,” I conceded, when I was informed that my flagpole missed a flag. “You’re right . . .” And then not-quite-awesome castle was rescued with this lovely, leafy flag.
I laugh as I write this and wonder if it is sacrilegious somehow, to speak of such banal amusements when writing about a wedding. But you know, I mused last night, as we drove home, that what was so lovely about the day was the whole of it. The physical pleasures of sunshine and sand as much a part of it as the ceremonial aspects. The brotherly squabbles just as much as the formal wedding kiss. Life is made up of the whole of it, so it seems fitting for this day of celebration to be the same . . .