While I haven't done the research to confirm it, I'd be willing to wager that at least a year, if not more time, went into the planning of D-Day, the military operation which turned the tide of World War II in Europe.

While I haven’t done the research to confirm it, I’d be willing to wager that at least a year, if not more time, went into the planning of D-Day, the military operation which turned the tide of World War II in Europe.

As I write today’s installment of “A Little Salt” it is exactly one week away from “W-Day,” or the wedding of my youngest daughter, Anna, to Nick Louderman.

One might read the lead of today’s column and assume I’m going to try and make a correlation between wars and weddings. I have no such intent, although a strong case could be made that for some couples a relationship filled with war-like hostility can be traced back to their W-Day.

The living room of the Henley hacienda serves as a constant reminder that something big is about to occur. There are several bags of potato chips, cases of pop, coolers and thermoses of all sizes and 14 one-gallon jugs of water. If an apocalypse were to occur before Saturday we’d be well stocked to survive it at least for a while.

Months of planning has gone into Anna’s wedding. And much like D-Day, a number of people have been involved in the crafting of a “battle plan” for W-Day – Anna, of course, her maid of honor, and at least one, if not both, of Anna’s sisters. Given a surprisingly smaller role in the planning process than one might expect has been the mother of the bride, Nancy.

I have theories as to why Nancy has been given more of a minor role, but I learned long ago that the sharing of such ideas in a column can land me in the doghouse faster than you can say “flea collar.”

If Nancy’s pre-wedding role has been reduced, by comparison, mine has been downright miniscule. Not once since the planning process got underway has anyone asked, “What do you think?”

While this omission could be grounds for hurt feelings in some families, truth be told I’m not feeling rejected, but relieved. To feel involved, I don’t need to be asked to choose between ribbons whose colors are so similar that one can’t detect a discernible difference. Neither did I need to have a voice in the print font and size of print used on the invitations.

If I were asked to do nothing more than to put on a tuxedo, hold out an arm and walk a beautiful bride down the aisle, I’d feel fulfilled.

I’m confident there will be wedding-related tasks for me to perform before W-Day concludes. There already have been.

Last Friday morning I received a call at work from the friendly lady at the tuxedo shop. She was needing the chest and/or coat sizes of my two sons, Caleb and Jacob.

“How soon do you need to know their sizes?” I asked.

Silence.

In such situations silence speaks volumes. In this case it translated into days, if not weeks ago.

“I need to know right away,” she said, a distinct sense of urgency in her voice. “If I don’t get them then I have to guess.”

While I’m no wedding planner, I recognized guessing when it came to coat sizes would not be a good thing.

The lady offered to call my sons, but I was no closer to being able to provide her their phone numbers than I was their coat sizes. Consequently I immediately went into problem-solving mode by turning to my trusty problem-solver – my wife – who happened to be working downtown that day.

Not surprisingly, Nancy did indeed have the phone numbers for our two sons and within a few minutes I had called them both, thus averting a potential wardrobe crisis on W-Day.

I’m sure between now and the conclusion of W-Day other tasks will be delegated to me, possibly big, but more likely small. In the meantime I will be standing by, waiting to be called upon.

The views expressed in this column are not necessarily those of the Courier-Post.