25 Ways You Show Me True Love

This weekend, Boyfriend turned 25. I came home for his birthday, our first full weekend together since New Years (long distance is the worst) with every intention of having the best couple days imaginable. 

Then, as I am wont to do, I got incredibly sick the details don't matter: what does matter is at one point I was crying my eyes out in discomfort and when Boyfriend asked if there was anything he could do To help, I realized nope. Nothing. Because he'd already done every last thing I needed, thought of everything I want when I'm sick or sad. That is some serious love right there. So instead of the usual "Happy Birthday You're Awesome!" Post I thought I'd share what else he does that makes me think "Yup. True Love, man." I decided to list one thing, in no particular order, for each year of Boyfriend's life thus far. 

I'm not joking when I say I got to 35 and realized it was a bit much. So. Without further ado . . 

THE TOP 25 TRUE LOVE LIST 2014

1.) Always asking for a straw when we're brought our drinks, because you know I don't like to appear prissy but also I can't drink from a cup with ice without risking hives (and that's weird to explain)

2.) Text messages that say "I love you," and nothing else simply because those three words crossed your mind, while I'm two states away. 

3.) The second serving of ice cream cake. 

4.) Thirty seconds before I announce I'm restless/bored asking if I had errands I wanted to go run or a new book I'd had my eye on or pointing out how nice a day it might be to go for a walk. Always knowing the fidgeting is coming. 

5.) Luna, Kind, or Lara bars always on hand and tucked in to my bag when I leave. 

6.) Holding my hand without having to look over, because you know that commercial/interview/segment/line/comment/joke/moment is probably making me cry. 

7.) Turkey burgers, pesto, and unsweetened iced teas where papa johns, cheese sauce, and Sierra Mist used to be. 

8.) Always loving what I've done to my hair. I mean genuinely grinning because you think it looks nice, and knowing exactly what's different, whether I changed how I wear my part or up and dyed it red. 

9.) Not seeing the newest superhero movie without me. {Most of the time}

10.) Seeing the latest Pixar/dance movie/cartoon with me. Occasionally before we make it to the aforementioned superhero movie. 

11.) Suggesting a girls night or that I call my best friend or skype the sibling who is far away or go watch a game with some of the guys from college because you understand when I need what other people in my life give me. And that as an extrovert, I do best with LOTS of people and experiences. 

12.) Understanding this career I've chosen is actually several careers in one. And they all require endless amounts of my time, focus, energy and devotion. Never resenting that. 

13.) Taking care of me - more than taking care of me. Pampering, spoiling, indulging. Even when at first it makes me feel guilty or uncomfortable: reminding me I am worth as much as you can give. That I deserve to feel special, and that isn't a trick. That I am allowed to have the things I want . . . And sometimes I don't have to fight for them until I'm too exhausted to see straight. 

14.) Not being suspect of my guy friends: understanding I was raised in an environment dominated by males, by sports, by pseudo brothers and eating contests, dirty jeans and fart jokes. That I was at the side of the mat (jujitsu and wrestling) when I was still in pigtails and my first round of "the talk" was around a campfire with a high school dude who didn't realize I wasn't asleep and suddenly had to explain himself. So despite teaching ballet (or perhaps because of it) I still gravitate to those sort of messy, loud, competitive environments and those guys with their beards, appetites and candor but I could never, ever love them the way that I love you. 

15.) Learning about triggers, trauma, and boundaries. Being willing to rework how you communicate and your definitions of supportive behavior. 

16.) Always putting the seat down, holding the door open, waiting until I'm seated, offering me the first bite, ordering second, and walking on the side of the street closer to the road.

17.) Making sure I know how beautiful you find me when I'm in yoga pants and a Celtics t-shirt with no make up to be found and my hair at its most Hermione as well as when I'm wearing a cute, trendy outfit, and when I'm in formal wear for a show. 

18.) An armful of my favorite bangles, one for every special event, holiday, opening night, and anniversary because you know how I love tangible memories. 

19.) Loaning me your headphones/charger/plug/flash drive. Because I've lost mine. Again. 

20.) Never even once in five years comparing me to any other woman in your life: not your mother, sisters, exes, friends' girlfriends or women on TV. Not even to tell me the ways I'm superior/things you prefer because you see me as myself - whole and unique and in competition/comparison with no one. 

21.) When the cramps are so bad I am crying {sobbing} {it's gross} in bed bringing me a bowl of peanut butter and chocolate chips the size of my face. 

22.) Giving up Walmart. Buying local. 

23.) Not participating in girlfriend/wife/partner bashing. I don't mean never complaining about me. I'm a handful and we're both human. I mean not engaging in those conversations that happen where everyone involved seems intent on making their claim that their parameter is the worst-most-annoying-most-frustrating-so-impossible and tearing them to shreds in the spirit of camraderie. Agreeing that behavior is toxic and no good for the relationship, even if the other party never finds out. That it diminishes the strength of legitimate complaints and issues that we may need to vent to friends about. 

24.) A netflix account saturated with wedding shows, old BBC gems, Classic Disney and half-watched stand up specials. 

25.) Being able and willing to say "I love you very much," even in the midst of a fight. 

And of course one to grow on . . . 

26.) Having the ability to make me laugh when I'm bawling, grin when I'm fuming, and bring me some piece of calm when the waves of anxiety are tossing me around like a rubber duck in a typhoon. 

Thank you, my love.

Looking Back (Part I). . .

I know that I'm a few days late: we're in to the first week of January 2014.  Most people have posted their retrospectives on the year that closed before New Years Eve, or during the lull that is New Years Day.  But 2013 was. . big.  Huge.  An awful lot happened in it, a lot to think about, process, feel, absorb, reflect on.  Every year it seems to me that I sit down and think "Wow.  Highest of highs, lowest of lows, what a crazy year!" and 2013 was no different.  This time, however, I think something is  different.  I am different - for the first time I can really remember, I find myself thinking "Yes.  I am a different person than I was on this day exactly one year ago.  Change. Growth. Exploration."  And as I look back on the year-that-was-and-now-has-passed, I can see distinctly the mile markers of myself: the adventures and their peaks and valleys. . .

