Today was a UGA home game. The Bulldogs played Samford in Sanford Stadium at 7:30pm. However, I wasn't there to see it. Instead, I had to spend the day on Tybee Island with Mom.

Don't get me wrong. I love Tybee. (And I love Mom.) Tybee is a charming coastal town with some fantastic scenery. (And Mom is Mom.) I'm happy to report that most of the island survived Hurricane Irma just fine, though plenty of scars from last week's storm were still visible everywhere. But it wasn't Tybee's beauty or Irma's wrath (or Mom's Momness) that brought us to the Georgia coast. No, we were here to attend friend Brian's beach wedding in the shadow of Tybee's historic lighthouse.

Mom rented a wonderful house at 117 Cedarwood Drive, and she, Audrey, July, and I used it as a base of operations for our weekend stay. Mom frequently visited the beach (just a few hundred yards to our north) to collect shells, each time leaving Audrey behind to rue Tybee's draconian "no pets on the beach" policy.

Sadly, I somehow managed not to take any pictures of the groom or bride, Veronika. For that matter, I don't have any pictures of groomsmen friends Ken, Keith, or Michael, either. The wedding party didn't show up on the beach until after the wedding officiant warned the attendees not to take pictures because that was the wedding photographer's job. Instead, you'll just have to be satisfied with this screen grab from the lovebird's official wedding website.

In fact, the only picture I have of the wedding was taken by friend James. (James was one of my few friends in attendance who wasn't actually in the wedding party. Matt was the other. Why was I not in the wedding party? I'm sure it had no small part to do with my vowing to Brian after Keith's wedding that I would never wear anything dressier than jeans to a wedding again. "Except mine?" Brian asked. "Even yours," I answered. That's what I like about Brian. He listens.) James couldn't resist disobeying the order not to take any pics, but he somehow still managed not to get the wedding party. (Reminder: "Never do what James does.")

I haven't attended a lot of weddings. I don't like them. Yet I found this one left an especially bittersweet taste for many reasons, not the least of which was that Brian was the last of my single friends likely to get married. From this point forward, we're all more likely to reunite at a funeral than another wedding. That's an uncomfortable thought, though it's better than imagining the possibility that I may have to sit through yet another wedding ceremony.

Good luck, Brian and Veronika. Do me a favor and be so happy together that we don't have to do this all over again, ok? Thanks.

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My mother and I just returned from a trip to Savannah, GA. We arrived in town on Saturday along with the rain, which dampened any hope we had of doing much outdoors. Determined, we set out on a two-and-one-half hour self-guided tour of Savannah's northern squares. Ninety-six degrees and one hundred per cent humidity later, we might as well have gone to a sauna.

Shortly thereafter, an argument broke out about where to eat. Mom wanted cheap, and I wanted no crowd. We both lost. On the upside, we discovered that Uncle Bubba's Oyster House has some fantastic cornbread. Highly recommended.

The next day, we set out for the beach at nearby Tybee Island. I was hoping for this:

Instead, I got this:

But even those crowds weren't enough to detour us. The heat was, though, and Mom had us retreat to the car earlier than I would have liked. She did get a bit of a burn on her delicate Southern features, so I have to concede that maybe mothers do know best.

Before returning home, we dropped by Forsyth Park in Savannah. I'm pretty sure when Yankees think of the South, they pictures rednecks and scenes like this.

The park's beauty is unparalleled, but it's not really what I wanted to see. I had been promised a trip to some cemeteries in Savannah. While the Park's Memorial to the Confederate Dead is impressive, it's not what I had in mind.

It's been 20 years since I was last in Savannah, and the cemeteries were there then. I sure hope they'll wait around another two decades when I schedule my return trip. Don't get impatient, dead people. I'll be back.

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