In Toronto, a wedding

On the plane back to Toronto last Saturday, the guy in the seat beside me, from Terrace, BC, popped his eyes at the GTA's midnight lights, spreading forever in every direction. "That's not all Toronto, is it? It can't be." I told him it was.

A nice reunion with Dana, and then on Sunday we got ready for my cousin's wedding. Well, my cousin's daughter's wedding. Melissa and Brian, at a synagogue up in North York. I was surprised by the organ accompaniment to the cantor's brilliant wailing; I don't think I'd ever seen that before: it's usually a capella, isn't it? But I do love Jewish wedding ceremonies. In the chapel, I began to be aware of the absence of the Ross family. My brother, the only other living Ross in the immediate family, made up some feeble excuse and didn't come. I don't know why exactly he didn't, but I found it very sad that he didn't feel part of the extended family.

At the dinner that followed the ceremony, Dana and I were seated at a table with half the millionaire contingent of the extended family (the other half was at the next table). They're a neat and eclectic bunch, with some of my favourite relatives among them. There are three generations of them now that Nirah has a baby. And there are four generations of the other branch of the family, including my sole aunt, Edith, who was amazingly present, given her health. Only my branch consists of only one generation. During the speeches, I thought how happy this event would have made my parents. Carla and Marshall, the bride's mother, are wonderful people and my parents loved them so much. After my mom died, they really looked after my dad, looked out for him. I know Dana was aware of exactly what I was feeling at that wedding.

But looking at the two other, bigger branches of my extended family, I had this sense that I had traded all that for being a writer. I know one thing doesn't truly follow the other, but it's often how I feel. I guess, though, that if either of my brothers had had families, things would be very different. But we were the three Ross boys with no families. For whatever reason.

Dana and I danced to a couple of songs, and Dana good-humouredly put up with my incredible self-consciousness and awkwardness on the dance floor. Man, I sure can't dance! And I hope those video cameras didn't catch me stumbling about to "Wonderful World" or "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" or whatever songs we were dancing to.

Later, after a brief visit to the exotic and gob-stopping excesses of the sweet table, Dana and I sat down and chatted for a while, over jelly beans and crepes, with an exhausted but beaming Carla and Marshall. And then we went home.

Over and out and mazel tov.