Harry says, "It's too hot to haul a harp, Mom."
I know. It was 97 degrees and unbearably humid at 5:30 p.m. on Friday when I was getting ready to play at a wedding in New Ulm. I was dreading lugging the harp from the house to the Trailblazer, knowing that my makeup would melt and my hair would turn to unruly frizz and my black dress would be sticking to me. (Oh, it's such glamorous work, being a harpist.) I was banking on the Trailblazer's fully operating, icy air conditioning system to repair some of the damage on the 25 mile trip ahead of me.
When I got about 10 miles down the road, the wind picked up and kicked dust high into the sky, bent the crops nearly horizontal. By the time I got to New Ulm, it was one of those circular, whipping winds that spells only one thing: completely disastrous hair and a big storm brewing (ok, that's two things, but they're equally troubling).
While I played the prelude, it started to rain. It lashed against the church's metal roof, sounding more like hail. I could see lightning out the front doors of the church, where the bride and groom stood hand in hand watching. Huge blasts of thunder made me jump and lose my place in the music.
The cantor came out and brought a flashlight with him,
"just in case," he said.
While I was playing the processional and watching the couples make their ways down the aisle, I could see branches whipping past the front of the church. Thunder added percussion to my playing. And then...it stopped. All was calm.
The lovely ceremony continued on without
further fanfare from Mother Nature.
When we exited the church, the temperature had dropped 20 degrees. And the rain had stopped completely, so the couple could make their getaway in a horse-drawn carriage. Neighbors out picking up fallen tree branches waved as we left. The couple was ecstatic. Surely, if their marriage started out this stormy it would be smooth sailing from here on out!