i looked and i said, "no ma'am"

I am OBSESSED with this. What's not to love? Cute kids, head-bopping beat and after-school snacks. I am not ashamed to say I first heard it on NPR.

Exercise delinquent

I have probably missed two yoga classes since January. So of course, as soon as I went and bragged to the Internets about my dedication to working out, I skipped the gym Monday and yesterday (had to work late and thought the boot camp instructor wouldn't appreciate regurgitated egg curry and birthday cake all over his gym). I will probably have to skip yoga again today because of the dry Margaritaville party. But at least I will be dressed for the festivities.

Don't look too close at the hasty and crooked rouching. Also, let's not talk about the fact that I some seams are 1/4 inch and some are 3 inches. You can't see those from the outside anyway.

anniversary(ish) dinner

One thing is for sure: While I may go months without posting, I will never give up this blog. It's like that restaurant where you and your husband had your favorite date--maybe you don't often have the energy to get gussied up and drive all the way out there for a night out, but you get there eventually. Because you'll never stop loving it.

So here I am. In two days I'll be 34. Which is crazy. When did it become August? When did it become 2012? Seems like just a few months ago I was sitting in the dungeon clicking "Next Blog" and trying to come up with witty emails so Jon would maybe fall in love with me, move here and let me come up with beautiful Indian names for his future children. But that was seven years, four jobs, three residences and one wedding ago. DANG.

***

Ri and C just closed on a house across the street from our subdivision. They're moving in with their four-month-old next weekend. I knew the crooked claw of suburbia would beckon them back sooner or later.

My brother moved to St. Louis. I pray that is not a permanent situation, because even though I didn't see him often when he lived here (he travels for work) I worry that I will see him even less. I can't describe to you how it feels when the planets align and the whole family is sitting down to a meal together at the old kitchen table and then a rousing game of poorly performed Rock Band. I nearly passed out from contentment. Do regular people have these thoughts? Probably not.

***

My job* is challenging in a wonderful way. But all this "strategizing," "discovering," "figuring out," "designing," "planning," "compromising" all day can really take a lot out of a person. Every night I come home with broke brain (a term I have been trying to get into the lexicon for years). Sometimes I miss being able to walk around and make smalltalk with others without feeling like I'm neglecting my spreadsheets. Then I remember how invigorating it is to be screamed at by three different unhappy people all at once, and I thank my lucky clouds for the silent and colorful comfort of spreadsheets.

I spend most of my evenings watching recorded television and making baby presents because MANY people I know are producing babies. I cannot get enough of the babies, and I am absorbing as many tips as I can for the time when I will have one of our very own (don't get any ideas, that is out on the horizon somewhere).

***

I started exercising in earnest. Granted, it's only been a week, but when all the workout gear you own gets into the hamper in fewer than six days, that is something.

Yoga on Monday and Wednesday, Tuesday and Thursday is "boot camp" (circuit training that goes by so fast you don't realize how hard you're working until you get to the car and have to take a minute before getting in because you don't want to have to clean vomit off the floormats). Friday, Saturday and Sunday are for lying on the couch and whining about how you never realized triceps were necessary for mundane tasks such as the tying of shoelaces.  

Jon is doing bootcamp, too, but he's insane and replaces the yoga with running (yuck to running).

***

In the midst of the craziness of work, I found myself on the department's party-planning committee. The powers that be want to have a "Margaritaville" party and we are supposed to get people to wear Hawaiian gear, do the limbo and a hula hooping contest--in the middle of a week when deadlines are dropping from the sky--oh and there's no alcohol allowed. I told you, it's a challenging job. I am in charge of the Hawaiianwear judging and I have no Hawaiianwear that will zip up the back anymore. So I am trying to sew a dress. Today. Even though I'm too big for this pattern from 2003 and have to figure out how to make it work. I'm nothing if not ambitious, Tim Gunn.

***

One day when my head was spinning from spreadsheets, I took a peek back at the archives of this blog. Here is a snippet from what I wrote on August 14, 2005, the year I started this blog. It was the tail end of a very rough slew of disappointments for me, and if you had told me then what I'm up to now, I never would have believed it (warning, this is back when I refused to capitalize letters while still adhering to all the other grammar rules. I know, I was living on the edge back then).

* it's possible to be in paradise and yet be completely miserable.

* always remember to eat. even if you feel like you're going to puke with every bite.

* you can only soak up so many boxes of kleenex before the pity party gets played out.

* no one but you can tell you what to feel. or think, for that matter.

* everyone has their own crap to take care of. you landed on this earth alone, you're going to leave it alone, so why not learn how to fly solo in between? think of your copilots as bonuses.

* nothing puts your troubles in perspective faster than someone you can't live without going under the knife.

* free alcohol is the most expensive drink. ever. (i saw that at postsecret.blogspot.com)

* no matter what you do to try and straighten it, at the end of the day a pig's tail is always going to be curly (okay, i stole that from my mother).

