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hotcoffeeandbreakfast · 6 years ago

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My limited library of words seems dismally insufficient when I think about describing the most love-filled week of my life, but the details below are my best attempt at painting the picture for you, and for me. And most importantly, him.

Two weeks ago, at this very time (5:46am) my husband and I were fast asleep yet somehow alive and well in a daydream state. In just a few short hours, I would wake up and leave Neil sleeping so I could chop off roughly 6-7 inches of hair, pack up all the small details of my jaw-dropping wedding wardrobe, and hug my dearest friends goodbye as Mrs. Patel.

I can’t believe it’s been two weeks! Have I been floating this entire time? Probably so.

When Neil and I first got engaged, we talked about eloping. We talked about planning a “half and half” ceremony, though we weren’t sure what that was supposed to look like or mean. We talked forever about where we would host whatever we were hosting. I knew he wasn’t down for the traditional five days, and he knew I wasn’t interested in the big white dress and long, dramatic walk down the aisle. Our options were endless but we both wanted just one thing out of the whole event: to spend forever with each other. With that in mind, we knew the details would eventually sort themselves out. Y’all, everything I thought would be clever and romantic enough to describe this momentous, magical day (week) seems to pale the lustrous paint due to limitation of words.

My interest — now obvious fascination — with the East and all of its ancient traditions is completely pouring out and over the rim of my cup. Of course, it started years ago with my yoga practice and being ever curious about proper thought during meditation, but now it is this whole other thing, a wave of deep devotion to exploring and satisfying this inquiring mind. When I met Neil, I never knew what would blossom in my brain as far as being drawn to culture and practice. During the year between our engagement and wedding, I absorbed as much as I could about the different ceremonies we’d chosen; the ones most important in Gujarat. I read and researched for months what I could online about “multicultural” weddings, searching endlessly for descriptions about what each small ceremony or ritual would entail, looking for answers for what is normally expected of the bride, and lastly, TRYING TO LEARN GUJARATI. Nothing I could Google or Bing or Yahoo or memorize would ever prepare me emotionally and mentally for being the semi-center of these gorgeous events. Everything, and I mean every tiny minutia is met with respect and holds meaning in the Hindu faith and Gujarati culture.

Our first event of the week — aside from Wednesday’s Monsoon themed nail party (that’s totally a joke, however bad the rain really was) — was Thursday morning’s pooja (puja) to bless the Patel house. All immediate family members and a few close friends showed up, and I was simply excited to be there to watch…I had no idea I would end up participating and leave feeling like I too had received all kinds of blessings. The priest and priestess arrived and began setting up the altar. My partner in crime, Ashley Treib, and I watched in white girl amazement as small details of a religion completely new to us unfolded. I took note of the items used during the pooja: fresh food and fruit, various types of rice, petals plucked from fresh flowers, water, and fire. As I was taking this mental inventory, Daksha, my mother-in-law, called me over and asked if I’d like to participate. I blushed and shook my head yes. “Krishna will have to sit between you and Neil since you aren’t married yet,” she said with a smirk, which pinked my cheeks even deeper.

We are getting married!!! was my only thought as a smile spread across my whole body.

The priest started the ceremony and read and chanted and Neil, Krishna, and I became a unit: Krishna holding on to Neil’s right arm, me holding on to Krishna’s. OMG I AM CRYING AS I WRITE THIS! Daksha was sitting next to me, and every now and then, she would hold on to me, making our line even longer. I was feeling the beat of this ceremony, even though there really wasn’t a specific tempo. At any given time, I could hear the priest, overlapped by the interpretation from the priestess — a huge courtesy for me — mixed with the gentle clanking of pans in the kitchen and soft, Guju chatter. This ceremony was nothing new for most of the family so they were either eating or napping, aside from the handful that sat around the living room in a half circle. I noticed this briefly and it made me smile, but only on the inside; my nerves held my face. I was completely glued-in the entire two hours of rituals, fascinated by what I’d never seen before. I could feel Ashley sitting right behind me, drinking it all up too. I’d never seen ritual performed on a level like this, and I’ve experienced some religion in my days.

