I was asked to give a toast at their marriage.
Camera in one hand, goblet in the other.
100 million degrees Fahrenheit.
Mid-day, hot white sun.
End of Summer.
Gusts of bluster wind.
I almost fainted.
Poet, on a stage,
with goblet/camera mixture,
His mother's ghost arrived, but that's besides the point.
Here's the point. I have no memory of what I said on that bluster gust afternoon, if I said anything at all. But here is the one-year later revised mini version:
Angels. They may look like humans and talk like humans and act very much like humans, but I have it on good authority, (because I watched Highway to Heaven with Michael Landon when I was a kid) that these two human-like-looking beings are in truth angels walking amongst us. It must not be easy keeping their wings tucked into their bodysuits all the time, awkwardly grounded to this playing field, while changing lives exponentially as they juggle the density of earthly existence with their talent for transcending it.
I would have topped off all that 1980's style sentiment by saying something really funny then fainting dramatically and rolling off the stage.