The Wedding

Waking at dark o'clock after a brief sleep, I hurried to get ready in case Liliana picks me up early for the hairdresser. She did.

Dressed in last night's party clothes, and a bit tousled, she was in bright spirits. We stopped at the florist to get the wildflower barrette she had ordered for her hair.

"Che carina!," she exclaimed, as she threw down €5 for what would've been $35 back home.

To the hair salon. Not yet open. Our appointment was at 8:30; we were there at 8:20. The owner pulled up at 8:25 and Liliana made a remark about her timing. "Sono in orario," the owner explained — I'm right on time.

Liliana went first and her hair turned out beautifully! But she is beautiful, and has beautiful hair. 

Next, I got a rather lengthy shampoo and conditioner treatment, and as I sat in the chair, the woman said, disgruntingly, that my hair is super fine. I explained I always, always use mousse or gel for volume, but she added nothing (though the bottles of it were Bout 18" away).

With a curling iron about the size of a chopsticks, she added dozens and dozens of ringlets to the sides of my head. The top was pretty plat. I looked like a topiary boxwood, but felt much, much uglier. Mariella said I should send pictures to my mom and sister, and now I'm starting to doubt her.

Really, I should've passed on the whole thing and stayed in bed another hour.

I got home, tired as hell and very crabby about my hair. The best solution, I considered, was to go to bed.

Imagining I'd redo my do, at least on top, I was concerned a) I'd look even worse, and b) I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings by admitting how much I hated it.

As it turned out, it's so hot and humid, my nap left me in a headsweat, and half my head was damp and straight, the other half losing all curl. I really need product, this taught me. But now I have an honest excuse for no salon hairdo — albeit very little time to fix it.

I did what I could. I'm not the bride; it doesn't matter!

We drove to the vigne to carpool.

"Perché non hai i capelli ricci?," Luisa asked the moment she saw me. I explained I have no curls because everything fell in the heat. Lovely Mary Rapisarda walked onto the patio, and said, the same happens to me. I can have rocoli, and 15 minutes later, it's flat. Luisa also asked why I was carrying a bag. I explained I had a change of clothes, shoes, and the gift, since the reception was on Liliana and Raji's apiary land, and I didn't know how dusty things might be. Mary said, I'm bringing a change of shirt for the same reason. God love her. 

After what seemed like an eternal under the nutshell game, we determined who is going in what car with whom. Giarre is about 45 minutes away, but first we're picking up Mariella's cousin (young aunt?) Fina, the one who sews for Fendi and Prada.

Giarre is charming and piccolo. The church is a small countryside venue; simple and beautiful. Lili brought enormous pottery vases to line the stairs, and filled them with flowers from Etna.

The ceremony was unique, representing a variety of cultures, albeit a Catholic mass. Alessandro co-officiated. When I turned to see the boys walking Liliana into the church (following sweet flower girl Tea), a bug must've gotten into my eye or something, as they were watering.

You could tell that Lili and Raji were having fun and simply taking joy in each other. They exude such happiness, their wattage could power Sicily.

After the ceremony, another nutshell game, and we arrived at N'Arnia, the name of their land with the apiary. Arnia is Sicilian for apiary; the N in front means "of". I found a N'Arnia dishtowel in Spooner, Wisconsin, and wrapped their gift of money with it.

The couple were greeted through N'Arnia gates with Indian music and lotus petals. They arrived in an ancient Fiat, replete with tin cans tied to the back!

The land was set up with tables, linens, tents, rugs, pillows, and haystacks covered in blankets. There was a long buffet table, hosting a leg of prosciutto, and several beverage stations. We started with delicious aperitivi and prosecco, then the night filled with Indian dance and music, and of course tons of Sicilian music. A Bob Marley tune snuck in here and there.

Dinner was next, ranging from selections of the sea on one end; from the land on the other. Joe ran our wine glasses back to the table, so I started filling a plate for him. As usual, he went rogue, and we then had 3 plates of food. Note to self: Quit trying! Luisa asked me when I was going to change into my other clothes that I brought along. Uff!

There were henna artists, a caricaturist, and kid activities, including a soccer field. Speaking of soccer, the Napolitani were engrossed in the Napoli-Inter game on Ciro's phone. Sorry, Napoli. Inter made a goal at the very end, putting them 3-2. Sigh. I remember Davide explaining that Italian men are passionate about three things: food, sex, and soccer, and almost never in that order.

We were a table of people weary from last night's festivities. I always marvel how very little sleep these people clock and still do huge and incredible things! Imagine if they slept 7 hours straight!

Another late night to bed. I can't wait to shower in the morning.

But I wouldn't have missed any of this for the world.

Auguri, Lili & Raji.