January 2013

• I started the year by flying to Chicago (where I'd never been before) to see my Big Sis (not a member of my biological family, but of the sort of foster-family we assembled years ago: a bunch of super young adults sort of adopting each other as we went along) 

• We then roadtripped from Chicago to St. Paul Minnesota for the wedding of a dear, dear friend and his beautiful soulmate
• Had a reunion with the rest of our little family
• I met the lady-love in my Big Brother's (see above description of Big Sis: I promise a blog post on just them is coming soon) life and became fast friends

{Serendipitous Parking at Mall of America}

{Reunion time!}

{There was a photo booth at the wedding}

• Applied to grad school and received word my uncle had passed away on the same night
• Started my last semester in undergrad while battling what I thought was the flu

February

• Represented my school at KCACTF as a Stage Manager and Actress
• Won a scholarship for the Apprentice Program at Commonwealth Shakespeare Company on what was one of the most wonderful nights of my life
• Found out what was wrong with me was Pneumonia
• Performed in my first leading role in a Shakespeare production as Queen Gertrude in Hamlet

March

• Took another road trip, this time from ME to VT with one of the sweet, silly boys in this picture to visit the other sweet, silly boy and our friends at a university there 

            {^roadtrip buddy             ^buddy we roadtripped to}          

• Turned 23, a birthday my roommates Lily and Chet made perfect, from singing to spaghetti.

April

• Performed in my last show on campus (dance) & closed my last theatre production on campus.
• Had my world rocked by the Boston Marathon Bombing.  Felt the fear & panic of having many friends present at the marathon and not knowing when they'd come home.  Wept with my community and found solace in the way the people of Boston pulled together, and the outpouring of love from many cities around the world.
• Had my blog post about the marathon bombing and it's echoes in my life picked up by a branch of the Washington Post
• Gathered with family from around the country on my mother's property to say goodbye to the beloved uncle who had passed away in January
  

{Sleep Well,

Rest well,

Until We

Meet Again}

May

• Took part in two sacred rights of passage at my college: the Senior Brunch for dance majors at our ballet teacher's home and Senior Night for the theatre seniors at one of our faculty member's homes.  One involves muffins, mimosas, sitting out in the sun, and looking towards the future.  The other involves bonfires, ceremonial burning of set pieces, music, and dancing barefoot in the grass.  Both were perfect. 
  
  
  
  {"Ladies of the Ballet," Class of 2013}
  
  
  
  
  
  {"We're with you - whatever happens." Theatre 2013}
• Last Ballet class, and everything that means, at the end of which Jill gave my class her parting advise: "Whatever you do, wherever you go - just dance.  Just dance."
  

• Graduated College.  Summa Cum Laude, Phi Theta Kappa, Kappa Key, Honors Scholar, and with a perfect 8 semester record on Dean's List (that last one was for my Mumma, my teacher from 1st grade through HS).  Sang at graduation: watched one of my dearest soul sisters give the commencement speech to our class: earned both degrees after a regime that nearly killed me. Cried in the arms of Boyfriend and Big Brother afterwards.

{Cap}

{Support network}

{Panic eyes}

And then. . . oh, goodness.  Then the real adventure started.

Distinctly December.

While Autumn still reigns officially until this Saturday, the transition to Winter has most surely come to New England.  This is my first winter in the city: all the winters I was growing up were spent in deep, rural, woodsy New England.  The sort of place where you brought firewood in from the shed before a big storm, where the cardinals flocked in pine boughs and you could follow deer tracks in the snow.  My college winters were spent in a small college town, and the month of December always meant the trip back further North to the rural homestead: I'd split my time between there and Boyfriend's family home, on the rocky, grey, rugged, homey New England Coast.  While some part of me misses that month long reprieve that was winter break during undergrad (despite always working winter breaks, I still had days off, snow days, time to bake and read and christmas shop, and sleep sleep sleeeeeeepp) I am adjusting well enough, I think, to my first December on my own.  Below are some of the things that to me are in some way distinctly winter, distinctly Christmas, or otherwise distinctly December.

Ginger-Honey-Lemon-Kick-Ass-Immuune-Booster

{Image from here}

There are dozens of variations on this recipe: I tweak my own basic one depending on my symptoms.  The basic idea, though, is to make a tea out of ginger, cayenne pepper (just a few dashes!  no more than two or three for me and I have a very high tolerance for spice. when making it for roommates, I add maybe a dash!), cinnamon, raw honey, and lemon.  Pro tips: add the raw honey second to last, after the water has come down from a boil and add the lemon by just sticking it in your cup and pouring the no-longer boiling water on it.  That way you don't boil out any enzymes, yay!

Homemade Chicken Soup

{Image from martinturzak/Photos.com}

Earlier in the fall I bought two free-range, humanely slaughtered rotisserie chickens.  One I turned in to a bunch of soup, the other I ate from for a few days and then turned the carcass in to a kick-ass mass of stock.  I've been busting both out of the freezer generously as the weather has hovered below zero for days at a time.

The Nutcracker

{Image is the property of Boston Ballet}

It isn't the holidays for me without a trip to the Nutcracker, a tradition that was started when I was a little girl - and then a big girl, all the way through high school senior - when I danced in the Nutcracker.  Now if I'm not part of a production, I simply have to go see one.  Being a staff member with BB allows me discount tickets to see one of the best versions out there!  Taking Mum and Sissy to see it was a highlight of my post-grad life so far, and the kick off to my Christmas.

    

                        

Books!  While it's frustrating to not have a million and one arts-based projects on my plate for three or four weeks, it is undeniably nice to have time to "refresh the creative well," by re-engaging in my other passions and hobbies.  Nurturing my brain, curiosity, and language skills.  Plus, nothing screams "December," to me quite like snuggling up under my softest brown blanket (a gift from Boyfriend) with my fuzzy socks mug of tea, and a just-for-fun book to read beneath the Christmas lights.

SNOW.

{Image from jetsetter.com}

Because obviously snow = winter.  First snow on the same night as Nutcracker = proper December.

Honorable Distinctly December Mentions:

*Chocolate chip cookies 

*Pandora Christmas Station

*Fuzzy socks

*This nifty cold I've got that's making me so tired I'm in bed by ten but can't for the desperate life of me actually fall asleep.  Cue more immune-boosting tea.  

*Christmas budgeting, Christmas shopping's more practical cousin.

Mum.

Today is one of the most important days of the entire year.  Right up there with New Year's Eve, Christmas, Election Day, even.  At least for me, and for many other people.

Today is my mother's birthday.

Of course, she's not just my mum.  I share her with my two younger siblings, as well as a string of older foster brothers, and a plethora of "local teenagers," many of whom now have children of their own and are scattered far and wide.  When the whole world was a mass of chaos, darkness, and fear, Mum managed to make a haven and a second home for dozens of young people for twenty odd years.

My entire life, I heard "If you want to get out, you have to get educated."  "You're in charge of your life as soon as you set foot out that door: if you want to stay in charge of it, make sure you're educated."  I spent some of the only happy moments of my childhood (aside from when I was dancing) in various corners of the library and hiding away in my room, my nose buried in a book in part because of that admonition.  When I left home, I pursued my higher education with zeal and passion, my mother's admonitions in my ears.

