Saturday was a memorable day and while in hindsight I am finally able to smile, the moment the lights went out I was a hot mess, literally and figuratively. But perhaps we’d better set the scene.

Due to many circumstances, we did not have a reception after our daughter’s courthouse wedding last December. Through the course of the winter and spring we were finally able to find a date in August that worked for most of the dear ones we hoped could come and that was available at our chosen venue. Even though it was a Saturday, the fact that it was Aug. 13 should have tipped me off that something would happen.

Just after 3 p.m. the lights flickered and went out.

A few minutes later they came back on, and we all thought that due to the heat (it hit the high 90s) there had been some sort of brownout. I decided to go down to the lobby and get some snacks before changing.

However, the elevators weren’t working, and I had to take the stairs. I arrived just as all the lights went out for good and to hear the hotel manager address the gathering crowd at the hotel desk.

A transformer had blown just across the street from the hotel and convention center complex we were at in Kearney, and they weren’t sure at that point how long it would be before power was restored. I grabbed the snacks as the desk clerk wrote down the purchase and bolted for the stairs. After waiting months for our daughter’s party and literally hundreds of guests planning to arrive in 90 minutes I was on the verge of tears.

Thankfully with the help of her former Washington, D.C. roommates, a college friend from Australia who studied with Cicely during their year in Germany, as well as assorted boyfriends, my IFYE sister from Virginia and Dan’s friends, we had finished decorating by 2:30 p.m., well ahead of the power outage.

Still, I fumed that no one would be able to see Cicely’s creative touches using a barn rustic theme. Old cream cans, galvanized tubs, bushel baskets, egg baskets and slabs of old barn wood were scattered throughout the room and entrance, along with planters of flowers. She had created signs and a barn quilt from the barn wood and a frame to hold lights.

For the tables we used vases and Mason jars to arrange and hold the six buckets of wildflowers and grasses gleaned from road ditches by our house and our older daughter’s home, as well as the handful of domestic flowers still blooming after our prolonged drought. These were placed atop red and blue gingham and burlap squares in the center of each table. Completing the décor were spray painted tin cans that had decorative holes punched in them to let the votive candlelight filter through.

It was those candles that were the saving grace as the staff graciously went around lighting them for us at 5 p.m. They opened all the side doors to the room so guests could come in with some natural light and after relatives and friends calmed me down, we went out and greeted guests who found seats and proceeded to visit in the soft candlelight.

The event planner for the venue (who is a cousin’s daughter) kept in contact with Cicely and by 5:30 we were assured by the city the power would be back on within the hour. The convention center staff had also assured us the food was already cooked but was being held in warmers until they could serve with lights. Ours was one of three wedding receptions that day at the complex so three other families were sharing in our memory making series of events.

At 6:20 p.m. the lights came back on to rousing cheers and we laughed as we turned to see a line immediately form at the bar. After that it was on to dinner and dancing with nearly 300 guests who literally came from coast-to-coast. Emily Kain earned honors as having come the farthest - all the way from Brisbane, Australia. Her dream of meeting a real cowboy was answered by friends who dressed in their best jeans complete with the big belt buckles, cowboy hats and Western shirts.

Although the start to the evening wasn’t what we’d planned, several friends pointed out we were “making memories,” and indeed we won’t soon forget the reception that started in the dark.

Barb Bierman Batie