* there is a grave difference between what you want and what you need.

* your true peeps will somehow be there for you. maybe not right away, maybe not how you'd want them to, but they will stand up when you need them. and sometimes, who they end up being will surprise you.

* anything worth anything is going to be hella hard.

* once-in-a-lifetime opportunities will nearly ALWAYS come up at the worst possible moment. it is a test of your merit and you will either thank your lucky stars or have to shoulder that regret till you're 83.

* sometimes you have to suck it up and do something you're afraid of because you don't know what'll happen. and what may happen may just be what you needed after all. but chickensh*ts would never have found out.

* and most importantly, ALWAYS listen to the little duende in your gut that starts pulling on your intestines like a shirt sleeve at the first sign of trouble. that little goblin will never steer you wrong, but if your ego/heart/logic is yapping too loudly, you’ll never hear what it has to say.

*I work in healthcare. Previously, I was a "fixer," making sure things were running smoothly. Now I've been put on a team that is helping technically and theoretically re-engineer the entire system, hopefully for the better.

clearly, i watched too much tv as a child

Last week I went to an intimate baby shower for one of my college friends, put on by a crew that includes Angel07 and pp.

Because I've never had a baby or helped raise one in any significant way, I wasn't going to dominate any baby-related questions in the Jeopardy-style game (I knew the first answer but forgot to state it in the form of a question, so I started my team off with negative points--we ended up losing with a score of -1600 to some +500).

However, there was one game that I felt pretty confident about: "Famous TV Families," wherein players had to list all the children in a given fictional family from television.

I finished first and got them all correct--including a bonus point for oops-baby-ratings-boost Chrissy Seaver from Growing Pains.* 

I'm not sure if I should be proud of this or ashamed that I have all this useless knowledge at the ready but can't seem to remember a single thing about Calculus.

*When Jon and I saw The Avengers in the theater, I recognized the girl who played Chrissy (all grown up) and yelled out in the theater, "That's Chrissy Seaver!"

all my life

Last spring, I was still working in a tiny office, phone ringing nonstop, furiously trying to keep people happy. It wasn't always easy: There were grumpy patients, other departments demanding their needs be met first, the undesirable evening shift when we flew by the seat of our pants while the people with answers were at home watching The Bachelor. But no matter how frenetic it got, my partner in crappy hours and multitasking, Eileen, always kept things entertaining.

She had a joyous laugh. She was so sweet with the patients, especially the very young and the very old, and she was so very thoughtful to everyone. Eileen was going to use her experience working in a floral shop to assist us with those paper flowers and was already suggesting all kinds of awesome ideas. She took a lot of pleasure demonstrating moves she picked up watching Bollywood dance numbers on YouTube that she planned to show off at the wedding.

***

We had asked our guests to add song requests to their wedding invitation RSVPs. A surprising number of people interpreted that as a request for first-dance recommendations, including Eileen. She gave me a list of about five, all slow-dance jams. But, she insisted, we absolutely HAD to play her alltime favorite, "All My Life" by K.C. & JoJo. So we added it to the list.

***

The music at our wedding was fabulous. A coworker had recommended a cousin duo of industrious Indian college students who had played her daughter's sweet sixteen party. One of them played the dhol, which was right up my alley. They were responsible and punctual and worked with our list. And the dholi absolutely rocked the house. The only beef I can think of was that I wanted them to play "Personal Jesus" as an homage to the mosh-type circles we had in college every time that song came on, and how I would try and keep up with all the boys. I should have clarified that I meant the Depeche Mode version, because instead they played Marilyn Manson's cover. I guess I can't blame those college kids; they weren't even alive when the original came out in 1989. Ol' Marilyn got the job done, but I think the Auntie Patrol was a bit frightened.

***

By the end of the night, when people were munching on McDonald's cheeseburgers and the bartender with moves straight out of Cocktail was trying to convince my brother to have a "slop shot" (a shotglass full of the spilt liquor from the little plastic mat on the bar--he didn't go for it), I realized that I had yet to hear a single slow song. Amazingly, Jon was actually out there, even though he'd never be caught on a dancefloor unless it's during a slow song. Your wedding day truly is a once-in-a-lifetime event.

Suddenly the deejays were announcing the evening was coming to a close, and the last song was going to be a slow one. My new husband took me in his arms as I caught the first few bars of that piano, and the tears began to flow. Of all the great slow songs on the list, they went with Eileen's number-one choice. I cried onto Jon's shoulder until the lights came up.

There were a lot of people I wished could have been with us on that day.

***

A week later, on our honeymoon, Jon and I were on a white-water rafting trip in Costa Rica. Soaked, tired and sore, we were really happy. Suddenly a butterfly landed on my leg and refused to fly off, no matter how I gently tried to shoo it away. Most likely it was interested in the watermelon juice I had dribbled all over myself, but I chose to believe Eileen had come by to say hello. She loved butterflies.