She did more than admonish or advice, though.  When the time came and she had the chance, she put herself back in school, fighting to earn the keys to her own kingdom one exam, one essay at a time.

While working.

And homeschooling my brother.

And continuing, without fail, to make both home and haven where ever she is, for whoever is near by.

My mother is a warrior who wields a wooden spoon.  A general who waves books instead of firing bullets.  She is clever, kind, and tough.  On this day, the wonderful day she was born, I hope that everyone in her life is able to give just a little bit of the love she so willingly shares back to her.

I love you, Mum.  May your day be as bright as your spirit, a day no one could forget.

Two Hobos & Two Monks From Australia Walk Into a Bar. . .

. . . Ok, so it wasn't a bar.  And they weren't all together.  But they all did play a role in my life this weekend. As my friend John pointed out to me the other day, "life is strange."  And it seems I have a knack for getting myself into strange situations.

Here, let me set the scene.  It's 5:10 on a Saturday in Boston, and I am somewhere between power-walking and jogging towards the bus terminal at South Station.  I've got a big ol' reusable shopping bag slung over one shoulder, filled with all sorts of clothing I can't actually wear this weekend because they're potential costume pieces for my show.  No, there is nothing practical in my giant bag.

No, I don't have a ticket yet.

Yes, this trip is impromptu.  

No, it wasn't well planned.  Gypsy life, ok guys?

As I approach the terminal, I move swiftly passed the assorted homeless, beggars, and other impoverished who often crowd that final stretch of street. I hurry towards my destination, trying to ignore the poverty around me that tugs at my heart, but I can't help but notice a man digging through the trash barrel by the side entrance of the terminal. My stomach sinks when I notice that he hasn't got a bag with returnables in it, which means his goal in riffling through the trash can only be one other thing. I move briskly past him but turn to look over my shoulder in time to see him pull a McDonald's bag from the trash.

As I climb the stairs to the purchasing area of the terminal, I can smell the McDonald's upstairs in the food court, the same location the man outside's scavenged dinner no doubt originated: the greasy smell strikes me as a sharp, pitiful contrast to the mental image of the man looking for a few cold bites of the disregarded fast food in the garbage.  I tell myself if I miss my bus (which is probable, it departs in less than ten minutes and I haven't purchased my ticket yet) I will go to the McDonald's and buy the man a value meal so he can at least have warm fast food.

Instead of making me feel better, the idea immediately makes me feel awful.  In what world is my surprise, impromptu day off full of comfort and convenience more important than another human being literally starving outside?  If it takes me missing my bus in order to do the right thing, than I don't deserve to ever catch another bus again.  I turn around, and head back down the stairs, open my wallet and pull out the few dollars I have left, and give them to the man with a request that he buy himseld something hot to eat.  I don't know if he'll spend it on food, or if it will got to booze or cigarettes or something else.  I do know that he was a grown man eating cold french fries out of a trash barrel, and I couldn't stomach walking away. And that the look of shock on his face, shock that another human being would reach out to him, will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Well, now naturally, I missed my bus. I purchased a ticket for a later trip, and then headed over to the McDonalds.  I know it seems foolish, but I kept imagining what it would be like for that man - dirty, and yes smelly, and bearded, and clearly homeless - to stand in line and wait for his food.  The looks, and the judgement, and the suspicion from security guards at bare minimum. . . so I grabbed a chicken sandwich and brought it to him.  I started to walk back towards where the trains come in to South Station, deciding to buy myself a slice of pizza at the big food court while I waited for my bus.  As I started on this leg of my journey, I noticed a man in grey.  A grey robe, to be specific, with a shaved head and a long beard and a pair of sandals on his feet.  Clearly, he was a Franciscan monk.  He looked a little lost, but I figured he'd be fine.  God knows there are enough Catholic Churches in Boston and he probably knew where he was going and I was really hungry . . . . and then he stopped and looked around, and the next thing I knew. . .

Me: "Excuse me.  Are you lost?"
Franciscan One: "Sort of . . ."
Me: "Sort of?  I take it, by your accent you're not from around here?"
Franciscan One: "No, me and my brother" - indicates back towards the terminal - "are here for four months visiting a brother in Roxbury.  I believe we're supposed to meet someone here, but I have no idea where exactly 'here' is other than being in the southern part of Boston."
Me: "Do you know how to contact the person you're meeting, brother?"
Second Franciscan approaches cheerfully, introduces himself as actually being a priest within the order, and says: "Yes we have a number but unfortunately, being. . ."
Me: ". . . Franciscans and having no personal property, you have absolutely no way of contacting them." *pulls out phone* *hopes they aren't very clever thieves* *judges self for thinking so poorly and suspiciously of two men of the cloth* *remembers Church scandals* *chides self again for painting with a broad brush* *and for being paranoid* *hands over phone*

As Franciscan One makes his phone call (well, I had to do the actual dialing) a homeless man approaches us, pulls off his knit cap, and crosses himself.  He waits patiently until the phone conversation is complete, crosses himself again, and asks each friar for his blessing in turn.  I immediately feel as though I could cry, watching this gentle yet fervent display of faith, but before any tears can reach my eyes (I'm a sucker ok?) the homeless man turns to me.  And he is not looking for a blessing.  He abruptly begins to shout, admonishing me for being a sinner, a slut, a jezebel, a daughter of the devil himself.  How dare I stand in front of holy men dressed the way I am - which for the record, is jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of toms.  The thing that earns this man's ire (and is "why the world is becoming a hell-pit") is my shirt, a comfortable t-shirt I sometimes wear for rehearsals, which has the collar cut off: at this particular moment, you can see one of my shoulders, and across it, my bra strap. The man's outrage continues to build and I note that our strange group - keep in mind, we're a 20-something girl, two foreign monks in full robes, and a hollering homeless man - is drawing attention.  The Franciscans step between me and the man, and admonish him for yelling at me, and for passing judgement, and firmly inform him that is not "the Lord's will or work," and that as a matter of fact, I had just done an act of charity (which is when I get my phone back).

The Franciscans then walk me into the main hub of South Station, so I can finally grab my slice of pizza. Before they leave, I open my mouth to ask for their blessing, but before I can speak the first brother has raised his hand and made the Sign of the Cross over me, while the second brother smiles and says something I don't think I'll ever forget: "Blessings are more than gestures, little sister.  Blessings should be deeds.  You have as much power to bless as I."

