As I mentioned on Friday, there were two big weddings in New York State this weekend; Chelsea Clinton’s and my sister Mary Lou’s daughter, Meagan.
Being family and all, Gail and I opted to go to my nieces wedding. (That and the fact that we weren’t invited to the Clinton nuptuals).
The wedding was to be held in our hometown of Buffalo on Saturday at 2:30pm. Due to a commitment Friday night, we decided to “hit the highway” at 8:00a.m. Saturday morning. Having driven to Buffalo about a million times, I knew we would make it in under five hours – giving us plenty of time to “Get to the Church on Time”. And I wouldn’t even have to break the speed limit (although some say I have a habit of doing that… like virtually every cop in the Metro area).
Still, having been a Boy Scout – and thus “always prepared”, I had suggested that we dress for the wedding before leaving, just in case. (With the exception of panty hose – Gail’s, not mine). Bottom line, we were golden.
And so we tooled happily along highway 401 listening to our favorite Lady Gaga, uh, I mean Frank Sinatra CD.
And then, around 12:30, as we were getting close to Niagara Falls a large sign caught our attention: “Expect One to Two Hour Delays at the Bridge to USA”.
Uh oh!
I immediately got out my cell phone and called my sister, the Mother-of-the-Bride, who was in the midst of arranging a gaggle of bridesmaids for the pre-wedding photo shoot. I told her about the sign – and that we might not make it - and she said very calmly and nicely, much to her credit, “not to worry”. Her husband, Larry is Canadian and they’ve made they’re way over the border too many times to count. She assured me that the signs are very often wrong.
Luckily, she was right.
NOT!
As we got closer to the bridge we came to a dead stop – along with what appeared to be a million other cars. At this point I’m thinking, “Is everyone in Canada going to this wedding?” A scant hour and forty-five minutes later, we finally pulled up to the Customs and Immigraton Booth. It was 2:35pm. So basically, as the clergyman was asking, “Who gives this woman to marry this man?”, a border agent was asking me, “Do you have any firearms in your vehicle?”.
After the formalities, I asked the customs agent if traffic was always this heavy going into the States on a Saturday afternoon. “Oh no,” he responded. “Just on Canadian Civic Holiday Weekends”.
How could I have forgotten? The first weekend in August is ALWAYS a Civic holiday in Canada. Where were Jacque and Frenchy LePuke when I needed them?
When I asked why so many were headed to the states he said, “Shopping”. (Apparently they have cheaper prescription drugs, but we have better prices on things like jeans and toilet paper).
Just out of curiosity, I inquired as to whether the traffic would be as bad coming back into Canada the next day (when we planned to return). “You bet, he said. The earlier you leave the better”.
So we finally made it across the border but completely missed the wedding. “Luckily, the reception isn’t until six,” said Gail. Hand my wife a lemon and she’ll make the best lemonade in town.
With a few hours to kill until the party, we opted to stop at “Ted’s Hot Dog Stand” – our favorite spot since high school… on the way to our hotel. Did we look ridiculous sitting in the most casual restaurant in the world, me in a suit and Gail in a beautiful dress and heals? Probably! But at that point after an almost seven hour trip we didn’t really care all that much.
The reception (which we got to ON TIME thank you) was lovely. We were seated at a table with a man who had been friends with my late father for years. His name was Tommy and at the age of 89 was in better shape than I ever hope to be. In fact he and his LIVE-IN girlfriend, Terry, (did I mention that he’s 89????) danced every song from the Hustle to the Macarena. Between turns on the floor, he told me a story about my dad. “Your father,” he said with a smile, “he was really something. You know he and I used to drive up to this restaurant in Toronto with our women on Monday nights all the time.” “Why?” I asked. (After all, Toronto is about an hour-an-a-half drive from Buffalo). “If you bought one meal… you got the second one free”.
Knowing my Dad, that answer made perfect sense. He added that on one of their 3-hour-round trip jaunts to Toronto to save ten bucks on dinner, a heavy fog covered the freeway. Tommy said you could barely see the road, but instead of slowing down, my father, who was behind the wheel sped up. “Don’t you think we should take it easy,” Tommy recalled asking my dad. “It’s dangerous to drive this fast”. He said my Dad replied, “The faster we get through the fog, the faster we’ll get out of it”.
Again, knowing my Dad, that answer made perfect sense.
The next day we were invited over to Mary Lou’s for a “Post-Wedding-Out-of Town-Guest Lunch” at 12 noon. We were torn… Echo’s of the border agents warning, “The earlier you leave, the better” were battling with a feeling of obligation to attend the luncheon. After all, we HAD missed the wedding.
So, of course, we skipped the lunch and headed home early. We only had to wait five minutes at the border and got back to Detroit in 4 hours and 58 minutes.
I can’t wait to see the pictures of the wedding. I’ll bet it was beautiful!
- Dick