***

Today, Eileen would have turned 35. She died unexpectedly a week before her birthday last year, and never got to show off her moves at our wedding. I made a purple paper rose and kept a purple set of the bangles that we gave out as favors. Her best friend put them on her grave. It would have been great to see her face light up when she heard her request come over the speakers. I'm pretty sure that for the rest of my life, the song will always make me cry.

A07 & m

Back in February, Angel07 married a wonderful fellow named Mark.

As you may remember, Angel07 has thrown some AMAZING parties, she has been a guest-blogger here and also took part in the great paper-flower-making bonanza of 2011.

So of course when I heard about her awesome movie-themed nuptials, I could hardly contain my enthusiasm for how I might help. She was gracious enough to let me make stuff that she would actually be wearing on her wedding day, such as her veil, her bridesmaids' fascinators and even a faux-fur stole. 

 

We took a trip to the fabric store, her bridesmaids chose some silken flowers they liked and some baubly stuff, I dismantled them all and put it back together. 

 

 The girls looked absolutely gorgeous.*

 This is pp! All the photos in this post that don't look like they were taken with a cameraphone were shot by the same brilliant photographer who did our wedding. The others, of course, were taken with my cameraphone.

I can't take credit for the little tulle/feather flower piece; I believe it's something marketed by David Tutera.

 Girl looked like a bona fide movie star!

I cannot tell you how impressively organized Angel07 and Mark were. The wedding was mid-February and so much of it, including all the centerpieces (some of the same awesome crew who helped us were one her team), were ready to rock before the holidays! At the reception, they had a table with all kinds of classic movie candy boxes as favors (we're talking Lemonheads, Everlasting Gobstoppers, Whoppers, Junior Mints, the works), and they gave away a DVD to one person at each table (ours was at The Godfather).

I wanted to make their wedding gift-card box look like nothing I had seen before (shocker). I had a couple hatboxes I had ordered but didn't use for our wedding and was brainstorming with the girls about making a movie reel featuring photos of the couple. I made one flat end look like the reel with cardstock, but it didn't look quite right with the hatboxes stacked up like an off-kilter cake.

 So I turned it on its side. The slot for cards is on the top right edge.

I got a little clapper thing (what the heck is that called anyway, a scene marker?) at a party store. Unfortunately, it kept coming down to close. I'm pretty sure people got the idea. 

Happy three-month-and-four-days anniversary, Angel07 and Mark!

that's just how i roll, i guess

I spend a lot of time at work listening to Pandora. I have meticulously cultivated more than 20 stations, and there are workdays during which nearly every one of those get played. I like not having to completely decide what I'm in the mood for, so I don't keep any music on my phone (I guess I have to sit in silence when there's no signal). I'm convinced I'll go deaf from having music in my ears all day long, so I keep the volume at the lowest possible level that will still block out the secretary over the cubicle partition ranting about her ex to anyone who happens to walk by.

The other day, Jon was playing something by a band he'd just discovered, and while we normally agree to disagree on musical taste, I was kind of really feeling it. The only comment I could come up with for what I liked was that it felt smooth. Like something you could picture yourself rollerskating to--in a good old-fashioned rink. On four-wheelers with a stopper on the front. Under a disco ball. Come to think of it, nearly everything I like would work well in a roller rink. Well, everything but the Bollywood.

shows that I am NOT young

I've been told that I am the only person who would have a problem with/be annoyed by the fact that the following doesn't really make grammatical sense:

So if by the time the bar closes
And you feel like falling down
I’ll carry you home tonight 

IF by the time the bar closes AND you feel like falling down? I mean, I get why it wouldn't work with the music, and that a whole lot of song lyrics make no sense, but still. I'm not completely crazy, right?  

careful where you flash that nerd card

Apparently, starting a sentence among coworkers with the words, "You know, I read an article..." has the same effect on a lively conversation as the sudden, untraceable stench of really bad gas: uncomfortable silence.

The other day I was in a meeting with a bunch of people we didn't know very well with whom we will be working closely and whose close cooperation we really need over the next 18-24 months. We were waiting for the meeting to start, so naturally the conversation turned to the children's television program, Blue's Clues.

As one of the few people in the room that hasn't actually had a child, of course it was me who informed the group that striped-shirt Steve was no longer on the show, that he "had gone away to college." I don't know where I pick up all this random information, but trust me, I have a lot of it. It was an innocuous conversation, and everyone was participating pretty enthusiastically.

But then I said, "You know, I read somewhere (not somewhere, it was Malcom Gladwell's The Tipping Point, but I didn't want to go all-out nerd with an attribution) that there was a lot of research and testing that went into the format of Blues Clues and that its particular format really helps kids that age learn, and it's pretty ground-breaking television for little kids."

