How I spent my long holiday weekend -- burp!

It was a festive Memorial Day weekend. My wife, that would be the lovely Miss Wendy, and I helped celebrate the marriage of the son of our good friends, Denise and Stan.

The wedding was a quietly elegant affair in Buckhead at the Intercontinental Hotel -- think expansive public spaces; chandeliers the size of small mountains, walls of granite and floors of marble; smiling doormen and wait staff. The guests were dazzling, darling and aglitter -- a few men in black tie, others in dark suits; the women in evening gowns and cocktail dresses. Black, with sequins, was the color of the night.

I had an epiphany when the evening was still young. The cocktail hour buzz had yet to wear off and the reception on Sunday had entered that almost perfect place that party planners worship -- the music was energetic, the food was warm, the company and conversation were familiar. That's about as good as it generally gets at such festivities.

Miss Wendy and I sat with our weekend playmates, Susan and John, making small talk as the band moved into its obligatory set of Jewish tunes, the kids swallowed up on the dance floor by wives grabbing for their husbands, all circling to the energetic melody of Hava Nagila.

It was right about then, as I swirled about the room in a frenzy of good cheer, that I realized that I had eaten the equivalent of a small elephant over the preceding 24 hours, somewhere around 11,263 calories. Have I mentioned there was drinking?

The chow fest started slowly enough the evening before with the rehearsal dinner, a lovely affair at 103 West. It began with a "chopped" salad -- crispy romaine lettuce, tomatoes, hearts of palm, avocado, sweet onions, peppers and garbanzo beans, all layered carefully beneath a creamy basil dressing.

The affair then quickly picked up speed as I revved my appetite and eating skills into second gear, opting for the sauteed Atlantic salmon, tantalizingly garnished with lemon parsley gremolata. I also managed to scarf down a bit of my wife's ricotta cheese ravioli in tarragon sauce, before moving on to Chef Joseph's Grand Dessert Display -- chocolate-covered strawberries, mixed fruit in dainty pastry shells, assorted cakes and cookies.

On Sunday, after the prayers were spoken and the glass was smashed (trust me, it's a Jewish thing), the marathon continued at the Intercontinental, first in one of the hotel's massive foyers, filled with tables holding an assortment of spreads -- hummus, eggplant and olives -- baskets of crackers and assorted flat breads, trays of sushi and other hors d'oeuvres that for the moment have been forgotten in an alcoholic haze. Did I mention there was drinking? Why, yes, I believe I did.

Then the seated dinner started and we finally managed to get down to some really serious eating -- organic greens in a radicchio cup, hearts of palm and tear drop tomatoes, strawberries, blueberries and candied pecans. But the piece de resistance of all this gluttony was the heart-shaped Vol au Vent with mushroom ragout. And that was just the salad!

Winded, but unwilling to call it quits, we proceeded with the main course -- roasted French chicken, amusingly presented with pearl onions, haricot verts, fingerling potatoes, wild mushrooms, squash and zucchini tornadoes.

And desert? Why, that would have been the marshmallow, pound cake, pineapple and strawberries, all conveniently diced and sliced for easier dipping in the CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN! Oh yes, there was also wedding cake.

We then were allowed to grab a few hours sleep, before the celebration continued with breakfast -- assorted breads and pastries, scrambled eggs with mushrooms, various cream cheese spreads, jams and jellies, cake, cookies and assorted fruit.

I'm not certain, but I think we managed to hit all the major food groups over the weekend. I'd worry about the alcohol in my system, but I'm pretty sure the simple and complex carbohydrates, proteins and other such stuff now floating through my veins have created such a vast array of roadblocks that booze is the least of my problems.

Of much greater importance, the happy couple, Amanda and Hilton, remain married after a day or two of wedded bliss. Here's hoping they make it to their first anniversary and I get invited to share a bite of their remaining wedding cake.

SERIOUS SALAD: Heart-shaped Vol au Vent with mushroom ragout (photo above), flanked with hearts of palm and organic greens, tear drop tomatoes, strawberries, blueberries and candied pecans.

Flag rekindles hope this Memorial holday

While cleaning out my garage recently, tossing aside paint cans and rusted rakes, boxes of old clothes and crates filled with crumbling papers and fading memories, I happened upon a flag. It was protected from the elements -- dust and dirt, spiders and their webs and other icky things -- folded neatly inside a plastic cover.

The stars, white against a field of blue, first caught my attention and I immediately recalled the history of this particular pennant. It was the flag that had covered my father's coffin when he was buried over a decade ago in Columbus.

The flag was just one piece of the military honors that were part of his funeral, the reward for his Army service in the South Pacific during World War II. My father was part of the "greatest" generation, that group of men and women who lived through the dark days of the Great Depression, then put themselves in harms way to protect a precious way of life, this idea we call the United States of America.

I often wonder what he'd think about the country today, a land divided by contentious issues that have many hunkering down in warring camps of Blue and Red. Of course there have always been divisions and disagreements here, an obvious byproduct of the rich immigrant stew that has been part of America since its founding.

But people use to talk and listen. Now they yell and hold ever tighter to their core beliefs. That there's plenty to be truly frightened about these days doesn't help.

The economy has soured and it could be years before it bounces back; we're fighting wars in foreign and distant lands where our enemies are deadly and invisible; nature and greed has unleashed an oily mess that could lead to the worst ecological disaster this country has ever known while irreparably altering the lives of millions.

And then there's my father's flag.

The last time I remember holding it was a little over eight years ago. The nightmare that we now remember as 9/11 had just happened and there was fear across the land. But there was also something else, a stronger emotion that, for lack of any other word, I'd call patriotism. Sometimes it takes something really bad to bring us all together. And for a time America was in a special place, everyone pulling for one another.

Flags started showing up in public places, in front of government buildings and businesses, at schools and shopping malls, at apartment complexes and draped over the entrances to neighborhood subdivisions. They hung from makeshift flag poles in front of homes, dangled from second-story windows and covered front doors.

I wanted to join the crowd, be part of the neighborly effort. But I was a little late coming to the game and there wasn't a store in my little corner of the world that had any flags to sell.

Then I remembered my father's funeral. I found the flag that had draped his coffin buried in the back of a closet. It was huge, but I managed to drape it between two windows outside a front bedroom of my home, tying it off with a length of rope.

I stood in my front yard, a light wind rippling the Stars and Stripes and felt something stirring in my heart, my thoughts filled with my father, the struggles and successes of his generation. Hope was right there in front of me, once more part of my life. It was Red, White and Blue and I knew that everything was going to be okay.

And that's my message on this Memorial Day weekend. For just a moment, as you relax and spend time with family and friends, remember the millions who have served this country, sacrificed their time, their comfort and their lives for an idea that remains a work in progress.

Most importantly, remember those who continue to serve today and for an instant remember that we're all in this together and that hope is a commodity we still have control over.