We invited several dozen people over to the Pismo beach house for Day 3 of the wedding, which has turned into the brunch/lunch affair, often held out of doors, in the summer sun.

It was carefully planned.

–Eighteen beach chairs, nine beach umbrellas, a canopy and table for sodas, water and sangria, to be set up on the sand on the “ocean” side of the house, beginning at 11.

–The food truck was to arrive at noon and be ready to serve lunch at 12:30.

–Guests were to arrive around noon and sip a libation or two while mulling their food choice from the menu provided by the food-truck caterer.

–We moved four cars from the garage and driveway at 8 a.m. to create onsite parking, which we were worried about, it being a Sunday on the beach.

And it all went well.

Several guests did not have experience with the “semi-gourmet” food truck, and seemed fascinated by the choices (sirloin sliders; tri-tip sliders; pulled-pork tacos; “pasilla” quesadillas; pastrami on rye) handed out the window, piping hot, of the big,  orange truck.

But people seemed as grateful for the chance to sit on the beach and relax. Many of them were members of the wedding party who seemed spent by the exciting events of the previous two days.

Some had sangria. Many more had diet colas.

A few children arrived and were most interested in running around on the sand, rolling in it, throwing it in the mild bit of cool wind that had come up …

And then the wind picked up. And picked up some more. The paper plates were hard to keep pinned down, once the food was gone. Nearly empty plastic glasses were in danger of turning over.

And the wind picked up more. Just as people were sitting back in their chairs and enjoying the sprawl and the roar of the sea and watching the big recreational vehicles rolling past on the impromptu “highway”, down on the packed sand.

It became nearly unbearable when the sand began to fly into eyes, about half an hour after it began to get into the food. People filtered out, and we thanked them for coming, and when one of the umbrellas came out of the ground and sailed into the table (“Not the sangria!” one guest shouted) … it was pretty much time to go.

“Can’t control the weather” one guest said, by way of commiseration, as we left the last few people in a sandstorm of nearly Emirati proportions.

Most everyone had gotten their sliders down, and finished their drinks, and enjoyed that hour or so before the windstorm began … and we were happy for that.