Lilac Colored Glasses

So.

Wow.

There really is no amount of words to describe the past month of my life. I could seriously fill an immense chunk of virtual notebook pages if I tried to touch on everything that has gone on, but I think most of you out there got the gist of it.

On May 23 CB and I flew to my home in Pittsburgh, on May 30th I turned 29 and we were legally married in a beautiful ceremony in the heart of downtown Pittsburgh. Most of my friends and family were there to celebrate with us as well as 13 of CB’s family members as well. A couple days later we flew back to Belgium, barely finished unpacking and then welcomed my parents and my brother and his girlfriend to Gent for our Belgian wedding reception on June 12. No ceremony the second time around, just a spectacular and pyrotechnic (hopefully there will be pictures soon so I can explain what I mean) dinner and party where CB’s family, friends and colleagues (along with some of my blogging and barista friends) could come to celebrate our marriage. Not many brides have the opportunity to wear their dress twice, but like many other things in my life, I guess I got to do something unique.

On top of the wedding festivities, two other major things have happened.

My brother Scooter proposed to his girlfriend while they were on the Eiffel Tower in Paris and she said yes.
And CB’s doctoral thesis was finally 100% accepted by the jury selected to review it by Ghent University.

So aside from becoming a happily wedded wife, I’m also gaining a second sister-in-law (eventually) and a doctor (Ph.D) for a husband.

And after all of that, when I finally got a day or two to sleep in and pay some attention to the inner workings of my head, I really began reflecting on where I am in life compared to the same time last year.

I won’t drag you through any linky flashbacks, but I will say that this time last year I was jobless and hopeless and frustrated. I was feeling like a failure in my language abilities and I had run out of anything to write about because I found myself doing nothing but complaining.

And now, here I am, working full time, looking into starting up an intro course to French (not that my Dutch is even close to perfect, but it’s pretty fluent according to what most people have told me), married and realizing that, for now, at least, my life has reached the next plateau.

My biggest choice currently is whether we should go to Paris or London for a weekend getaway in August.

And I’m looking at my blog and realizing that, well, the me that started it is no longer entirely the me that is writing it. I’m not the timid suburban daycare worker trying to find her way in a new relationship and a new city anymore.

Methinks it’s high time for an overhaul!

(and no worries, there will be lots and lots of wedding photos, we just need to compile them and take out anything we deem too fugly for public viewing)

Which means that Poetry Month is over and I’m finished with the daily poem. I would, however, like to submit my 5 best poems for consideration to Robert Lee Brewer’s blog, so I’m asking for feedback. If you were willing to stick with my poems this month, would you mind listing your 5 favorites in the comment section? I’m not a great judge of my own work so I’m asking for some objectivity from you, my devoted readers.

Also, May, the month of my long awaited, much anticipated wedding to CB. Yes, I will be getting married in 29 days. Going home to Pittsburgh in 3 weeks. Seeing friends and family and a real, juicy 100% beef hamburger for the first time in 6 months. There are no words for how much I’m anticipating this trip. And how much I’m anticipating the moment CB and I put the rings on each others’ fingers and become husband and wife.

So yeah.

Flowers are blooming, the sun is shining and there are a lot of good things just up ahead.
Time to take a deep breath and enjoy life a little bit more.

Music.

Music has always been one of the strongest memory triggers for me. The Little Nash Rambler makes me think of my late aunt Ronnie, sitting in her car while she sang to me in an Elmer Fudd voice to make a pint sized me giggle.

How You Remind Me by Nickelback takes me back to a gravel parking lot after dark my junior year of college where my roommate Peep and I sat, belting the song in my green Pontiac, both of us trying to plug up the void of a broken heart.

Lemon Parade by Tonic puts me in my car at the age of sixteen, driving home from a night working at Long John Silvers, after my second “real” kiss with a guy.

So music seemed the obvious path to choose this weekend when a surprise visit to my blog by an ex inspired me to do a short series discussing my exes and what I learned from those relationships.
But after I made that decision, something strange happened. Or perhaps it is always happening, I just rarely notice it anymore.
Every time I started formulating a post in my head, I would look at CB, or he would say something to me and I was overcome by how very much I am in love with him. I was actually choked up a few times, the feeling of utter completeness was so strong. I don’t think I’ve ever looked into the eyes of a man so confident in his love for mz, so happy when I’m happy…until now. I rarely, if ever, think much about my exes since I met CB and while I do maintain that I learned something from every relationship I’ve had, it all seems to pale in comparison with the feeling of “right” I have with CB.