Silence. Choked the life right out of that conversation.

A few days ago my team and I were having lunch together and shooting the breeze about how we were so sick of studying. I brought up how The Hunger Games made more than $150 million on its opening weekend.  No one had heard of the series. So I started describing the premise. They seemed kind of interested until I said, "I read an article that the author used to work in television and the whole series is structured in some ways like a play or show, into threes, and so in some ways a natural translation to screen, but despite that, some people are saying they really didn't do a good job translating it to film..."

The sound of crickets was deafening.

I didn't hear myself in those situations, but just seeing my own words here is starting to bore me. I'd better keep my reading to myself.

on the morning of our six-month anniversary

"I had a bad dream."

"What happened?"

"We were walking on a pier, somewhere in Washington State, I think. It started in this glass building and the pier went way out into the deep deep water. And it didn't have railings. I stopped to do something on my phone while you and the others went ahead. And then suddenly I felt this shaking and rumbling sound, and these huge dark blue waves were getting choppier and choppier on both sides, and getting really big. I called to you but couldn't see you. Other people started freaking out. This lady fell to her knees sobbing and this Pittsburgh Steelers player (in uniform, helmet and all) just sat down, right there, he was so scared. I turned and started running as fast as I could back to the glass building, and the pier started moving. Right as I was about to get to the doors, I lost my footing and slid off the pier and into the water. I remember thinking, right as I was about to hit the water, 'Ok, so I guess this is how I'm going to die.' And then I woke up."

"Whoa, that's pretty intense."

"I know, I'm still shaking. Who knows, maybe you ended up in the water, too. We'd have no way of finding each other."

"I had a horrible nightmare last night, too."

"Really? What happened?"

"Well, I dropped my iPhone and the face completely shattered. It was so upsetting! I woke up really sad, but when I checked it, everything was ok."

"What a relief for you."

every day i'm studying

When I was a kid, my brother and I could pretty much opt out of anything (family obligations, chores, etc.) if we gave the excuse that we were hitting the books. Which was pretty awesome. But then when we came home with a 98 out of 100 my dad would ask, with a completely straight face, "What happened to the other two points?" So I guess it only worked if we actually studied.

I've been out of that game for more than a decade, and in tackling the tests and projects coming up for my job, I find myself right back to my old habits; begging off things to study then trying really hard not to be distracted by trivial things like organizing my socks. Here we are, the night before the first test at 8:30 p.m. and I still have to go over the last third of the book.

Sigh.

White House: what's your story

Awhile back, I read about Nidhi Chanani, an whose whimsical style and desi-american flavor I absolutely love. I definitely identify with her work.

She submitted a video to the White House Initiative on Asian Americans and Pacific  Islanders' "What's Your Story" Challenge. I wholeheartedly voted for her (voting ends March 1). Her video is the center one in the top row.

Here's a link to her website and some of her illustrations. 

Happy Sunday! Let's see how much studying I get done.

old habits die hard

A few weeks ago, I got a new job.

Before: Solving problems and dealing with dozens of people (at times some were very angry) on the evening shift, carrying a phone that wouldn't stop ringing and rocking scrubs and gym shoes in a tiny office elbow-to-elbow with about six other people.

Now: Up at the crack of dawn to stare at my closet for at least 15 minutes trying to figure out what combination of *professional* gear from those dungeon days I can squeeze into and still be comfortable for a whole regular-person-shift sitting in a cubicle (all by myself!) and studying all day. Thank you, brother and inlaws, for those gift cards to professional-gear stores. They are coming in mighty handy.

Without going into the boring details, I still work for the same organization, but I'm on a massive project that requires pretty intensive certification for which we travel to the sunny hills of Wisconsin in the winter (the cheese really is as good as they say). And when we're back at home base, we just try to stuff as much of that data into our brains and collectively hope it doesn't leak out.

Talk about culture shock. I'm tempted to lock myself to my chair every morning because not being able to walk around and being by myself and quiet is driving me bananas. But I enjoy the new gig so far. It's challenging and interesting and I feel like if we get this right, a whole lot of people will benefit. Plus it relieves that itch I've had for years to go back to school, without having to actually choose what I'm going to study.

***

Those of you who knew me in school know exactly why this is the day I found my way back to this blog: At this moment, what I desperately should to be doing is study. So of course, this is what I'm doing instead. Some things just never change.