I can’t compare what I observed in those two hours to anything else. There was demonstration and explanation and time for honoring all; there was pranayama. It felt old and new, the way an worn wooden pew bench does when I come across one and take a seat. I shifted from side to side, like I did in church when I was young; full of questions and observation, but required to remain quiet and search for the answers in my head.

We read aloud and took small bites and prayed by offering bits of rice and petals; to my surprise I even recognized some Sanskrit words here and there. The pooja concluded and I felt another remarkable wave of peace wash over me. As a person who once loved religion for ritual and reverence, this kind of honoring of tradition stirred me up inside.

A delicious evening of live dosa making followed a few hours later, where we drifted in to a hot August night and woke up to a cool, wedding weekend.

My adrenaline the week of the wedding was insane, I felt like I was on fire; Thursday’s pooja fanned my flame, maybe blazed it. I wasn’t hungry, I was mostly decaffeinated, and I couldn’t really tell if I was sleeping or just floating through the nights between the hours of 11 p.m. and 6 a.m. But I was awake, so woke I couldn’t even buzz myself to sleep with wine. Friday morning, I woke up before the world and laid around until I couldn’t any longer. I pushed my floating body in the shower at 8am, waking Ashley and Alex with uncoordinated noise, and chatted up the shower-head about the hours that would follow. Picking up friends and family from the airport, steaming all my clothes for various events, receiving the first part of my mehndi….I was on the “bridal climb” and trying my best not to totally. freak. out!

In preparation for a week of meeting family, prepping last minute things to pack in my teeny carry-on (an activity I eventually did so many times at 2am on Monday, I started timing myself) and being consumed with all kinds of emotions, I got in about five-ish hours of yoga. Teaching some, moving around at home, taking class; I made it my mission to be able to locate my zen on the spot if I needed to. I stuck to my Veg30 diet to keep my mind and body clean and I made myself as busy as possible. Again…as much preparation as my little Capricorn heart, body, and soul could muster was indeed not enough to properly assemble my brain for becoming Mrs. Patel. My thought for most of the weekend, aside from reminding myself not to lock out my knees, was, “in through the nose, out through the nose.” I literally had to remind myself to breathe. I am unimaginably empathetic, so I sponged up everyone else’s emotions too; absorbing that much love can make you feel a kind of high I wasn’t aware existed. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

My amazing henna artist/ family friend/ hair-growing-goddess, Felicia, arrived around noon on Friday to get a jump on the first part of my mehndi, so I could at very least walk around and greet everyone that had traveled for us from everywhere. It was then, upon Felicia’s arrival, that I — I’ll admit, forcefully — entered my official state of what everyone has since referred to as, “tempered.” I’m not kidding when I say that every person that saw me during the wedding for more than 4 minutes made it a point to tell me how relaxed I seemed…to which I endlessly laughed, internally. She started with my feet and worked her way up to my right forearm, not missing a beat even when I’d shift around or twitch. In through the nose, out through the nose. She finished up after about three hours and headed out to get herself ready for a second night of fun. My feet were mostly dry, but my arm still needed a solid twenty before I could move around and start primping too; all my other limbs would be finished at the ceremony so everyone could check out the process in real life. If I could hold them up. My nerves were…all present, lets just say.

I felt anything but normal when I saw him. All weekend long he was the most regal thing I’ve ever laid eyes on; a glowing, gold aura beamed off of him constantly.

I’d been hugging and meeting family when he walked in and I vaguely remember confetti falling around us as we met/ ran / floated somewhere in the middle (? maybe??) of the room, before I randomly sat down to be hand fed and henna-ed. I swear I’m not making this up, it happened! REALLY!!!

