jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

Today I found a mouse hanging out in our guest room. He(?) was just sitting there next to the big puffy reading chair. I contemplated chasing him. I contemplated feeding him. Ultimately I just shut the door so that Zoe wouldn’t eat him and left for work. Even if I didn’t pity him (which I did, he’s so tiny) I didn’t want Zoe to eat him. She could get bitten or catch something from him. Not that she was battering down the door. When I found him she was lying in the hallway, mousie in clear view. I spent today telling people about the mouse, and the universal reaction was revulsion. I’m missing some sort of trigger. The sight of a mouse doesn’t upset me at all. They don’t seem any different than a gerbil or a hamster, just smaller. I understand… blah blah blah disease. But I feel more grossed out and exposed on the subway on any given day than I do by the sight of a 4 oz. mouse ten feet away from me. Damon wanted to get a trap. My reaction to that was swift and negative, so we’ve agreed that he will caulk or otherwise fill around the radiator pipes where they lead into the apartment. This is surely where he wandered in from.

Yesterday at work I said something to my team that ended with “… y’all.” Just as it was almost over the threshhold of my mouth I hesitated for one second. In that way that one can think about a million things in a split second, I thought about Atlanta. I thought about how stubbornly I clung to the midwestern “you guys” for almost a year. My roommate at the time – Andrew – was from Charleston and once said to me, “You have no idea how ugly ‘you guys’ sounds to southern ears.”

I finally tipped over on “y’all” when my other roommate’s – John’s – cat escaped. Andrew and I were in charge of Gwendolyn, who is the world’s most unfriendly cat. We came home from the grocery store one night and as Andrew followed me in with a bag of groceries, Gwendolyn just tipped right out. I considered this to be primarily John’s fault, as he hadn’t gotten around to getting her fixed, and she was desperate to get out and, you know, meet boys. But John adored his mean cat, and I was full of dread about breaking the news. When I finally did he was a good sport about it, but was clearly upset. The upset continued for days, and all of our searches produced no cats of note. One night — about five days after Gwen got out – John and I were sitting in my bedroom playing a video game. Andrew had just left to meet some friends. Minutes later he burst into my bedroom and said, “Y’all, I just saw the cat.” We all three barreled outside and started calling and searching. And sure enough, she came home with us that night. Pregnant.

But when Andrew said that he saw her, and I was suddenly hopeful that we could get John’s cat back, that little starburst of joy I felt made a home in my heart for “y’all” and I adopted it from them on. It wasn’t intentional, but that’s obviously what happened.

And now, because I miss Atlanta and still consider it as much home as anything, I’m going to keep it.

My other homage to hometowns past is “please.” Everyone says please. But only in Cincinnati, Ohio do they said it like this. “Please?” Meaning, “please repeat yourself, I didn’t hear you.” It’s a gentle midwestern option if you don’t want to say, “What???” I love it for its delicacy. People are almost always confused when I say it, and I’ve found myself swapping in the more British “Sorry?” which more seem to get. Maybe I have Monty Python and Ab Fab to thank for that. (Speaking of, I love the British “The Office” and can’t fathom with “Spaced” hasn’t crossed over too.) But I love Cincinnati, I miss Cincinnati and I think I’m going to stick to “Please?” in its honor.

We lived in DC for a year, but I didn’t pick up any vernacular. To me, Cincinnati has heart and Atlanta has soul. I guess DC has intellect, but I never felt that engaged there. I’m sure part of it was because we didn’t have lots of super-close friend there (although certainly some). But that doesn’t account for all of it.

Now we’re in Manhattan. It’s so multi-culti here that it seems impossible to identify city-specific language. We live in a Dominican neighborhood and sometimes I do notice “Mira!” floating through my brain when I want to draw attention to something. But I don’t say it, it’s not part of my vocabulary. And I admit that I’d feel conspicuously silly as the whitest girl on the block using Spanish words when I don’t speak the language.

I wonder if my adoption of local words is any indication of how long I’ll stay in a place. I didn’t even last a year in DC. Probably more than many people, the words I choose and the way I speak are indicative of my state of mind. Not in an emotional sense, that’s true of everyone. But in a way that speaks to how I’m relating to my surroundings and my attitude about them.

Success! Thank you Bald Sugar for your helpful instructions. Here are three photos my stepfather took. I assume I will have lots more photos soon, as we actually had someone taking pictures plus some very talented shutterbug friends. But here’s a taste. Not bad for two months to pull it together. Anyone need an on-the-fly wedding planned?

How do I put a picture in here? I want to show off my wedding dress 🙂

What a wonderful weekend. What a wonderful, exhuasting weekend.

Damon and I made it happily to the alter (or river, really) and now we’re married folk. Some highlights of the weekend include:
— Our cab driver getting into a road rage fight with another driver and screaming “I spit on you! I spit on you!”
— Shopping for the right shoes all over New York, only to have Sarah find the perfect pair in a thirty-minute trip to TJMaxx while waiting to come get us at the airport. (Mind you, she had only seen a photo of the dress — on the hangar — in bad light)
— Flat-out falling down the stairs during the ceremony rehearsal. Matt Myers said he heard it all the way from the front porch of the cabin. Fortunately some hunky gentlemen were available during the ceremony to make sure I didn’t stage a repeat performance.

These may all sound like bad things, but they were actually great sources of laughter. Because it’s hard to be anything but cheerful when your closest friends and family have come from hither and yon to be with you when you get married.

Other highlights that are more obviously highlights (in no particular order):
— My dear friend Andrew calling from Germany to be with me, at least for a moment.
— The food and the cake that were utterly delicious.
— Jennifer reading from ‘The Velveteen Rabbit’ during the ceremony.
— My Mom and Dad talking like old friends. (They haven’t been in the same room in over 12 years.)
— Damon’s adorable little brother hugging me at the end of the night and saying, “I really love you, Jillian”
— Damon’s mother pulling him aside to tell him she felt like he and I have what she and his father had. (His father died when he was just 12 — the oldest of four.)
— Toasts from a wedding party that were beautiful and so true to each of the speakers.

And my favorite moments:
— “husband and wife”
— “kiss the bride!”