No tengo claro qué es. ¿Por qué tanto ritual para algo que no entiendo? Pero... hija se casó legítimamente, o sea que no me zafo.
Casamiento tipo yanqui, en jardín de padres de novio, entrada triunfal con novia angelical vestida de blanco (¡!), ceremonia divertida, parientes y amigos contentos.
Comestibles en camión con langostas directo desde N.York, carnes asadas, muchas ensaladas, picadillos y de postre, donuts.
Discursos casi salidos del alma. La mayoría escritos previamente y leídos, menos yo que a último momento me largué al ruedo y más o menos me defendí. En inglés. La joroba es que no hay palabra para consuegro/mejetunim (mejutn y mejetéineste). Hube de improvisar. (memo para mí: agregar videos de discursos nuestros).
Tengo que agregar poema de Malalo, cuando me lo mande. Excelente.
¿Y ahora? nada, todo sigue igual. Estamos de vuelta de un viaje precioso, con visita a la casa de la Cascada y todo. Molidos. Busco poema.
Ahí va.
Toast for the wedding of Chris and Flora
Miraculous saints from heaven
come in droves to help me talk.
My tongue is tied in knots
and my syllables scramble
in this day so longe dreaded.
It is difficult to rhyme
in this state of great distress.
There’s my baby in a white dress
while I develop my rumble
trying to finish on time.
This Chris Smith is plenty bold.
Does he know that she is a lesbian?
………………..
No! I mean, that she is a thespian?
And her words on stage celestian,
proffered without preamble,
are well worth their weight in gold?
But,
look at whom my baby chose.
She is eloping with a painter,
the likes of Van Gogh but saner;
with his head he does not gamble
and keeps two ears to one nose.
But before I self destroy
I must say without confusion
I’m so happy for their fusion
that my toast became a shamble
but my heart explodes with joy!
So, let’s drink to love eternal
or however long its span,
as far as I know they plan
what I barely dare to mumble
get at it at pace infernal
………………………………….
until a baby comes out!
But, no pressure my children,
no pressure…
let us drink!