I watch the brothers walk away, back to where their ride (in theory) is meeting them.  Then I turn and head to the pizza counter to purchase my lunch/dinner, which I will now have to do with my credit card since I'm out of cash.  While I look at the variety of pies, the cheerful, mustachioed, heavily-accented man behind the counter makes small talk with me, and when I say "Could I have a slice of this one?" he replies "Eeeeehhhhh, maybe. . . " so I try again "May I have a slice of that one, please?" "HHhmmm, better but eh, I'm very busy," and so forth.  Each slice I ask for he jokingly turns down all the while taking the pizza, pulling out my slice, and packaging it neatly up.  Finally I figure out the trick - "Per favore? Posso?" "Please? May I?" I ask, and he laughs so hard his mustache shakes and hands over my meal.  As I take the bag that should contain my slice of pizza and a drink, I note the extra weight.  "Scusa?" (excuse me?) I hold up the bag and tell him I think he made a mistake, that he gave me an extra slice.  The man smiles at me and says "No mistake: I hope the extra slice will bring me an extra blessing.  You must be a special girl, I figure: I saw the Franciscans give you care when they brought you in.  Maybe I think it's smart for me to give extra care too."  Immediately humbled - and thinking of the brother's words about blessings - I thank him and walk away, suddenly strangely grateful to have missed "my" bus.

It isn't until after that I look at my receipt and see he didn't charge me for either slice, only for the soda.

"Blessings should be deeds."

She Said I Think I'll Go To Boston. . .

. . . I think I'll start a new life, I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name.

-"Boston," by Augustana

So that's exactly what she did.  Hello there, friends.  I know, I know.  It's been awhile - months, on fact.  If you've ever read my blog before and are here now, faithfully checking in, I thank you.  Deeply and truly from the bottom of my heart for your loyalty to me and my little corner of the internet.  And if you're new, welcome!  I hope you'll stay around and share in the adventure.  I also think if you're a long time follower, it is time to be candid - and if you're new, it's always a good idea to start a relationship of any kind with real honesty, right?

So.  Where have I been?  What have I been doing for the past season, an entire summer, where I was silent?  And why didn't I blog?  Well, in case the lyrics weren't a give away, I was in Boston. Back in January I received an award at KCACTF (Region 1) for those who don't know, KCACTF is a  national College Theatre Festival, and the particular award I received was a scholarship that allowed me to train with Commonwealth Shakespeare Company, a renown company who I deeply admire.  To train, perform, and work with them for the summer was something I hoped for but didn't anticipate being able to actually do - and the second I realized I would be able to, I was elated.  The only downside was I knew I couldn't share too much of my experience here.

You see, blogs are public access things by their nature - and I have had to be very careful with what information I post publicly because of my "relationship," with my father, a topic I have hinted at on this blog before.  Simply put he was and is abusive, and it is always in my best interest (emotionally, mentally, and physically) for him not to know where I am located.  There was no way to talk about my apprenticeship, which was six or seven days a week, all day and all night, and even had me traveling around Boston, without talking about my exact location - our shows on the Common draw ten thousand people a night, so we're hardly small or unknown.  Which is exactly how he found me anyway.  And once he did, the court battle began, as I attempt to win legal protection from his harassment and stalking, something I knew I couldn't do if I made all of my information public.  I now have enough legal protection to feel comfortable sharing some of my information again. . . and to be honest, I missed this space.  I love to write and I love my blog and I am certainly resentful I had to be pulled away from it.  So expect me back!

Now about this summer - it was amazing.  There was some rough stuff for sure, but it was the most wonderful summer of my entire life. I trained intensively in my craft, performed for tens of thousands of people on the Boston Common, worked with actors from plays like London and Hollywood (we're talkin' an actor on NCIS LA here people!), got to tour Boston performing with the other Apprentices everywhere from a YMCA to George's Island, went to a ton of Sox games, couch surfed like a professional, saw Boston's first Pride Parade, participated in a major arts festival, had a crash course in all things outdoor theatre, grew immeasurably as an artist, learned to really stand on my own two feet, made friendships faster and more deeply than I imagined possible, worked with two dozen inspiring peers, and managed through the grace of God to parlay all of that in to job opportunities as an artist.  

More on those topics to follow! I hope you're all ready to read. 

Allow Me to {Re}Introduce Myself Part II

The long and the short of it is: part one gave you an idea of what I did in college, and why my blogging then was sporadic. I thought maybe a better {re}introduction would include more, well, facts about who I am. So below are 23 Facts {because I'm 23 and that seemed as good a number as any} about me. 

1.) Lela isn't my "real," name.  It's one of my dozen or so nicknames. I think it's pretty.
2.) I talk a l- o-t.  As in, a lot a lot. Maybe too much.  Occasionally too much. Ok, pretty much always too much.
3.) I have the most ridiculous case of wanderlust.  It's more than itchy feet: it's like itchy-personality. I think I just described myself as a wool sweater.  Whoops.

4.) <-- the number of years, as of this August, I've been with my Boyfriend. I guess you could say it's love. 
5.) I really, really, really like avocados, raspberries, chocolate and mangos.
6.) I cannot stomach black licorice, celery, or coffee. 

7.) If you talk to me about books or music enthusiastically, we will immediately become very good friends. 

8.) I have a thing for stars. 

9.) I am terrified of snakes. And elevators. I know, I know. 

10.) Despite being an avid tea drinker and overall tea enthusiast, I am not into green tea. I just don't like it. I realize that makes me an alien. 

11.) I'm totally that friend - the Feminist, the Advocate, the Social Justice Ranter. I do the cruelty free make up and waving around pamphlets and the only eating free range meat and the fair trade everything and generally cause a ruckus.  

12.) My lucky number is 2: especially when it is combined with but not added to 3. For instance, 6 is awesome. 5 is not. This makes 12 one of my rad-est numbers ever.

13.) I have four siblings. A younger biological sister and brother, and an older pseudo/unofficiallly adopted brother/sister duo. They are my 4 favorites. 

14.) I am pretty sure I was born with salt water in my veins instead of blood. 

15.) I not-so secretly haven't totally abandoned my dreams of being a wedding planner, baker, chef, or expert on Arthurian legends and fairy tales. 

16.) I cannot dive, whistle, or ride a bike. Such a weirdo.

17.) Currently this seems to be in vogue so I don't know how to say it without sounding like a hipster but . .  I'm a geek. As in read LOTR when I was 12 and wrote secret notes to my pen pal in elvish, had a dream about traveling with the Doctor, read the Star Wars books in late grade school, and recently got in an all out argument about the finer points of how the Wolverine movie ruined Gambit and his backstory. 

18.) I really love big families. 

19.) I'm an avid sports fan: the opening ceremonies for the Olympics make me cry every year. I consider Boston Sports my second religion: my first crush was boxer Oscar Dela Hoya.

