Vail Daily Editor Don Rogers: Front row to the nuptials
July 2, 2010
First, a shout-out to the in-laws! It’s finally official. The kids, seven years into their relationship, tied the knot a couple of weeks ago.
Chances are that you know the Allards – the supremely talented family whose son, Rem, is taking his turn as the star of numerous musicals and other shows in the valley. He’s only taken the baton from sister Molly, who did the same in her turn before heading off to star in college.
Poor Whitney now is stuck with that ungainly tag of “Rogers.” Oh, dear.
She made her mark running on the Battle Mountain cross country team that won the state championship in 2006 and running for Fort Lewis College these past four years. She’s an exquisite talent on the violin, and you may have heard her perform with her mother, Cindy, at one of the local weddings in recent years.
I have a role with producing the paper. The Allards have this remarkable capacity for filling it in the good-news categories. Call it symbiosis.
They make up the paper’s version of “Where’s Waldo,” only it’s easier to find one of them in the paper than the Waldo character in the books.
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What I’m trying to say here is that our goofy son, Ben, married up.
That’s following a long line of Rogers men doing the same in our instinctual attempts to raise the gene stock out of the primordial ooze. I’m thinking this just might be the union that lifts us to that next level at long last, our missing link. (To be clear, I’m speaking only for the male side. Like balding and color blindness, this passes only to the men in the family. The women all turn out stellar. Go figure.)
Forgive me for inflicting this family lore on you. Walking down the aisle at the Presbyterian Church in Avon with the missus is still a fresh memory. Pastor Rob Wilson handled the ceremony with the perfect mix of humor and import. A groomsman even fainted as if on cue, always a great memorable touch. Thanks, Logan!
Brian Nolan’s crew at the Beaver Creek Chophouse likewise couldn’t have done a better job. I don’t think I can attribute the quality of service and the meal entirely to euphoria at getting one of the brood married off, with one to go. I think they genuinely know what they are doing.
Likewise, Piney Ranch handled the rehearsal dinner great. This was a bit of a risk considering that it snowed on my wife out there only a week before the event. Best part was scaring the flatland relatives a little with the long drive on the dirt road out there. You couldn’t have painted the view any better once they saw the lake and that the drive was worth every bump.
What was the backup plan if our long winter didn’t relent just in time? Ponchos. That’s it. We just had a lot of faith and no doubt stubbornness leavened with some good luck and a hopeful long-range forecast.
Best man Coe accused me of rambling through my turn at the toasting, on Facebook no less. Me? Ramble? (The copy editor going through this can stop giggling now.) Hah, just wait until his wedding. The winds and turns through references to the “Lord of the Rings” trilogy are nuthin’ compared to the “War and Peace” he’ll get.
Of course, the hoopla continued on past the wedding celebrations themselves. A great chaotic week followed with extended family who gathered into a long-overdue reunion. Weddings are so much better than funerals, you know?
The newlyweds headed to Hawaii for their honeymoon, a plot hatched and purchased by the best man and groomsmen, by the way. (Who has friends like that anyway?) Naturally, the kid blabbed to Grandpa, who lives there, that Dad told this awful anecdote about Bilbo Gone Bad during that endless toast to make a point about how his good looks thank God came from Mom.
But hey, that’s what Grandpa gets for having
a health issue that kept him from being able to
make the wedding, right? Besides, it’s true, and I
am honor-bound in this space not to tell a lie. Heh. Heh.
Now, this is just the very crassness and ungratefulness we’re trying to drum out of the Rogers males, I realize. Just understand Grandpa gives as good as he gets.
But we have great hopes and more reason to believe the family curse will finally end with our fortunate bonding with the Allard clan.
Just please take your time delivering grandkids is all. Myself, I’m pulling for girls.
Editor and Publisher Don Rogers can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or 970-748-2920.