News from the post reception phone call was not nearly as animated as the night before. Oh, the wedding went well, the official interesting, the reception was big fun, the bride beautiful, the groom was wildly dancing about, food was delicious, and all the usual stuff.

No girls french kissing each other shamelessly were present to oogle, plus the "rehearsal dinner hangover effect" is pretty strong when the wedding ceremony, the only reason for wearing a suit & tie in 80°, 70% humidity weather, is at 11am. Bob's voice describing the MAIN EVENT activity sounded really worn out and grumpy. He took a zillion photos. I'll see more there than I hear now.

After the reception, the Riffle contingent had a very important task. It must be accomplished, in spite of the exquisite exhaustion incurred the last 48 hours, magnified by the 3 hour time difference jet lag. The reason for staying 'till Tuesday, ritual Blessing of the music studio wing in Stephen's (and Bette's!) new house, is Sunday.

Circadian rhythms scrambled as they were, sacred ceremonial elixirs of choice, without which "busting of the cherry" couldn't reach its preferred frenzied state, need purchasing. In native California, this is no big deal.

Things are different in this primitive east coast neck of the woods. No liquor stores are open on Sunday! State law says their doors close by 9p.m. Saturday- though most close at 8p.m.!

Though mumbling in a practically foreign language, I perceived possession of the beverages was accomplished. They were the last customers at some shop before the door got locked.

I can hardly wait for the next update!