***

Here are some of the things I will likely blog about in the upcoming weeks as I further procrastinate:

• Angel07 got married! Her husband is awesome, and they look so happy. She said she felt like a movie star, and by golly, she sure looked like one.
• Ri and C are having a baby! I have known Ri since fifth grade, and we've been through so much together that I really do feel like I'm getting a niece. I cannot wait to meet this kid, but I have to wait till April.
• I haven't covered everything I wanted to post about our wedding, but I'll post-date those to December 2011 because I'm pretty sure people are tired of reading about it. But as I am unable to retain the information I highlighted just two hours ago, I'd better document the details before our anniversary because I'll likely forget that they ever happened.

resolution? um, don't skip making the swatch

Happy 2012, people. I miss this blog. I promised myself that I wasn't going to post until I had one very important task completed, one that has been a sore point for almost three months. So that's what's up with the radio silence. I hope to have that taken care of as soon as possible.

In the meantime, enjoy photos of the little dress I made for my goddaughter, which she will probably be able to wear when she is FOUR (she turned one in October). Trust me, this is a vast improvement on the last knitted item I made for her--it was supposed to be a baby-bag-thing that didn't have defined legs to make it easy for the new mom and dad. What I ended up with was a sweater that I was able to get into MYSELF. Not cute. This time I followed the directions for the 18 month size to the letter* and it still is ginormous. I did the swatch, but bored of it and quit before the requisite stitches; I just jumped into the project.

It has little froggy buttons:

In true Cadiz fashion, I ripped out a good six inches before I was through and modified the Tora Froseth pattern a little bit.

Jon picked out the buttons. Obviously, he has impeccable taste.

*You know, except where I changed the design and the pattern to suit my tastes.

anger. pride. fear. relief. gratitude. guilt.

They say that when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. They also say that when you're involved in very serious situation, you may find yourself thinking of something random instead of something important.

I don't know much about the first one, but during the car accident Friday night while I was hanging upside-down by my seatbelt and calling for my brother, I kept thinking to myself, "Wow, those people who made the movie Crash got that one scene pretty damn true to life!"

***

Let me start at the beginning. 

I had Friday off because I was working Saturday. Jon always has Fridays off because he works long shifts Monday through Thursday. He was doing his thing and I was doing my thing, and suddenly we were snippety at each other, over something so trivial I can't remember what it is. I was getting all worked up on the inside about how he has yet to help with the thank-you cards and if he had just admitted to me that he didn't really want to, I'd be annoyed but they'd have all been done months ago and I wouldn't still feel guilty and is he going to pull this with changing diapers and giving time outs and homework--omg am I going to be the bad cop for life!?! On top of that, I thought he was taking too long getting ready. He said maybe I should go without him and I stormed out the door without so much as a look backward.

I had never done that before. I tell the guy I love him at the end of every phone call even if it's a 2.5-second conversation to say that he's arrived to pick me up. I ALWAYS kiss him goodbye like I saw my parents do all those years. We've even stuck to the whole "don't go to bed angry" thing. But I had let the simmer turn into a boil and was so angry. It was inane. And I knew it even before the door was closed behind me, but was too proud to turn around.

***

I went over to my parents' house--I had wanted to set up the Christmas tree before my mom got home because she always complains that no one helps her anymore. I've put this thing together like six times; a 10-year-old could do it. She got home, shook her head and pointed out that the middle part was never going to fit in the stand no matter what I tried. I then assembled the entire thing in 45 seconds. I had been struggling with it by myself a whole hour--checking the phone every five minutes to see if Jon had messaged me.

I was upset about being angry and I just wanted to hear Jon's voice. My mom called me out on it as soon as she walked in the door, and later my dad said I didn't seem myself. He warned me that it was a full moon that night and to be careful (he says that a lot). I left to go pick up my brother from the airport. Apparently they assumed I went to get Jon first and wasn't going alone.

***

It was 20 degrees out. There had been a dusting of snow in the morning, more like a layer of fake cobweb that people put out during Halloween all over the grass and the trees. The streets seemed fine. I knew I was off because of the argument, plus dad's moon thing, so I was driving extra carefully at the speed limit. Plus this horrible thought kept creeping into my head, "Just watch, self, you acted like a fool and didn't say goodbye to him, what if you got into an accident? He'd have to live with that." I know that sounds like something people say after something happens, and I admit that I have these morbid thoughts ALL the time and nothing happens, but it really was going through my head the whole day. Stupid spotted tongue.

***

My brother drives a fancy car that beeps at him if he doesn't have his seatbelt on. Oh, how I loathe that sound, and I had to hear it every time he'd call me on speaker when he was driving in Alabama. HATE. I always lectured and yelled, but he would never put it on--something about how it chafes. Seriously, it's a really annoying sound, I don't know how he could stand it. I got out of my car when I got to the airport, hugged him hello and slipped my phone into my coat pocket as he was putting his bags in the trunk. On the drive home, we were discussing dinner, the new-but-really-from-Madelyn's-wrecked-car stereo Jon had put into my car last week and other random stuff. I remember noticing that my brother put his seatbelt on as we were pulling away from the terminal and being thankful I didn't have to nag him. 

