Speaking of India

So here are some pics last night from Neha's Sangeet.  It was AMAZING!!  I had the best time, and I can't wait to have time to write ALL about the amazingness.

Bubble Gum Ice Cream

I'm catching up on blogging about the last month and a half, and I'd say the above picture captures a favorite moment of this fall.  We went to the Poconos for a friend's wedding October 16-18, which incidentally was one of the best weekends of the entire year.  The weekend was filled with friends, laughter, great food, and a day of re-living my childhood in the Poconos.  It was incredible; we went to the pretzel factory where you can "take the tour" and watch fun-loving individuals make pretzels.  We went to American Candle and Holley Ross and every amazing place I remember from being a kid.  I realized on this day how much the Poconos feels like home to me.  I never really felt much connection with New Jersey.  Sure, it's a fine place with culture and proximity to beaches and cities and blah blah blah, but it's not where my heart is.  For the longest time, I thought NYC was my home, but the NYC I know only exists in memory.  I never realized it, but my time in the Poconos was when meaning was whispered into my soul; every falling leaf, ski slope, and walk to the lake pumped life into me.

The weekend more than satisfied my expectations.  In fact, I didn't even realize a piece of me was missing until I got it back sometime on our journey through the Poconos, and I think it was when I found the "Casino" Ice Cream Parlor and movie theater in Mt. Pocono.  My sister and I used to order bubble gum ice cream-the real kind with the actual pieces of bubble gum-and ride the little kiddie rides there.  Then, with our tongues bright red, we would go across the street to the weird gift shops full of Native American paraphernalia, wooden gifts with first names etched into them, and large clocks painted with scenes from hunting in the woods, all while chewing tasteless gum.  Finding the Casino Ice Cream parlor and seeing it again with Mike was the best.  It was Home.  

P.S. The ice cream parlor still had the real bubble gum ice cream.  It also had a new flavor which I HAD to get: Play-Doh flavored.  I mean, it really looked like play-doh.  It was bright bright yellow with chunks of bright bright red and blue "play-doh" mixed with it-really cookie dough.  I felt 9 years old-I had a scoop of play doh and a scoop of bubble gum-only this time I was actually allowed to have a cone.  For those of you who don't know, I may be the only person ever to have been kicked out of an ice cream parlor as a little kid for being TOO MESSY, so growing up I wasn't ever allowed to have a cone.  When I went to college, I found one of the many pleasures of being an adult was the ability to order myself an ice cream cone.  I still am thrilled to have my ice cream cones!

Sweet-smelling roses

I wrote this post over a month ago.  I promise I will post regularly, but until then I am just catching up.  

This evening (October 10) we went to this great hidden rose garden I had been trying to find since I moved here in June.  Exceeding expectations, the garden held hundreds of different hybrids of roses.  Despite being slightly past season, we found blooms from Redleaf to Cajun Sunrise to roses named after people to something simply called "Playboy."  I came across a rose which was a deep cream color and one of the best blooms in the whole garden.  It just begged for me to smell it, so I stepped up onto the mulch, carefully leaned in, and inhaled deeply.  It sounds so prosaic, but it was one of the most wonderful smells I have experienced in recent years, maybe ever.  I thought of all the American and French and any other attempts at recreating this joy, but to this day, my experience proves nothing can come close to the beauty of nature.  

The best part of beauty in nature is its ability to surprise.  After I moved in June, my commute went from 60 minutes all highway-straight across New Jersey-to 45-50 minutes through farms and small towns.  My commute now is much more aggravating, but much better on my car; I just have to get used to it.  About 5 minutes from my work, when my aggravation has reached its peak, pink roses line a cream-colored fence of a typical mansion in Old Money Town.  Miraculously (well, to me at least), they have been blooming to create an impeccable color scheme since before I moved in June.  Those pink roses have consistently and persistently lifted my spirits in a time where it hasn't always been easy to feel joyful. 

In addition to lifting my spirits, roses lately have managed to open my eyes.  I understand this post is one big cliche, but I'm just going to continue.  This week I realized when I get married, I won't be losing my identity by taking his name.  I'll still be me, but just Mrs. Me, and this week for the first time, Mrs. Me sounded pretty good.

What's in a name?

Well, it may not technically be wedding season for most, but it certainly is for me.  I will be attending three weddings in the next two months, and the first is this evening.  I can't help but go to weddings and imagine what mine would be like: who would attend, the flowers, etc., which is all rather new territory for me.  I and most of my girlfriends are of the breed of women who did not grow up fantasizing about our weddings; for us it was dreaming about future careers, whether it was doctor or meteorologist or fruit importer.  I'm left at these weddings with no definite idea of what I'd want and no history of my past desires now matter how silly or out of budget; I tend to feel a tad awkward and out of place.

The most awkward part of all of it is the name change.  Growing up, there were plenty of times I did not care for my name.  I've tried every version of a nickname and none of them really stuck, which is really ok for me right now.  I was much more neutral about the last name, but even if I hated it completely, it's still the definition of my identity.  To be honest, the real possibility of changing my name makes me frightened.  I will be a whole new person when I get married, and someone else's identity, no longer my own.  

The whole thing doesn't sit with me very well, not at all.  I can't imagine any of this, the wedding, the name change, new signature, passport, etc.  Why do the fundamentals of who I am have to change?  Do most women want this, or is this something they just feel expected to do?  Am I alone here?  

People have been asking me a lot lately if we're ready to get married, and I've been answering honestly: I don't know if I'm ready to get married.  Shouldn't a bride know these things about flowers and name changes?

My questioning aside, two of the three weddings this fall are my good friends (both brides) who are both very ready and very happy to be getting married.  They amaze me because they so calmly know these details and have this picture in their mind of Mr. and Mrs. which is still so fuzzy to me.   Congratulations to the Fall 2008 newlyweds!  Time to get ready for wedding number 1.