However, that doesn’t diminish the men from my past or what they’ve taught me. I even occasionally exchange an e-mail with a couple of them. But rather than go into a detailed analysis of each (I lose the desire to do that pretty much any time I’m with CB), I’m going to put up the song that reminds me the most of each one, along with a thank you. Because without lessons learned from the past, we as people wouldn’t be able to build better futures.

Pie Jesu

Bub – Thank you for teaching me that there are people out there who can love me unconditionally.

Miss America

Asshat – Thank you for teaching me not to lie to myself about my emotions just to make asshats people happy.

It Ain’t Me Babe

M. – Thank you for teaching me how to be more independent in a relationship.

My Immortal

Chinchilla – Thanks for teaching me that chemistry, while important, is not the basis for a good relationship.

Long December

Cabana Boy – Thank you for all the lessons you’ve taught me and for all the lessons yet to come in our life together. Thank you for making me believe in the impossible. Thank you for loving me.

Gent is not the place to go if you’re looking for fast food. Or chain restaurants in general. In the entire city they have one McDonalds and one Pizza Hut. They don’t even have a Quick, which most Belgian cities have in abundance.
And this doesn’t bother me at all. In the U.S. I ate way too much fast food, but that was for conveniance, not because I really enjoyed most of it (except Arbys…mmmmm…Arbys). So now, if I’m in need of something fast, it’s just as easy to go to a Panos (the only mega-chain foodwise in Gent) and get a reasonably priced, reasonably healthy, mediocre sandwich. I mean, Panos is okay, but the only choice you get is white or brown bread. Half of the time. The other half they’re out of brown bread, so tough shit. Cause the service is usually crap too.

CB has rarely eaten fast food in his life and actually tried Subway for the first time while we were in Cologne. He was a bit taken aback by the fact that he could basically pick whatever he wanted on whatever bread he wanted, toasted or not toatsed, etc. but otherwise he really enjoyed it. In fact, his exact words may’ve been close to:

“It’s a shame we don’t have Subway in Belgium, they’d kill Panos.”

And lo, last week in Brussels south Station, what did we see? A Subway!
And later in the week we spotted another one…in Gent center!!

So after some errands the other day, we hit up Subway for lunch. I ordered a large club, toasted and when it was time to choose veggies I asked for everything but onions and jalapeños. We ate our sub, it was lovely, and we were on our way when about halfway to the bus stop CB said, “I see what you did with the vegetables there.”

And I, confused, said, “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Well it’s just so American. No European, when asked ‘what vegetables do you want’ would reverse the answer and say ‘everything but these two things.’ They would pick 2 or possibly 3 vegetables, if the server wasn’t getting annoyed by then, that went well with the sandwich.”

“But I got a club! All veggies go well with a club! I mean, if I’d gotten steak and cheese, I’d only want lettuce and tomato…”

“But that’s not the point. It was just funny the way you asked for ‘everything but.’ It’s so American. But it was good! I liked having all the vegetables, it just never would have occurred to me to ask for it like that.”

So hey, at least some of my American philosophies are good for something, right?

I blame my mother for this.

No, really, I do.

Cause my mother is one of those uber-giftwrapper extraordinaires. Every edge of the paper is neatly, evenly cut with the keenest of scissors. Every ribbon is color coordinated and curled to poofy perfection (with aforementioned scissors). Occasionally she’s super inspired and tosses some glitter or confetti in to make things extra festive. And we won’t even get into her calligraphy pens, but I will say that it’s been almost 16 years since my bat-mitzvah and people are still talking about the invitations and decorations.

So, growing up with the Martha Stewart Grace Jones of gift wrapping, it’s simply unacceptable to buy a gift bag, jam some tissue paper in it and present gifts to family and friends in the same manner in which a college freshman throws herself together for the walk of shame from frat row to her dormitory.
I take the time to pick nice paper and matching bows (my ribbon curling instincts have not fully matured) and I wrap gifts properly (insert nervous tic here). Which has led to the inevitable.

Not only am I now the resident fruit salad specialist, but I am also CB’s gift wrap bitch. A few days before Christmas I spread all of the gifts we’d bought out in front of me, got my roll of paper, scissors and tape and meticulously began wrapping each item. CB walked in and said something like, “Oh, you like wrapping gifts?”

To which I shrugged noncommittally and answered that I didn’t mind doing it for holidays and birthdays.

So when he bought gifts for his godparents today (I’ll try to remember to explain the Belgian godparent thing soon) he looked at me and said, “You’ll wrap them?”

Because of course now I’m the gift wrapping bitch. And yes, I could’ve refused, I know, but I kept getting mental images of what happens when a heterosexual man plays with wrapping papers and tape.

I let CB choose the paper. I did the rest.

I just hope no one asks me to make fruit salad.