It was a wedding, so of course, there was a photographer – many photographers, actually. Everyone carries a phone camera these days. So there are snapshots and snapchats of the bride and the maid of honor and the flower girl and the ringbearer in his pajamas after the whole ordeal. There is an absolutely lovely candid photo of the bride and groom lifting champagne glasses and smiling, flutes parallel, the cake perfect. There are reverent photos of solemn moments, vows and communion and an impeccably well-dressed wedding couple of a certain age taking second chances. Risking all for love once again. There are photos of well-wishers and dancers at a wedding reception boasting a professional band and a quintessentially catered small-plates buffet. The reception cheffed and catered; it must be added; by the full-grown daughter of a friend of the bride – who also happened to be a former piano student of the wedding musician. Yes. It was a mature wedding, full of the richness of friendship and family and lives well lived regardless of bumps and hurdles thrown in the path. Most of the members of the wedding party were baby boomers – or children of baby boomers – even grandchildren.

She blew through the glass doors of the modern big box church building trailing a garment bag with the requisite black semi-formal wear of a seasoned wedding musician. Rushed, as usual, from one appointment to another. Band instrument load-in at the reception venue at 1:00 p.m. and now spiffy prelude at a church at 2:30 p.m. or whenever she could get changed and gracefully ascend to the piano bench. Zero to sixty in – well, yes, zero to sixty in 67 years with a few hitches along the way. As she could see, wedding guests had begun to arrive. An entire multigenerational family sat perched at a bistro table waiting for the auditorium seating to open.  A 15-year-old 2021 reincarnated version of a child of the 60s was twirling in the irresistible open floor of the atrium. She paid them no mind, but bustled on through the church fellowship kitchen and into an anteroom which she knew to be the dressing room for the women of the party. Women of all ages in all stages of dress lounged and chatted on padded Sunday School chairs while a cosmetologist finished gilding the bride. The musician gained entrance to the small restroom – shared space with the maid of honor – and slipped out of black stage crew gear and into a black performance dress. A designer dress, constructed with quality lines, flattering in fit and drape, and incidentally, with a side zipper. Alas, there was no mirror in the restroom, but she remembered seeing a full-length mirror propped just outside the door. Out she went, sidled up to the mirror and commenced the task of zipping without ripping the skin. From behind a winsome voice asked, “Can I help you, Miss Cherry?” She looked up into the mirror and saw herself encircled by a blond, slender, willowy wisp of a woman. Snap that picture, photographer. It is unforgettable, the two of them framed in the mirror. This is the very student to whom she used to say after hearing the C scale, “And G, and D – and when you grow up you’re going to have twins and name them Angie and Andy.” Now she only said,

“Oh Margie, I’m afraid your nose is having to be in my armpit.” “No problem, Miss Cherry. I’m a kindergarten teacher, I’m always in pits.” Slick as a zipper the wedding musician was dressed and shod and groomed. The former student tucked a flower in long wedding tresses and sent her aging teacher out the door to the waiting keyboard.

And the piano student? Yes, she is a kindergarten teacher – and a teacher of music. She has raised four children. One of them was twirling in the atrium. Another she named “Cadence.” But the portrait -that heartwarming snapshot that got away – lives forever in memory – that and the picture of the accomplished chef leaning in the doorway and reveling in the music of the reception band.