Lots of parentheses

I have two things to say.

One is that I am obviously getting sick.  I have a stiff neck, a sore throat, and I'm sneezing with increasing violence. This relieves me.  I hope to head it off with some vitamins and some sleep, in about another five minutes. The reason that it relieves me is because it explains the darkness and sadness and exhaustion.  Often, when I am depressed and can't see through it, I find myself coming down with cold or flu symptoms just a few days later. (Fascinating! you say.  Tell us more about your cold and flu symptoms!) It's all intertwined, the emotions and the wellness and the lack of sleep and the ability to retain patience.

The second thing is that today was a very good day.  We weeded the garden. And we declined an invitation to a wedding that YaYa and I really wanted to go to. It was a Goan wedding, and we did go to the something something preparation of the bride or something. I don't know exactly what it was.  We were at a lovely little village home, I was told to sit, and we were given soda and these lovely hearty coconut cookies.  My neighbors refer to them as "this round" so I am not sure what they are called.  Then the dress was brought in, and photographed with some fancy gold jewelry, and other fancy things, and then the bride came in wearing the dress and we all sat and watched (me and all the family) while someone roughly applied the bride's makeup (at least, it looked rough to me, the makeup lady kept smashing the bride's nose against the side of her face) and then there were more photographs.  It was fairly similar, in a way, to the weddings that I have photographed, except that all of the family, male and female, was standing and watching the makeup being applied, and then the tiara put on, and the gloves, and the bangles over the gloves, which was surprising, and it was all done with a very serious Indian ceremonialness. (I think I just made that word up.)

This was not the red sari and tying of the bride and groom and the horse and all that, if you are familiar with Indian weddings.  This was a Goan Catholic wedding.  The only way I can think to describe it is... fancy. Lots of sequins. And some cool bejeweled mafioso fishing village suits, if that makes any sense at all. (YaYa was astounded. "Something very very strange has happened, Kid A!" she yelled. "Rosario is wearing clothes!  I've never seen him wearing clothes before!"  The attire of my neighbor and his brother, who is the father of the bride, seems to be a towel around the waist, that's it, most of the time.)

My neighbors even lent me a sequined fuchsia sari to wear, since apparently my beautiful batik cotton sari is not the thing for a wedding.  I would have loved to go.  I would have loved it, all those outsider feelings notwithstanding.  But I can't think of much that would be more torturous than chasing after a writhing Solo-gone-mad, for four hours after his bedtime, while wearing a sari. Oh, actually, yes I can. Having Kid A, YaYa and Leafy wrestling beside me while I chase the frothy-mouthed Solo would be even worse.

After trying to get my friends to understand this, (Me: they will be very tired by midnight, and my husband is not here. Them: They can sit down! Me: Blank look, thinking, you really have no idea, do you.  They could destroy the wedding!) I just said, in the end, "no."  It was beautiful.  It is the hardest thing for me to do, in the world. (My husband usually does it for me, which isn't necessarily good, because although he does know my limits better than I do, if he's gone, like now, it can be problematic.)  And with that "no," the dread of an impossible evening lifted off of me and we had a great day.

That may have been more than two things. And now, off to bed with some ginger lemon honey tea.