Everything was normal. I was still driving at the speed limit. I was in the left lane, there was a semi tractor-trailer next to my right and the shoulder to my left. The truck seemed like it was coming closer, my car drifted toward the shoulder--was there ice there?--I pulled it back to center. I heard my brother yell my name as it swerved back and forth a couple of times before I wasn't able to regain control. We swung around and hit the solid concrete median head-on, and my little black Altima flipped over onto its roof and slid, parallel to the median. The scraping of top of the car was such a distinct and disgusting sound. It all happened in less than five seconds.

Everything was foggy. There was this rancid, chalky smoke in the air. I had glass in my mouth. The airbag had knocked my glasses into my eyeballs so hard the lenses were smeared from the inside and they were hanging down at a weird angle. I kept asking if my brother was ok over and over, until he yelled at me to snap out of it. He was surprisingly calm, asking if I was hurt handing me my purse. I couldn't get the seatbelt off, but he was able and fell into the crushed glass on the inside of the roof. Something like eight people stopped to help us, one of whom yanked the door open, and--I'll never forget this--said, "It's pretty smoky, we didn't want you to choke. Plus this car could catch on fire any second. You guys better get out NOW."

I couldn't get my seatbelt off. People kept yelling for me to turn off the engine, but I couldn't get the key to move. The steering wheel and dashboard seemed a million miles away, as if I were fully reclining in my seat with my hair sticking straight up. I had no concept of the space where my legs were. I pushed against the roof to hold myself up so someone could unbuckle me, I don't know who. I was staggering around and couldn't stop checking to see if my brother was ok. He crawled back into the car to root around for his phone while I was panicking that the car would catch on fire with him inside. A very nice man named Pete who was on his way home to Indiana from his job in Wisconsin let us sit in his car until the police came.

***

As I was sitting there, all I could think of was what kind of horrible person could let this happen with someone else in the car, especially someone I love more than my own life? My God, the things this boy has had to face, how hard he's had to fight for his life, and it could have all been gone in a second? My brother had a pretty bad laceration to the temple, his left eyelid was purple and swollen to ten times its size, there was a burst vessel in his eye that made him look like it was bleeding, his shoulder, neck and leg were hurting. My face was bruised from the airbag, I was sore here and there, and I had glass in my mouth. Neither of us wanted to go to the hospital, but I knew that I couldn't force him to go if I didn't too.

I called Jon. He's not stubborn in a fight like me, he answered. He didn't have a chance to say hello before I apologized. The poor guy didn't have a car, or I'm sure he'd be on the road before I got past the word accident. I asked him to call and tell my parents gently and ask them to get him and come to the hospital.

I don't dare imagine the agony my mom was in, trapped at home, knowing both her babies were headed to the hospital in an ambulance.

The firefighter who looked like a caucasian version of my dad when he still had a mustache was so kind. He got me some water to rinse and spit out the glass, he took me where my brother wouldn't see so I could cry a little, then he reminded me that we both walked away from what looked like terrible, horrible wreckage. 

I refused to go in a separate ambulance, so my brother was strapped to the stretcher and I was strapped to a board on the bench. My brother knows his very complicated medical history, but so do I--they were asking me all the same questions but I kept waving my guy off and interjecting in my brother's interrogation: "Don't use tape on him, only paper tape, he's allergic! And advil! He has a pacemaker! Be careful with that leg, he had surgery there!" I was incredibly annoying. My brother gave me a look and I focused on my own questions, which were done pretty fast. Then the tears started rolling. 

"If I see one more tear, I swear to God I'm going to punch you and give you a real reason to go to the Emergency Room," he said, and then asked if they could please get his suitcase and laptop out of the trunk--that's his work stuff.

Before we took off, the kind caucasian dad firefighter said Jon and my actual dad had arrived. But we'd have to see them at the hospital. I sniffled the whole way over there.

***

Again, as we were rolling into the emergency room of this foreign hospital, it seemed like a scene from a movie--for as much as they get wrong, they manage to get this stuff eerily correct. I didn't know where my brother was, and I was as antsy as you can be when you're immobilized on a hard plastic board with a C-collar around your neck. And then Jon came in the door. Later, my dad.

I was fine, essentially just knocked around and shaken up pretty badly. My brother has a few pretty big bumps--they did lab work and X-Rays because of his medical history, and we were there a long long time before they'd clear him to leave. It's always hard to explain what his deal is to new doctors, but I was so impressed by the how in command he is about everything. As much time as I spent worrying, he spent joking with the staff.

Essentially, we are both OK. It very well could have gone VERY differently.

***

Here is what I know:

• I am alive, typing this instead of lying in a hospital bed or a surgical table or the slab of a morgue.
• My brother is alive, and insisted on going to Wrigley Field today to upgrade his season-ticket seats, but his friend kept an eye on him. 
• It was one car vs. a median wall; no other cars were hit or hit us.
• The exact same accident happened down the way about 30 minutes before our crash.
• A lot of people in my life care about me--50+ Facebook comments.
• The car is completely totaled, but it protected me to the very bitter end.

