I survived the wedding.

In fact, everyone came out relatively unscathed. No ridiculous family fights, no over embarassing situations (aside from my wife's 70-something year old aunt drinking herself silly and falling over!) and nothing but compliments galore on the kilts.

Even the old Battle Axe herself, the Mother-in-Law admitted to me on Sunday that, despite all her "hemming and hawing", she thought we all looked spectacular in our attire. As I guessed, she was under the impression we were going to wear some pseduo-Renaissance garb, but, as is her way, neglected to ask what it would look like and, as is my way, I don't offer information unless asked, especially by my elders (a holdover from dealing with my old man). The only question she had was why I was wearing red and black diced hose and the the groomsmen wore the cream colored ones, and it was actually asked without sounding adversarial.

Perhaps she won't be so bad after all.

At any rate, the honeymoon in Nova Scotia was just what the doctored ordered, so to speak. As we were on a farm in the sticks (aka Tatamagouche), we had LOTS of quiet and lots of time for just us. The days were lazy and while it rained the first couple of days, the rest of the week was splendid, and we even got to see our first relatively unspoiled starlight. We both grew up near cities and have never seen stars like that before. The Nova Scotians we encountered were the nicest people we've ever met, adding once again to the stereotype of the polite Canadian. Everyone loved my kilt, which I wore daily, and the only questions were, "Have you been to Cape Breton?" and "Is there any special occasion?". The response of, "No, I just like wearing it!" was met with much encouragement.

Miranda wants to move there now, if only so she can enjoy Tatamagouche Butter again.

Pictures will be posted once I get a hold of some.