20.) Maybe it has something to do with facts seventeen and nineteen, but its always been more natural for me to have a meaningful relationship with males than females. Most of my friends are guys. 

21.) I am allergic or immune to virtually every painkiller on the market. 

22.) I believe in adventure, kindness, and courage more than anything else. 

23.) I'm a practicing Catholic. 

I'd love to get to know any one who reads my blog better! So please comment below with facts about you, or maybe do one-fact-per-year-of-your-life on your own blog and leave a link below! And as always, feel free to comment/respond below. 

Ciao!

Lela

Allow Me To {Re}Introduce Myself Part I

Hi.  I'm Lela.

Here is what I look like:

I just graduated on May 11th from a small liberal arts college in New England.

While in school, I double majored in Dance and Theatre:

              {I know. I wore some weird shit.}

I also spent a lot of time {as in all of my "free" time} doing tech and learning stage combat:

{It was pretty awesome}

College was amazing.  I learned so much - which I know is the point of higher education. And I was an avid consumer of everything my faculty shared with me in the classroom, taking 20+ credits at a time. I improved my technique as a performer and artist, explored new horizons within myself as well as in the world around me, and pursued new avenues.  Between all the classes, rehearsals, auditions, performances, the voice lessons, the three-on-campus jobs, the a capella group, etc. etc. I was really busy and kind of a bad blogger.  But blogging has always been something I love: something I turn to as a further form of creativity and inspiration.  Of release and exploration.  Simply put, I love telling stories: and words were invented, I think, just for that purpose.  So I'm reintroducing myself to the blogging world: a new venture for me to more seriously commit to moving forward.  

It's a pleasure to meet you!

Things That Bring Contentment

Today was an up and down sort of day.  Stress, pain (physical: my lower left side seems intent on slowly ripping itself apart), frustrations.  But it also brought good news, and surprising moments of peace.  I am choosing to focus on things that bring me contentment as this odd, anxious day slips away.

Contentment Is:

-The sound of rain coming through an open window

-Raspberry tea, which seems to have been brewed specifically to soothe my soul

-Talking to one of my best friends for hours about Serious Important Grown Up Stuff (like moving, and long distance, and injuries) and Silliness too (she's making bagels: brunch is the best).

-My big brother.  

-My little brother.

-Conversations, however brief, beginning with that ringtone and ending with "I love you."

-Frank Sinatra from another room in the apartment: it means my roommates are home.  It means He is in a good mood or She wants to dance. Or maybe both.

-Cut off shorts and unpinning my hair.

What brings you a feeling of contentment or peace, friends?

Words, Words, Words.

So many of them, spinning around in my head.  I'm trying desperately to turn four years of experiences and emotions in to a single coherent unit: to explain, expand, to share and reflect on my years as a BA student.  I'm attempting to finish my submission for graduation speech: and it's a struggle.  I know just what I want to say and how to say it. Yet my fingers stall above the keys and that place where you feel tears starting, right behind the eyes, seems to almost squeeze.

Words.

Word.  

Words.

Can they ever be enough?  

Time Slips Away

Hello darling followers. At this point if you're my follower you've been around long enough to know when I'm at school, occasionally I go on serious, long hiatuses.  It's silly and I shouldn't do it and in these last few weeks before graduation (!!!) I'm going to keep working very hard to break the habit.

So what have I been up to in the past month?  Hamlet opened, and ran, and closed, all the weekend of a snowstorm.  I seem to have recovered from pneumonia, finally, though occasionally if I am tired I have a nasty chest cough that hints at the bronchitis.

Romeo and Juliet also opened, and ran, and closed, and my roommates were radiant (Award nominated! Both of them!) successes who filled my heart, tore it out, and then dragged it all across the stage.

We had blizzards and ice storms and strange warm days that felt like spring had arrived way early and my body responded by being sore and cranky and achy and crack-y and such.

My roommates and I, after that last post about how nice it was to see and spend time with each other, started doing more of exactly that.  Trying to carve out quiet moments, to pause and listen and share.  I am a strong believer in physical presence - to reach out and touch each other's hand, give a hug long enough to take a deep breath, tuck back a lock of hair, squeeze a leg affectionately when you walk by, pat a shoulder.  And not just touch as physical presence, but sitting in a room together even if we're all by necessity glued to our separate screens doing separate homework: emptying the dishwasher without question and without comment, knowing that whoever filled it will feel the comfort of living with another person and their helping hands when they go back to check and the dishwasher is empty.

I survived midterms.  It was hellacious but necessary and the last time I shall have to do it.

There were some stressful group projects.

There was an awesome learning curve programming a lighting board.

From here on in, I promise to improve how I take care of myself and this little blog going forward!

Nice To Meet You. Again.

I stayed in and instead of doing homework or obsessively running lines I talked to my roommates.  Now don't get me wrong - it's not as though I usually ignore them or there is some sort of tension.  Nor are we all particularly quiet people. . .

But life is busy.  It's so busy.  Especially the way we each choose to live it, all of us some combination of taking maximum credits, being on Dean's List, performing in at least one show, being involved with two or three, working one or two jobs, and juggling long (and well loved) lists of friends and even trying to squeeze in things like hobbies, the gym, etc.  And while they are a couple, and in all of the same classes, and happen to be performing in the same show (I am doing lighting for it and haven't been at rehearsals yet, not for another few days) I am in none of their classes. And I'm won't be onstage with them.  So even though we share this apartment - these couches, cabinets, and chores - and even though we see each other on a daily basis, and even though we're truly close friends sometimes we become the proverbial ships in the night, passing each other on our separate voyages.  

Me stumbling groggily to the kettle while he fumbles for the coffee maker.  Nods of acknowledgement.  "How was your day," "oh good xyz happened, yours?" "mmm," exchanged between her and I.  Notes as though written by phantoms, left in the place of a roommate  as reminders for cable and keys, thanks for thoughtful gestures, questions about schedules.

To put a face to the notes again: to let my eyes really see the lines of his jaw and the quirk of his eyebrows when he's amused or the twist of them when he's contemplating.  To readjust to the sight of how beautiful she really is, how lovely and glowing and the way any interesting conversation animates her.  

 Falling into each other's cadences again, and remembering why we chose to live together in the first place: the quirks and oddities and habits, the ticks and jokes and ideas that made us think forming a little home, a little family, together in this apartment was a good idea.

She & I laying on beds, feet in the air, sweat pants on and make up off, fantasizing about how to spend a trillion dollars.

Sitting on counter tops across from each other, my legs criss crossed and pulled to my chest while his long ones hang over the edge, discussing nothing at all with total seriousness and earnestness.  

