Looking back, it's hard to say where things went downhill. Was it the moment when Greg, my sister's husband, asked the bride's step-mother to please refrain from snapping photos alongside the photographer?

Personally, I thought Greg displayed great restraint when Step-Mom A responded with "This is the first time you've spoken to me and you're going to tell me to quit taking pictures." And then proceeded to give Greg the middle finger. OMG.

She obviously didn't know about Greg's propensity toward violent behavior. She ought to have checked with the folks at the Little League who banned Greg after he punched out a referee or was it that Greg was the referee and he punched out some fan? I can never get that story straight. Or the one about his confronting the school board member and then making sure he got elected to the school board. Let's just say Greg isn't known for his diplomatic behavior.

But this was his son's wedding. So Greg turned away from the woman without breaking any bones -- hers or his -- while she continued to snap photos despite numerous requests from the photographer that she cease and desist. When she was toting around that camera she was sitting with her middle finger pressed up over her lips -- a signature of defiance to anyone observing.

Perhaps, though, it was the moment when the photographer lined up Wife B (the bride's real mama) and her family for their formal photo. Everyone in suit ties, tuxes, and poufy dresses, with the exception of one 8-year old boy, who was wearing a Beckham uniform, calf socks included.

Niece Taylor, who takes after her father, turns to my sis and asks, "He's going to change for the wedding, right?" To wit my sis replies, "These are their formal photos. I think if he was going to dress up he would've done so by now." Taylor had one of her signature conniption fits, and the wedding consultant, who's supposed to tend to these matters, overheard it.

"He's only 8 years old," she said, by way of saying he ought to be excused for his behavior.

And Miss Linda, who has run a preschool for the past two and half decades, stood by thinking, "If a parent can't get a kid to mind when he's 8 what's he going to be like at age 18" It's a question more folks ought to be pondering.

For me personally the whole thing went to pot when I saw my mother being escorted down the aisle by nephew Gabe. Blaring across the loudspeaker was Frank Sinatra crooning, "I did it my way."

I'm not sure if the bride or one of her parents picked that song, but there was no wondering about the intent of its message. My jaw went slack and the gal sitting next to me, a longtime friend of my sister's said, "Odd choice of music."

I was of two minds on it though. I mean it is typically a funeral song, so maybe it was entirely appropriate. I know my sis and brother-in-law were definitely in mourning. The laugh of the day came when Pastor Myron asked Mannie if he took Nicole to be his husband. Cliff Gibson who was sitting next to me called out, "I saw that coming!" Then followed it with, "That's all right. You fixed it."

Cliff is a former UofO football player. He's earned the right to say whatever he thinks, whenever. He had running commentary throughout much of the service.

A few flubbed vows later, Mannie & Nicole were married. Daughter Shelby sat on the end of the pew, bawling. Not tears of joy, either. While daughter Konnie sat behind me hooting and hollering at her cousins walking by. "Time to partee!" she said.

Well every funeral has its wake and every wedding its reception. And I gotta tell you this was some shindig. Held at the Cowlitz County Expo center, the place was duded up with white linens and chandeliers and pink sashes on every chair and sliver trays of steaming food, and glistening punch streaming and DJ and Disco ball.

Gabe, sitting at the head table next to his brother, fumbled around with some speech about how he wasn't sure he wanted his brother to be married but well, he could tell his brother loved Nicole and that he figured they might stay together after all.

Mannie responded with a speech of his own, and then Mannie took his bride to the dance floor.

Then his mother. And in probably the most appropriate song of the evening, Mannie & Linda both teared up as Sting sang, "I'll be missing you."

I sat next to Linda's best friends and cried right along with them.

Then, it was time to do the booty dance...

The capstone to the entire event for me, however, didn't come until the morning after. Linda woke me at 8 a.m.

"Which room is Mom in?" she asked.

"Next door," I said.

"Let's get her," she said. "See if she wants to join us for breakfast."

I stumbled out the door, still in my pjs and knocked on the door of Room 269, the room right next to mine. Mom had checked in at noon and Ashley had helped her get ready for the wedding. She'd left the reception around 8 p.m., with Ash driving her back to the hotel. 

Mama's usually an early riser, so I was kind of surprised that she didn't answer immediately. I knocked harder.

"I hear her," Linda said, as someone fumbled with the door lock. We both with slack-jawed when a big burly fellow with a hair face and chest opened the door. 

Had a werewolf swallowed our mother?

"I'm sorry," I stuttered, backing away. Linda ran into my room. I followed.  

"What the hell happened to Mama?"