All night long, I sat lounging on this beautiful, golden chaise and watched my family meet Neil’s family. All of our friends from all over started finding each other and introducing themselves…and I got to see it. I looked up once and saw all of the aunties doing henna on my friends and on each other. I watched everyone laugh together and turn up!! and eventually hit the dance floor together. It was so beautiful and I was nearly in shock from it all, bright light beaming from my eyeballs, no doubt. At one point, my sweet little sister comes up to me, pops a spring roll in to my mouth and whispers in my ear, “are you on drugs or something? You look…euphoric. Your eyes are the size of the moon.” She was 100% right. I was totally, naturally in euphoria, which was currently oozing from every inch of the interior of the room.Well, wasn’t it? To be completely honest, there was a split second where I was presented with two choices: freak out and be nervous the whole night or just relax and embrace and observe, so that’s what I did. I spent the entire night panning the room, glued to my chair from the wildness of the thought that this was all for us.

Did I, at one point, end up in the bathroom alone and holler out? Yes, of course I did. Only to get out some wild, happy, loud energy. I still feel the joyful, overwhelming happy vibes of that night; I’m living off the entire weekend, but I had never, until that night, ever felt so much magic in one place.

And then I heard the words “party bus,” from three moustached, unbuttoned, feisty firemen (or maybe some cousins?), and I knew the night was about to take an interesting turn. Neil, along with all the fire guys from NOLA, fam from Philly, Boston, Dallas, and who knows where else, piled on to a bus that would take them far in to the morning of our wedding. I slipped out of my mehndi dress and in to a blue silk dress from my little Blayre, and entertained my friends with a gin-induced Lil Wayne rap battle…with myself. I Ubered Ashley, Michael, and me (did that work like I wanted it to?) back to the hotel by midnight and forced myself to sleep, an attempt to be as fresh as possible for the best day of my life. I think my mind finally turned off around 2am, but who can really say?

I “woke up” at 7am on the nose, to a text from my sister-in-law saying she broke her foot on said party bus.

And to the forecast of rain.

And to a very hungry belly that was lightly lined with alcohol and crackers.

But that didn’t keep me in bed and certainly didn’t stop the ear-to-ear smile from practically ripping my face open, eyes and all, the morning of my wedding. I flung the curtains open (more like slowly unzipped them) and apologized for waking the room and informed them about Krishna and said that it was time to get it in gear and where the hell is the coffee??!!! I was awake and so ready to become Mrs. Patel.

Neil’s vidhi was first up on this gorgeous Saturday, perpetual inner sunshine totally dousing the dreariness of the cool August day. This ceremony is typically done at both homes of the bride and groom, separately, where they are blessed by the priest, their parents, all of their uncles and aunts, and treated to haldi by female cousins, which are lovingly referred to as sisters. The haldi is a handmade paste that is rubbed on the face to make the skin glow. (It smelled amazing from where I ended up sitting) I couldn’t wait to watch this! How can they possibly make Neil’s face glow any more than it already does?! It is mildly infuriating at times how beautiful my husband is, but his smile truly looks like a glowing, endless sunset, so I tolerate the his annoying wonderful charm and dashing, sassy good looks. (life is hard)

Many more family members and friends had arrived after the mehndi, so I was nervous, yet excited, to meet more people. The squad was impressively dressed and at the hall before most, so I had time to cool my head and find some excitement in the presence of the moment. I felt a tad over zealous by showing ups so early, but was more than anything ready to see my future husband for the first time on wedding day.

I sat quietly as my masi pinned a bhindi to my head just before the vidhi started. Looking down at the color of my henna, I couldn’t help but smile as I heard Baa’s words from mehndi night in my ear: “Beta, dark color means deep love.” She’d said this with a knowing smile I was beyond grateful to see; marrying in to a strong Gujarati family means honoring the strong family ties between the generations. I thank universe daily they everyone had such an open mind and heart when they were presented with the idea of adding a different culture to their family.

I looked at my hands and studied their color further, deep red; remnants of the paste still clung to my skin. Choosing to focus on my patterned hands other than my nerves seemed to steady me, though I felt like I could see the red hue deepen with each step I took, almost psychedelic and moving. The color seemed to brighten with every hug and touch and there were moments when I thought the design would climb right up my arms and legs. My skin transformed before my own eyes.

I saw actual stars when I finally got to see Neil. We found each other in the open hall way, before anyone saw us, and exchanged a real hug. I was awash with comfort and my nerves steadied instantly though tears welled up in my eyes.

I thought for sure when Neil touched me the henna would magically remain unfading.