Stopping the busy to find each other, and going to bed remembering why we came together to begin with.  

I suddenly and more clearly appreciate what people mean when they say "making time for each other." or "taking the time to get reacquainted," with someone.  Relationships - even the most secure, the most steady, the most even and gentle and the ones that can be reduced to grunts over coffee and nods over homework - require special love and care and tending.  Tonight has inspired me to take the time more often to simply speak, with no intention other than a.) to be heard and then b.) to listen intently and freely and without any other objective.  It is amazing what you can learn, even about the people you share the most intimate parts of your life with, this way.

Pneumonia Sucks, Festival Rocks.

These are the lessons the waning days of January and the opening days of February taught me.  To summarize briefly why I have been absent since my last, rather exuberant and somewhat scattered, post, I will simply say: bacterial bronchitis.  pneumonia.

Remember my post about being sick from a few weeks back?  In it I explained that the last three weeks of my winter break were devoted entirely to bed rest as I got the nasty flu that had been terrorizing the eastern seaboard.  Unfortunately, because my "health insurance" is somewhere between joke and sham, as most college coverage plans are, I could't afford treatment.  That + resuming a daunting schedule + the grips of winter = the flu deteriorating in to laryngitis and fatigue which slowly evolved itself into a nasty form of bacterial bronchitis and pneumonia.  Well, in theory it includes pneumonia. . . I can't actually afford both the testing and the medication, you see.  So we opted to proceed as though I have pneumonia, which seemed incredibly likely as I lay in Wellness coughing until my diaphragm spazzed out, I vomited, and started seeing stars.

Again.

Ahem.

But the second part of this post's title is "Festival Rocks."  So let's talk about that now shall we???

Festival - the nickname for KCACTF or The Kennedy Center American College Theatre Festival is something you can read more about in the link imbedded above: my school is part of Region 1 and we got to spend our week of acting, stage craft, competing, performing, master classes, workshops, lectures, and networking in Cape Cod MA.  I attended KCACTF as a Stage Management Fellowship Nominee and Irene Ryan scene partner  which are both competitions, one for stage managing (obviously) and the other for acting. My Festival Week went as follows:

Tuesday: final rehearsal for Irene Ryans rounds.  Review materials for my book and display.  Load in to the car with my darling Louque Gaga (nickname for one of my friends here on campus. He's marvelous). Spend almost two hours singing showtunes obnoxiously.  Arrive at our hotel, check in, find our roomates for the week (my actualy roomate + a fellow senior + an alum here to compete in the Ryans).  Unpack, do final prep on my production book, have a group rehearsal for Irene Ryans, eat pizza that Papa Jim (one of our two accompanying faculty members) bought us all.  Try to sleep.

Wednesday: Up at 6am w/Lil. Gym. Back to the room to do hair, makeup, and get dressed. 7:30 last minute run through of Irene Ryans scene w/the nominee.  7:45 check in for our round.  8:00am curtains up.  9:30 - 11:15 Ryans response (this is where specially trained and selected "real world grown ups" meaning faculty and directors from other schools, give feedback, critiques, and opinions on how each competitor and their partners did.  Incredibly insightful). 11:15 - 11:25 runlikehelltochangeoutfit. 11:30 - 1:00pm set up for the Design Management and Tech Expo (DMT for short).  1:00pm - 1:00am nap, workshops, continue refining book and display, watch other Ryans rounds, find out nominee and I didn't move on in the Ryans but my two roommates (real life roommates, not Festival roomates) did and so did one of the other seniors competing and her partner. Eat something, meet up with friends old and new, go to bed.

Thursday: Up at 7:00am. Gym. Work DMT as part of my Stage Management Fellowship nomination with Louque-Gaga.  All. Damn. Day. And. Evening. When it finally ends, eat something, stretch, go over game plan for interview portion of the SMF competition.  Watch semi-finals of Irene Ryans.  See friends kick ass. Take a Fosse workshop and get offered a spot in the Boston Theater Project's Summer Intensive in Tampa FL. Resume friendseeking/making/hanging out with from the night before. Get really anxious for interview. Finally fall asleep with lights on: Lil and I are snug in our bed, other roommates never reappear after dinner.  

Friday: Other two roommates fine, found old friends from HS.  Continue running DMT as part of competition. Have interview portion. Find out the senior girl and her partner (both of whom I've been friends with since freshman year) have moved on to finals.  Freak out. Cheer on other contestants in the DMT's final day, many of whom are now my friends.  Finally get to see a show ("The Foreigner"), laugh ass off, at intermission boldly march up to some fellow Ryans and tell them how much I loved their stuff and it's a pity they didn't move on.  Repeat the friends thing. Sleep.

Saturday: strike DMT. Cross fingers/pray for Senior Duo to Kick. Ass. at the finals, and for all my friends in Ten Minute Plays to be awesome. Audition for Commonwealth Shakespeare Company's Summer Apprenticeship.  Find out one of the adjudicators of the DMT wants my resume and contact information. Am tentatively offered a potential job in NYC post graduation with a lighting firm. Give in to days of hunger and exhaustion: split chicken tenders and fries with Lil.  Take nap. Hit hot tub.  Lil convinces me to do my hair and put on a dress, though I decide not to wear makeup.  Go to Awards Ceremony, which is the first part of closing out Festival.

At Awards Ceremony: cheer like a lunatic for my friends who won things in the DMT (Louque and I don't win for stage managing: we didn't expect to, we're our school's first ever representatives and we're just really amazed to even be there). Then acting awards start being handed out.  The first is Commonwealth Shakespeare Company, who announce the two people they've selected to be their apprentices and to receive scholarships to the summer training course to boot.

- Immediately go in to shock as my Theatre Department erupts in screams and applause as my name is called as one of the 2013 CSC Interns.  This gives me guaranteed performances within a few weeks of graduation, will help me earn almost all my Equity Eligibility Points, reduces my cost of training by more than half, and launches me full-steam-ahead in to the world of Shakespearean Theatre.  Eventually, I have the good sense to cry.  

- My roommate (not Lil, but the other one - Thing 1, I call him) receives an award for his vocal work as an Irene Ryan.

-My dear friend Robby receives Merit Award for his performance in the Music Theatre Initiative/Richard Maltby Jr competition. 

-Senior nominee wins Best Comedic Actress.  At this point, my entire school is crying more or less.  Most of us have very little voices left.  There are bruises from hands being held too tight and too rowdy rounds of applause.

