This past Sunday I drove to New Iberia thinking that dad and I'd hang out, talk about our plans, maybe set one thing in stone, and he'd buy me dinner. He had gone upstairs to what I thought was take a nap. I was trolling the book shelves looking for Lonesome Dove when dad walks downstairs seersuckered out.
"Dad, you look nice..."
"Any particular reason?"
"Morgan Weiland's wedding, you should come."
"When is it?"
"In about an hour."
I refused politely, pretty sure that I hadn't been invited, but five minutes before go time, dad convince me to get topped and tailed, although I knew that I'd be really sweaty sitting outside in the brutal May heat (I've been recently told that "sultry" makes the weather sound much more romantic than really really hot and humid).
Anyway, Morgan had invited dad to the wedding when he was in D.C. last fall raising money for the brand new scholarship fund, which Morgan and Cameron (I guess her monetary er ins and outs are now also his) donated to. So I'm considering this wedding as our unofficial beginning to this adventure. Plus the Tates were there so it seems like a good place to begin, although they gave money long before this blog and bus trip ever materialized.
Anyway, the wedding was beautiful, the bride and groom were generous and wonderful, and we got to sit next to Cameron's uncle and aunt who told us about their adventure:
For the past three years, they've been living on a 42' sailboat, moving from port to port, paying off local bandits, and generally living their dream. They had bought dress clothes specifically for the wedding and were planning to chuck them before they got back on the boat. They had a great story about a boat part, island bureaucracy, and a thousand pesos, but I had two of the stiffest gin and tonics I've ever had in my life, so that's that.