The vidhi came and went quickly, and the afternoon before the wedding and reception went by just the same. I felt like a total maniac all afternoon, completely devoid of any and all chill.

While my moms and sister had their hair and makeup done, my body decided to respond to the sense of overwhelming love by mixing that up real good with the tiny bit of the caffeine I had, and all of the excitement I felt about the wedding. I have NEVER felt so out-of-body. I did everything I could possibly think of to calm my nerves, find my zen without addressing to the crowd that every atom in my body was floating apart. My years-long friend, hair guru, and mom to the dumplin’ I looked after for a while and still just adore to pieces, was finishing up with Mrs. Daksha when some sort of crazy, unbreathable vibe took me over. I sat down, then stood up and turned in a circle and just stopped and stared at all the makeup on the bed. I couldn’t really breathe and didn’t want to admit it.

At this point, I had: laid flat, stood on my head, peed about a dozen times, drank half a gallon of water, nibbled on some pouris, blasted chill, lo-fi beats, drank coffee….I tried it all to keep myself calm. And then, I felt the whole of my body turn in to jello. “Can I take a hot shower? Like RIGHT now?” I addressed this plea to Rhianna while attempting to remain cool. She gave me the most sincere “OH FCK” look and said, “Ummm sure yesokaylove, can we cover it?” responding to my paling skin and perfectly pre-curled hair. “Mmmmm,” was the only response I could muster. I vaguely remember Michael leaving the room, but moments later he rushes to the rescue by providing not two but four shower caps and I was in the shower locating Ujjayi in no time.

Another conversation with the shower head.

When I came out in my long whatever it was I was wearing, I felt collected, and it was my turn to sit in the chair.

It only felt like a few minutes, but I know it was longer. I let the air come in and out of my nose, and only spoke a few times; I can’t for the life of me recall what the last two hours before the wedding was like. All I knew in that moment was that my future was about to begin.

I floated down that aisle, y’all. My mom was floating; I could feel her smiling and that made my heart visible from chest, I just know it did. I feel as though I hovered above the ground during the ceremony and never felt the smile leave my face. I wonder if anyone noticed my feet leave the floor? There are moments that friends have captured that just melt my heart, and there’s so much I could share, but not every detail is meant for the world. If I could put the entire night in a box and keep it forever, I would.

I listened so intently as the priest spoke, yet was busy panning the room with my eyes, in deep observation, memorizing the faces in front of me. I remember squeezing Neil’s hand with every we promise made, and my hand shaking to sign my name, for the first time, as “tj patel.” Always lowercase, with absolutely no explanation.

Our wedding night whirled on, to the beat of bhangra, bollywood, and everything else under an indoor, evening sun. A blend of family and friends shared their talents, their words, and most importantly their time with us this night. It all stands out so clearly in my mind, every last little jewel of it. I continuously scanned the room so many times that night just to drink in the amount of people that made the time to celebrate the happiest night of our lives. I could hardly speak at certain points, truly unable to find the gratitude I felt in every inch of my body. I still feel it all.

It was a starry night indeed, a thick blanket of memories suspended in the sky, for always.

Neil, I hope every day of our life is filled with memories and tales that take from sunrise to sunset to tell. Thank you for giving me your family, for giving me this day and everything that it represented. Thank you for the love I feel from you every day and the immense joy I have; you are solely responsible for helping me create that daily in my life. To the brightest light in my life, I will always treasure every single moment of this remarkable, sparkling, unforgettable moment. I love you.

We have so many people to thank and we love you each so so much we are bursting.

mrs. patel: part 1, the wedding My limited library of words seems dismally insufficient when I think about describing the most love-filled week of my life, but the details below are my best attempt at painting the picture for you, and for me.

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hotcoffeeandbreakfast · 7 years ago

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Two cold snaps in New Orleans and I am already disappointed I’m not getting a full Fall. Does anyone else associate the overwhelming influence of weather to a person’s mood? I wonder only because I spent most of the summer melting into a puddle inside of the koi pond house. The outdoors looked enticing, until I stepped out onto the deck to let Layla out — even she has been less than thrilled to spend time in the sunshine. On top of blistering light, heat so pooling you could drown in douses you. A day’s gorgeousness is only alluring on the surface; we are kept inwards, indoors during summer days to avoid exhaustion. And I want to feel alive.