-The Senior duo wins. My beloved department will be representing our entire regionin Washington D.C. in a few weeks, as two of my most longterm college friends grace the Kennedy Center as the best actress and best partner in the region.  My beloved department, whose BA is less than a year old.  My girl who has had her heart broken and remade before my eyes.  My dear friend who was almost unable to graduate with us, and has served his nominee as a perfect partner.  They received the last and most prestigious award of the night.  I received the first and newest.  Eventually the President of our College herself writes to tell us how proud she is of our class. 

- Then it's the dance.  To read more fully about everything that night felt like, you can read here.  It was magic, I tell you.

Sunday: we pack up, hug it out, hand in keys, and drive home again.  Hearts light and minds filled, I breathe as slowly as I can while Louque speeds along the highway, trying to relish the impact of this last golden Festival.

Such an experience, dear readers, such joy, I wish to you all. 

Sights and Sounds and Sudden Joy.

Oh, oh, and oh! once again.  What a lovely past few weeks - and what an inspiring past few days.  And what an incredible night.  The sound of my name, coming across the audience.  The way my stomach - fwoosshh - swept out from me, falling beneath the floor which somehow I seemed to be floating above, as my heart, clearly in response to this new zero gravity feeling rose up in to my throat.  My hands flew to my face and I became acutely aware of the shouts, screams, hollers, and many clapping, slapping, squeezing hands of my Theatre department.  Searching wildly for my Professor's eyes, and my roomates' eyes, someone to look at me and tell me without words - for I could not hear them if they'd been spoken, such was the ruckus around me - that I hadn't imagined it.

"Stand up!  You have to go onstage!" and then "Oh! Oh my God!" and instead of standing I dip my head briefly between my knees and only then push myself up, thinking thank goodness that my roomate did my hair and insisted I wear heels.

The walk to the stairs and suddenly understanding yes, yes, good God yes, my friends from school are loud - but there are other voices, too, other faces, and as I take the row of high fives and then half-trip my way up the stairs, my eyes scan and pick out faces.  Faces from this summer, a boy who worked on a show with me.  And the kid whose costume design I loved, and the girl whose voice makes me weep, and the two boys whose acting was technical and passionate, and the kid from the shuttle and the teachers I worked with and they're clapping, too.  They're screaming my name and waving their hands and I feel the tears start to come and with shaking hands I take my folder, from the lady, bathed in stage lights, who extends it to me.

And then my Professor is hugging me and tears are in his eyes and my hand is still shaking and my God, it's really really real.  And then the names keep coming - awards and honors and scholarships and competitions, my roomates and my yearmates and my beloved friends are awash in accolades, festooning our school and department in honor.

And then we are dancing, all of us, singing along and hoisting our main prize winner, a wonderful girl, high in the air.  And sometimes I am in the air too - whirled and twirled and tossed by the friends I have made here, this week, these five glorious days of Festival, and they ask for a dance or if I'd like a drink and tell me how pleased they are someone they knew has won, has been recognized.  And the girls from school hold my hands and cry and offer to give me their tips until I have the last little bit of money I'll need, and the boys sling their arms around my shoulders or hoist me in the air and proudly spin me around, as though I am the most wonderful thing they've ever seen and my heart squeezes almost as tightly as my hand is held as I rest my head against various shoulders, trying valiantly to breathe.  The Professor and the Department Head hug me and tell me they're proud, and I get light headed to think I have done something right, and the Professor kisses the top of my head and urges me back to friends, new and old.

My Boyfriend tries to make sense of my words, from hundreds of miles away, and my sisters give their praises and my big brother cheers from the other end of the phone. Mum tries to take it all in.

And then I'm dancing again, and singing again, and the lights are beautiful and the winter night air is sharp and stinging and cold and I run out in to it, like a child, to swirl around in the snow and catch flakes on my tongue.  The music echoes in my heart and my friends' faces (new & old) swirl into a blur before my teary eyes as I climb the stairs to bed, the warm pressure of half a dozen goodbye-hugs pressed against me.

I am happy.  And so lucky.  And I promise, dear readers, to make more sense in the morning - for the sun will be rising soon and while I can, I must steal just a few hours rest.

Here Goes Everything/Nothing

Have you ever heard the expression "here goes nothing," before?  I assume you have - it's a pretty popular phrase, and it's often used when we are actually most anxious, nervous, or scared to do something.  It's a phrase used before "popping the question," or heading into an important interview or talking to someone who makes you nervous.  Why is it that the English language so strange?  Why do we construct phrases whose literal meaning is totally different than what we, well, mean?

And what the heck inspired this rant?  Once I've finished work (I'm typing this during my lunch break, on someone else's phone) I have a meeting for Festival (more on that some other time) and then I'm catching a train that will take me to my bus which will bring me to NYC.  There I will be auditioning for Columbia University's MFA in Theatre, with a concentration in Acting.  And I have a healthy understanding of the fact that thousands of people apply and hundreds of people audition and then less than two dozen are accepted in to this program.  I have plans to move to the city, to get work, to support myself and further my hopes, dreams, goals and plans, as though Columbia is a place I've never heard of.

And yet. . . this is still the most important audition of my life so far.  And while I try to tell myself "here goes nothing," as I pack and figure and sort and plan, I know deep down in my heart that what I really mean is "here goes everything."

Here is my passion, my talent, my art, on display for you to be judged, weighed, measured.  Let me stand before you and sing, dance, tell you a story so you can decide, quite literally, if I am good enough.  Here is my dream: it's in your hand and a single check mark can make it a reality or a faint wiggling regret to sigh in the back of my mind.  Here goes hundreds of dollars - in applications fees, voice lessons, dresses, headshots - here goes two days of my life aboard public transportation, sleeping away from my bed, standing in line wondering.

Here. You get to make a decision that could impact almost every detail of my relationships: how often and when and where I see my Boyfriend, my mother, my siblings, my friends.

Here.

Here.

Here is everything.

And there is something liberating about that: about looking at what I'm doing and instead of thinking here goes nothing, allowing myself to feel its weight, and solidness, to let the repercussions of the next few days vibrate and ripple through my being.  Somehow, it is as though by giving you everything I truly have given everything - the heaviness is gone.  And I can plunge ahead, free and unimpeded. . . carrying with me nothing but myself because, a vessel ready to receive what lies ahead.

So. . . here goes nothing.  See you on the other side.

Sick & Sore & So Much More

So I've had the flu - as in "THE" flu, the one that caused the City of Boston to declare state of emergency, the one that has been nicknamed "the killer flu" - since I got back from my wonderful trip about three weeks ago. Since then I've tried, more than once, to publish a post.  About being sick and wanting to feel better, what my comforts are when I'm ill, how I never in my entire existence on planet earth have had the flu, about the things I was trying to do while I lay in bed for weeks which by the way was also a first for me.  And I hated it.

