Monday in Kauai

My sister married her longtime fiancé on Monday, on the Hawaiian island of Kauai. She wore a sleeveless off-white cotton J. Crew gown and a lei of fresh flowers. He wore a shirt that matched the color of her gown, and dark tan trousers.

I was in my pajamas.

In fact, in light of the time difference from the 4 p.m. ceremony, I was washing my face, brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed. Pretty much what most of the couple’s Kentucky friends and family were doing at that time, given their last-minute decision to make their wedding a truly personal experience. In other words, we weren’t invited.

So while our special couple was saying their vows, exchanging rings and starring in the video that will be the centerpiece of the celebration we’ve planned for their return, we were letting our pets out one last time and turning out the lights. We were thinking of them, for sure. Our 76-year-old uncle lit a votive candle in their honor at exactly 10 p.m.

In spirit, we were in Kauai.

In spirit, I was the maid of honor, staring on adoringly at my little sister – my only sibling – who has grown from my childhood nickname of “Baby-faced Finster Child” (too much Bugs Bunny, I presume) into a woman who is refreshingly authentic (OK, quirky, but the good side of quirky) – whether she is chasing around her two energetic Jack Russells or struggling to help adults catch on to long division in her adult ed/social work job.

Our mom was there too, along with Joann’s nephew (my son), her two uncles, her three best friends who have been a foursome for decades now, her beloved boss and her close group of work friends. And since they were there, so was our Dad, who passed away in 1992 and couldn’t be there any other way.

I don’t believe in the kind of heaven that I learned about as a child, but just this once, I’m OK with imagining that the father of the bride and the groom’s mother, who passed away last year, watched the nuptials together, perhaps with other family and friends who have passed on.

My fantastic brother-in-law – “Baby Joe” to all in his Catholic family of eight – had attendants too. Among them: His retired state police colonel dad who liked to pull up behind his wife and flash his lights to get a rise out of her. And his older siblings who were in their teens when Joe was a child and carted him everywhere, a captive audience for his impressions of “the Fonz” and renditions of “Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown.”

Also there: the other three-fourths of the Mojo Tones, the blues band where Joe sings and works the harmonica, and his giant group of friends collected over his southside Lexington childhood, through Henry Clay High School, the University of Kentucky and beyond.

We were all there Monday in Kauai. We couldn’t be happier for the happy couple. They're soul mates for sure – starkly complementary in some ways, indistinguishable from each other in others. Even their names are in harmony. He’s Joe. She’s Jo.

We’re looking forward to raising a glass in their honor. And no one had to rent a tux, buy a hideous dress or stand in uncomfortable shoes.

It doesn’t get much better than that. In spirit or otherwise.