From missing keys to a collapsing cake, son’s Central Coast wedding was one to remember
Every wedding week has priceless memory moments, and the week during which our youngest son Sean and his bride, Jenny, tied the knot on the Central Coast was no exception.
There were so many special times as the Tanner and Hayes families melded into one.
I’ll certainly never forget all those hugs and laughs, or the instant acceptance by our new in-laws.
I’ll also remember how the fog drifted in and out at just the right times along the Ragged Point shoreline below us — and the raptly devoted and ecstatic looks in the couple’s eyes as they said their emotional vows.
My personal treasure right before they began those vows? It was when Sean stopped the ceremony, walked over to me, kissed me and, with tears in his eyes, quietly whispered, “I love you, Mom. Thank you. You made me the man I am today.”
Hectic wedding week has a few hiccoughs
There were a few glitches during the hectic wedding week — such as the time we couldn’t find our van keys on the night before the big day, or the moment we watched, wide eyed, as the couple’s tall ceremonial cake toppled.
It was a small wedding, with about 35 people. Many of the attendees came from out of the area — traveling from Arizona, Colorado, Idaho, Nebraska and even Manchester, England!
There were lots of new people to meet.
We Tanners could have been overwhelmed, but warmth, kindness and humor saved the day.
Like when those keys disappeared.
On the night before the wedding ceremony, we gathered at the large lodge house of the beautiful Ragged Point Inn and Resort in southern Monterey County, a drop-dead gorgeous location with one of the best ocean views on the coast.
Four of us had driven up from Cambria for a casual meet-and-greet meal with about 16 of Jenny’s friends and family members, nearly all of whom we’d never met before.
When pizza time was over around sunset, our weary quartet was more than ready to head back home to sleep and get ready for the big day ahead.
But we couldn’t find the van’s keys.
Along the remote Central Coast shore, it gets very dark, very fast after the sun goes down.
That’s great for stargazing, but it doesn’t make for prime key-hunting conditions.
Smartphone flashlights were less than useful for illuminating the outdoor search area, and pointing those beams into the van’s dark interior was downright useless.
Eventually, aided by a borrowed flashlight, Son Brian spotted the keys, tucked down where they’d been accidentally dropped, unnoticed, inside the van — just as the back hatch door slammed shut.
Our Plymouth Town & Country’s key fob has a special button you press to temporarily unlock that lift-gate while leaving the other doors locked.
Once you put the hatch door back down, it automatically relocks.
Sure, we had an extra set of keys with us … inside the locked van.
And there was another, even more pressing problem: The key to our home’s front door was on the same ring with the van fob!
Once we got to Cambria, would we be able to get into our house?
I’d meant to have extra house keys made earlier that week, but there had been so many pre-wedding chores, errands, activities and visits.
Normally I would have just called AAA for unlock service. That’s what they’re there for.
But in those remote coastal locations, there’s no cell service or internet connection.
Finally, someone remembered the landline phone in one of the bedrooms.
After repeatedly calling AAA and being put on hold, we were finally told they’d have to find a driver, so it would probably be about 11 p.m. before the truck would arrive from Cambria.
We were in a hard-to-describe location on the large resort complex, and the AAA agent wasn’t understanding the description.
Brian went to the inn’s registration office, only to learn that it would close in five minutes, at 10 p.m..
So, for an hour and a half in the chilly night air, he waited outside the office so he could be the AAA driver’s tour guide.
We waited. And he waited.
Was the driver really on his way? We’ll never know. Our repeated re-calls to AAA led to voicemail messages or being on endless hold.
The AAA driver never found us or the van.
Amid the angst, there was an eventual stroke of luck.
Sean dug in his pocket and dangled a single key in front of me. “You loaned me a house key, Mom. Remember?”
Obviously not, son. Or I’d already be home in bed.
As I clutched the precious key with a death grip, Jenny’s younger sister Melinda Hayes stuffed us into her car and drove us home before wending her weary way down to Rigdon House in downtown Cambria.
The spare van key was waiting for us at home.
Vows, cake, memories and more
We made plenty of other memories over the wedding weekend — including a nervous newly anointed officiant, the magical ceremony and the slo-mo collapse of the wedding cake. They’re now part of the forever lore of two families.
As a former professional cake decorator, I could have patched the cake up somewhat. Fresh flowers can hide a multitude of sins.
But when Sean and Jenny saw it, they roared with laughter and declared the “temblor cake” would be just fine.
They’d long planned an amazing, unconventional, nontraditional ceremony celebrating their union as man and wife. And so it was — keys, cake and all.
Yes, there were some incredible memories. Especially that tender moment I’ll treasure in my heart forever: “I love you, Sean. Thank you. You and Brian made me the mom I am today.”
