"Wuv, True Wuv . . ."

(Yes, the pastor actually impersonated The Princess Bride priest briefly during the ceremony.)

I spent Friday and Saturday in Washington (north of Seattle) to serve as a bridesmaid at the wedding of Bethany Hargis (a college friend) and David Riddle. Thankfully, I don't have any wedding horror stories to report (I know they make good memories, but for Bethany's sake, I'm glad things went smoothly). However, I did manage to get stuck in nasty Seattle traffic on Friday, which made me over half an hour late for the rehearsal. It was a rather frustrating drive, but everything worked out fine.

Bethany was a gorgeous and relaxed bride - sometimes I felt like I was more nervous about walking down the aisle than she was! Oh, and there was a glitch with one of the bridesmaid's dresses that required an emergency sewing job by the mother of the groom. The zipper on her dress skipped about five inches and then got stuck at the top of her dress, leaving her trapped in a dress with a gaping hole up the back! Fortunately, the stitches held up through the wedding and reception and we simply pulled them out and cut the zipper to free her afterwards. Crisis avoided.

P.S.

Amy, I was thinking about you during the ceremony because there was a ring speech, but it was different! Something about the circular shape representing the constant cycles and renewals of love, I think, and the metal representing . . . well, I don't remember. But still, it would have thrown off your quoting quite a bit, I'm afraid.

I didn't get a ton of photos with my camera (and they take forever for blogger to download using dial-up), but here's a small sampling . . .

1) The six bridesmaids: Me, Melinda, Addie, Becca (bride's sis), Jenni (bride's sis) and Rose (a mutual college friend). I felt a tad short!

2)Isabella, the adorable flower girl, whispering to her mom as she's getting ready.

3) Bethany, all ready to take the plunge!

4) David and Bethany's first dance as a Mr. and Mrs.

5) Bethany and Bethany, post-reception

House guests can come in handy . . .

Maggie cheerfully (and voluntarily) stomached an entire slice of my culinary masterpiece (see previous post) for breakfast this morning. I'm sure it's thankful for being rescued from the fate of its family members:

Bethany's Double-Baked Chicken Pizza

I know I'm not exactly famous for my recipes. But this is a new delicacy from last night that I just had to share:

Purchase a Safeway Select Verdi Self-Rising Crust Chicken Parmesano Pizza from the freezer case.

Bring it home, open the box, glance briefly at the baking instructions, heat your oven, remove the plastic and toss the pizza onto a baking sheet. Throw the box aside as you think smugly to yourself, "Who really needs instructions to bake a frozen pizza, anyway?"

Pop the pizza in the oven and check it after 20 min., finding a nicely-browned pie.

Slide the pizza onto a cutting board, noticing that you neglected to notice the cardboard circle underneath when removing the pizza from its box.

Lift up pizza, dreading to find out what happens when you cook pizza on cardboard. Breathe a sigh of relief when you find the only apparent side effect is that the bottom of the pizza hasn't browned. Contemplate returning the pizza to the oven for a few more minutes (without the cardboard), but chuck the idea and cut the pizza. Afterall, it's almost midnight and you're starved. Eat (and attempt to enjoy) 2 slices of half-cooked pizza. Decide to return the leftovers to the oven thinking it would taste better if it were cooked on the bottom.

Return pizza to baking sheet, this time placing it face down. (That should help the bottom brown faster, right?) Remove from oven 10 minutes later, finding a slightly-browned crust and slightly-burnt toppings. Pop yourself some Bethany-style popcorn to make yourself feel less like a domestic failure. Put leftovers in fridge, because you can't stand throwing "good" food away - even though you know it will never get eaten.

Not for the Faint of Heart

What's that moss-covered black object in the tree? Fungus? No, look closer. See the little heel? The pointy toe? That's right, folks. You're witnessing an actual photograph of The Witch Boot, located in my own backyard. This legendary boot first made it's appearance more than a decade ago, before our house was in existence. Dad was clearing brush to make way for a drainage field when he found it tangled amidst the blackberry bushes. Mom's initial explanation was that a little girl - perhaps our very own grandmother, who used to ride her horse in these same woodlands - had simply lost her boot while she was out playing. But that just doesn't make for a good story. Besides, this boot carried an aura of haunting mystery that no ordinary article of footwear could hold.

Dad hung the boot in a tree, where it remains today (I just checked this afternoon). Suddenly, one of us bright children (probably me), had a chilling revelation.

"It looks like a witch's boot."

So, The Witch Boot it became, and a legend was born.

One night, The Witch of the Woods was out for her usual midnight jog (witches need to stay fit to keep their broom-flying up to par) when she became ensnared in some blackberry vines. She pried herself from the vines, freeing all but one boot. She tried to remove the boot from the vine's wicked grasp, but it held on mercilessly, scratching her arms as she struggled. Furious, and with blood trickling from her wrists, the witch cast a spell on the vine.

"You may think you're tough now, but one day, humans armed with gloves and machetes will attack you and your attempts to fight back will all be in vain!" She stopped to cackle into the moonlit night, before finishing. "And then, my boot will be freed and returned to me."

And that, children, is why we never venture into the deep, dark woods at night. For one evening (witches only come out after dark, you know), the disgruntled, shoeless witch may return to retrieve what is rightfully hers, eager to seek revenge on the meddling souls who dared lay hands on her precious boot. After all, we all know what happened to the blackberry vine. (Cue the scary music)