On Monday I moved back to school for my last semester - and the flu moved with me.  I was almost-but-not-quite better yet and with a schedule that includes 20+ credits, multiple shows, multiple jobs, multiple blogs, Honors status, an Independent Study, grad school auditions, and off-campus commitments I sort of knew I'd be looking at a less-than-restful, hardly ideal jolt to my system.

Which brings me to today, when I finally couldn't take laying awake in my room whimpering to myself because my throat hurt so badly instead of sleeping and then waking up voiceless with a sore, swollen eye (yeah I look cute).  So I dragged myself after my morning ballet class to Wellness where I was promptly diagnosed with laryngitis, pink eye (not the super contagious form, ThankAllThatIsHoly,  and a pretty mild case), a fever, and a completely swollen left side of my head, meaning the glands are so inflamed in my throat and ear canal that my whole left side is enlarged and clogged.  Incidentally that's the same side that has conjuntivitis so I can't hear, breathe, or see well out of that side and both my depth perception and balance are screwy.

Lovely. 

Because of all the havoc being wreaked on my body internally, my technique classes - every single one of them the most advanced, rigorous, and demanding level my college offers - have been devastating on my body.  I am not truly sore.  Rather I've passed that in to just straight on pain: soreness, muscles that have atrophied (I had a PT once tell me for every two or so days of bed rest it takes about a week to get your body back to it's pre-bed rest condition. I've been on my ass for 2.5 weeks which suddenly seems a lot longer), difficulty breathing.

I'm doing my best to get better: tea (in a myriad of types/flavors/brews), hot water with honey and lemon, all natural cough drops, compresses for my eye, vocal rest, oranges for Vitman C, pears to help my throat, gargling warm salt water to reduce infection, not wearing headphones, hot showers, gentle stretching, meditating, well balanced and regular meals, no dairy, no spice, nothing crunchy or crispy or greasy, and I'm sure i'll be up and running soon - hopefully in time for my major grad school audition on Saturday!  

Now I know the most important thing is rest, which I unfortunately cannot get a whole lot of right now. . .  but do you, dear readers have any other home advice?

What medicines should I be taking? Anything I should be eating or avoiding? Tips or tricks?  Lay'em on me!

Destino

I don't really have words for this piece, other than the standard, basic ones.  Beautiful. Inspiring. Surreal. Tragic. Tender.  Oh, I don't know I'm not a wordsmith people.  But this is wonderful so you should watch it.

"Destino," by Walt Disney and Slavador Dali

Happiness Is A Place You Can Go

"They say happiness is a thing you can't see / A thing you can't touch / I disagree . . . they say happiness is the folly of fools / pity poor me / one of the fools,"

-"Happiness," Scrooge the Musical

I love to travel.  For anybody who knows me  - or the handful of loyal souls who've been following this blog all along - this is no surprise.  If I sit still for too long, I start to go crazy: even if I'm busy as can be, like when I'm at school.  Go-go-go from 7am to 3am is a typical day. . . but even that can feel boring if it's in the same place.  On the other hand, most of my very happiest memories in life involve me getting on a plane or bus or some other form of transportation and ending up in an entirely new place.  The very best thing is when I can end up somewhere new with someone I love to explore with.  

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to travel as much as I'd like: however, my few trips have all been amazing trips to fabulous locations with wonderful people.  My first big trip was my sophomore year, to Trinidad & Tobago for Carnival with my former roommate and one of our dearest friends:

Other trips have included to NYC this fall for my senior class trip:

AAaaaannnnddd this past weekend which included the exotic and sunny Minneapolis, Minnesota as end destination:

(yeah I know. we're pretty hot.)

So how the hell did I get from Smalltown NE where I was perfectly mild mannered (cough cough) and demure (cough cough cough!) to being ridiculous in a photo booth in Minneapolis?  Well, I have the best and dearest friends in the world.  So when the stunner in the stunner shades, above, realized she couldn't fly from Chicago (!) to my tiny New England college for my Senior Showcase performance, she instead bought me a plane ticket to visit her in Chicago.  Which would've been epic adventure enough, but see she bought these tickets for a very special date, the day one of our super wonderful friends* got married.  So come last Friday I was tossing a few last-minute items into my bag (fleece lined tights? Check. Gum for the flight? Check.) and then tossing my bag into the car, which I hopped out of with a kiss for Boyfriend at the bus station, which brought me to Logan Airport where I flew to Ohare International.  Then I got to bond with the girl who is in every conceivable way, minus genetics, my big sister.  I accompanied her and her mom to a home-bible study and then did a drive-through tour of Chicago at night:

(low-quality iPhone pic of me at the gorgeous Chicago Water Tower)

Before heading back to get some sleep because we had to pick up this amazing woman:

(read more about her here)

So the three of us could drive to Minnesota to meet up with the fourth friend we were sharing our hotel with for the weekend.

(The four of us all dressed up for the wedding!  I'm the short one whose obnoxiously beveling her foot, in case you couldn't tell. Also, yes those are the fleece lined tights, yes they were warm and comfy, no I did not keep them on to dance the night away).

When the entire group of Friends-Of-The-Groom finally got together, it looked something like this:

(I promise we behaved at the wedding)

The wedding itself was wonderful.  Not a dry eye in the house as the world's sweetest couple said "I do," in a ceremony that fit them like a glove: Brass Quintet, snowy backdrop, laughter, and even a quick "Mazel Tov!" Then it was pictures for the couple and cocktail hour for the guests, which is where we discovered the photo booth. And hot chocolate. And other delightful surprises.  There was dancing - hours and hours of dancing.  There was toasting, and more laughing, and reminiscing and hugging.  I went to my "happy place," that is any place, preferably new, that I am discovering with people I love best and who love me back in the same fierce, silly, honest, loyal, ridiculous way.  

Starting the long journey "home" was, as ever, so difficult.  Hugs and kisses and then hours in the car, but Chicago was still waiting and still wonderful.  I even got to try true Deep Dish Pizza!  See!

(Please ignore how disgusting I look.  All I can say is I spent a LOT of hours in a car.)

Then it was home again home again jiggity jig. Car. Airport. Bus. Car. Bed.  And sweet dreams of happiness.

*guys, when I say "super wonderful," I mean at this man's wedding every toast ended with the same description "he's the consummate good guy." He's the smartest dude I've ever met (seriously, went to an elite private college, double major trip minored, plays an instrument. . .you get the picture), and probably the least assuming and most sincere. He believes that the world is a good place, that you hold doors for other people, endangered species should be saved, football is good, and his new wife is the best thing ever placed on earth.