My brother posted this on the FB:

"Wear your seat belts!! They save lives including mine. Last night."

I don't think I would have been able to go on living if the seatbelt hadn't saved my brother last night.

the dress

I had wanted to wear my mom's wedding sari, but she was adamant that it was too old and homemade-looking (she had put it together herself with a border and some lace appliques). She wasn't budging.

The selection of white saris are either totally plain--in fact, white is generally worn to funerals--or SUPER ornately decorated. My aunt and cousin were going to try and find a sari for me in Mumbai, but they were feeling a lot of pressure to find one I'd love. At the same time, we made so many trips to Devon looking for one, too. I wanted something understated with a little embellishment and everything we were seeing was highly blinged out. I was ready to give up in frustration and started bugging my mother to just let me wear her wedding sari.

Of course, that's exactly when I saw something peeking out from under a huge pile of saris someone else had been looking at. The corner had the same color maroon-brown border of my mother's sari and the delicate gold-wire flower work was just perfect for me. I knew it was the one before I'd even tried it on.

The work on the bridesmaids' saris also has a golden floral design.

It was exactly what I'd wanted. My mom would have never chosen that pink color for herself, but she has this sweater in the same color that looks great on her; I told her that's what I'd like her to wear. We were preparing to search for it for weeks, but found her sari within 15 minutes of being in the first store. 

So many people who wanted to be at our wedding weren't able make it. My bracelets don't really match because I'm wearing one from each of my aunts (as well as my godmother and one cousin). Something Borrowed. I even got one from my dad's grandmother, but it's so fragile and tiny, I didn't want to try to get it over the bones in my hand. I was carrying it in a small crocheted bag that my nani made decades ago. Something Old.

My mother wore this ballerina brooch on her wedding day. Something Blue. My father's father had the necklace and earrings set made for me "to wear on my wedding day" a few years before he passed away.

My cousin and aunt bought this maangtika (it was supposed to be hanging lower down on my forehead but the weight of my pallu pulled it back quite a bit).

The back. You can't really see them, but I had peacock-blue shoes on.

Mfm made gorgeous bouquets for me and the bridesmaids (she got the hydrangeas fresh from her neighbor's yard, with permission of course). My Vinu Moushi (mom's younger sister) sent a few yards of handmade lace my nani had made for a slip long ago, and mfm used it to wrap the handle of my bouquet. My mom had carried the "Thinking Of You" handkerchief on her wedding day, too. I was so glad to have it with me; it was soaking wet by the end.

I didn't see it until I was getting dressed that day, but my mom had cut one of the lace appliques from her wedding dress and sewed it to the inside of my pallu--right at the spot at the top of my head. Even though the sari was Something New, I sort of got to wear a family heirloom after all.

malas

Despite the unfortunate meaning en Espanol, malas are the lei-like garlands used in India for all kinds of important occasions to celebrate winners and overall happiness. My mom's people have a tradition of using them at weddings--family members from each side welcome their new family with a beautiful garland of flowers.

Jon and I decided we didn't want to do a unity candle or sand or spices or any of that stuff, but our mothers brought the malas up at the end of the ceremony for us to put on each other before the kiss, essentially welcoming each other to our respective families. Officially.

I had planned on making them myself (shocker) on the day before the wedding by going to the florist, grabbing whatever was available and stringing it up. So the day before at the mehndi, when my godmother's 89-year-old mother said she had something for us, I was beyond touched. She and a bunch of her grandchildren had made these malas for us by hand. It's something they do in their tradition: Take strips of cotton and carefully remove some of the woven threads, making a very very soft fringe. It must have taken a very long time. I was teary.

 These are so much better than what I would have slapped together. And they'll last a long time, too.

Jon loves orchids. We definitely would have used our own orchids (we have a couple very impressive plants) if we could, but of course this is the year they're both dormant.

another one bites the dust

Another year of NaBloPoMo hits the archives. Big ups to Jon, Madelyn, Syar and velocibadgergirl, who made it through like champs.

I know that my wedding-themed-posting wasn't for everyone (and weddings can be a snoozefest right quickly, too). But it all seemed like a blur so it's nice to have it documented somewhere while the memories are somewhat fresh. Plus, I can't tell you the amount of arguments my blog has resolved (my brother was trying to convince us all at Thanksgiving that we sat out in the cold on Black Friday in 2005. Nope, as I said, it was 2007).

There is one person who repeatedly mentioned how much she has enjoyed the wedding coverage. So, for her, I will continue beyond the requisite 30 days until I can't come up with anything else (don't worry; that's going to happen pretty soon).

The rest of you are off the hook. That said, as always, your comments are coveted.

the mehndi II

My godmother found the fastest mehndi artist in the west to do my designs. She didn't take any breaks longer than 30 seconds, either, and we both were sitting there for a little more than four and a half hours. I had henna on the front and backs of my arms, from elbow to tips of the fingers, as well as around 75 percent of my legs and the tops of my feet. She didn't even skip the backs of my heels.

See all those tiny dots? Each one done by hand. She was really good. 

My mom has always said my most beautiful feature is my feet. I get them from my dad, who got them from his dad. I always meant to take a picture of all our feet together because they're all so creepily the same. My hands are my mom's and my nani's in the same way. I can't get that picture anymore, either.

Tradition calls for the name of the groom to be hidden somewhere in the mehndi of his bride's hand. Then the guy has to try to find his name. My mehndi artist was very clever and Jon wasn't able to find his name for more than seven minutes until I had to drop some pretty big hints. But then again, she had thrown in an extra H to make it "Johnathan" instead of Jonathan.

It's in the curve between the fingers and thumb of my right hand, and way easier to spot before she did the top of my hand.

Arms done. Shiny. They put this sugary stuff on to keep the dried mehndi from fallling off, so it would stay in contact with the skin and give a nice deep color. 

I liked the feet the best.

It was great to be able to get up and walk around after nearly five hours, trust me. But I still couldn't move too much. EB fed me a bunch of watermelon and another heaping helping of fried rice at the end of the night. People had been coming and going all day, and at the end of the night Jon left to have pre-Bachelor Party dinner with his family. My family trickled back home bit by bit until it was just my mom and I, EB and a couple of their other family members and my godmother's house, sitting around and resting after a wonderful day. There's that bit of time at the end of your party where you sit back and take in just how great it went. To me that's even better than the actual party, which I usually spend worrying about how everything is going. I was so overwhelmed by everything people were doing for me, I couldn't do anything but just absorb it. Sort of like the henna dye on my skin.

It's hard for me to believe I didn't take any pictures of the mehndi right after I washed it off, but there were still about 50 bajillion things left to do, so it's easy to think it slipped my mind. They say that the darker your mehndi comes out is an indication of how much your man loves you.

I already know how lucky I am to have Jon, but it's nice to get a little confirmation. This photo was taken the day AFTER the wedding--a full three days after the mehndi party.  And it stayed nice and dark until about a month after the wedding.

Jon had set up a tripod with his camera to take a photo every minute. My friend A.A. also took a bunch of supplemental photos with his other camera (a lot of which were in these last posts). Thanks, A.A.!

the mehndi

Two days before the wedding, after I was showered and fragrant from my Ros, we headed over to my godmother's house for the mehndi*. My mom had bought a very lovely outfit from Devon for me to wear to the event, but it was obvious this was the first mehndi in our family, because it was floorlength and would have been a huge hassle to keep up over my knees with both my hands and legs unable to move. Good thing my godmother's daughter-in-law had the perfect short and pretty kameez at the ready for me to wear with leggings. Problem solved.

My godmother and her family rounded up a ton of saris in varying shades of green and blue, big paper decorations, and they even put up a tent on their front patio by the water fountain. It was so beautiful, I was sad that the weather was chilly so we couldn't set up our stations outside. And she had a ton of food--including this fried rice my godfather makes that I can't seem to get enough of. I knew that I wouldn't be able to use my hands or even move that much, so I was inhaling as much of everything as I could before I had to take up the spot I'd be in for the next four hours.

I love plants almost as much as my godmother does. I don't know how she knew that I love gladiola (gladiolas? gladioli?). So pretty. I really wish I had taken more pictures of the decor. It must have taken a lot of work and the whole place looked wonderful.

For years when I'd go to their house, I saw loveseat-like bench that has an indoor arbor over it and thought, "Self, this would be an awesome seat for a bride and groom." Guess where Jon and I were sitting? My godmother's 89-year-old mother said a prayer for us and then we all got down to business. Personally, it means a lot to me to have her blessings, and of older people in general, mostly because aside for that one year I had with my nani when I was seven, mine have always been so very far away. And now they're all in Heaven, where I'm sure they're sending their blessings. But it's always nice to hug a grandma in real life.

My godmother hired two mehndi artists--one dedicated to do mine--to do the mehndi for most all the women. A lot of my family, friends and parents' friends came at different times throughout the day and evening. You want to let the dark green paste dry to black and let it flake off to get the best dye on your skin, and the palms have more keratin (thanks, s, for that tidbit) so the color comes out better there. But it's a huge inconvenience not to be able to use your hands for so many hours, so many of them only got a design on the back of one hand. You know, so they could drive home.

Here are some highlights of their mehndi:

Tomorrow: Jon made a time-lapse video of mine.



From wikipedia: "Mehndi is a ceremonial art form which originated in ancient India. Intricate patterns of mehndi are typically applied to brides before wedding ceremonies."