The recent trip Neil and I took to Colorado changed my mind about the way I am rooted. I have always strongly believed that I am devoutly Louisiana in a subtly obnoxious way, unwilling to give up the peculiar looks one receives when you say, “I’m from Louisiana.” Y’all know, we’re special. If you’ve ever crossed Henderson Swamp with me, you’ve been asked, “Is there anything more gorgeous than the swamp?” because I truly think it’s a masterpiece of wonder. Such weighted darkness lives in the swamp, so the contrast of the crisp, chilling Rockies pierces me, steadily present.; as if my soul reached the correct temperature. I still feel the cool air, lingering at the back of my throat. I’ve been telling myself for two weeks now that I’m not dealing with the normal sinus infection you get when you’ve been in a foreign climate, that instead it is delicious leftover mountain air refusing to diffuse in my lungs. This thought has made me sad, haunted my dreams; I don’t think I have ever fallen so hard for a place, I can’t get the feel out of my mind.

Louisiana friends that migrated northwest for longer than the winter: I get it. Colorado is a magical, sun-kissed, heaven-on-earth state and I am currently trying to figure when/how I will be able to have a small piece of it. It’s all I can think of!

When I was a kid, my parents brought me to Alaska, Maine, and all over Canada. Did I love those trips? Absolutely. Seeing a glacier as a twelve year old is definitely the dopest thing anyone in your class did all summer. Unless they got to lick the glacier, that would be different. Do I remember instantly falling in love with these places? No. Winding up and down the side of the Rocky Mountains, which seemed to be continuously growing larger as we drove…well, that is something to fall in love with, to be humbled by. — AND FEAR!!! I screamed for at least an hour going up, louder after I saw the runaway truck ramps. –Neil will tell you that the second we took off on our six hour road trip from Denver to Telluride all I could talk about was how immediately overwhelmed with inspiration I was. I sat in vocalized awe at the size of these massive, ever stretching mountains. The popping of my ears didn’t even bother me, my eyes were too busy to be bothered.

My previous encounters with Colorado-type terrain consisted of appreciating from afar, and I’m lucky enough to say that I’ve seen some beautiful places. I purposefully got lost in the Muir Woods once, a stunt my parents did not appreciate. The tour we were on wasn’t spending long enough in each area, which meant I was missing the opportunity to take an obscene amount of crappy photos (I was an avid disposable camera photographer). As soon as I heard we were loading up, I ran back to my favorite place for just one more picture, a little further than I remembered. “THE BUS IS LEAVING WITHOUT US TIFFANYJO,” my dad hollered at me as a ranger walked toward me. “IT’S A STUMP!” I could hear his frustration, I could see the ranger’s slight amusement, but was busy snapping pictures, winding as fast as I could. I needed to document this tree, dammit! This particular topiary had died, it’s stump indicating long life among beautiful friends; it devastated me. Though I honestly do not remember noticing in the Redwoods how the fresh air affected my breath and my brain, I remember feeling surrounded by friends in that moment too. I had several beautiful, refreshing, and daringly connective moments with the Pacific Ocean the handful of times we went out to whale watch while visiting British Colombia, that was life changing, yes. But never, in my adult travel experience, have I felt so nearly unhesitatingly changed.

Even on the 13,500 ft., 4 star, wildly vertical Wasatch Trail, I noticed a difference in the way I was fighting for my breath, the way I was thinking about it and physically doing it. Was I cursing Neil out in my head for encouraging a group of mostly new hikers on such an advanced trail? Yes. We endured forty-four switchbacks on shaky legs and empty stomachs. Had we taken that exact same hike under Louisiana climate conditions…..well lets just say it would have taken a considerably longer and we would have all been naked from heat and humidity by the end of it. Colorado was kinder to us. We stopped for breaks every thirty minutes or so, all willing to kept going. We would be lined up on the trail, looking forward and back at each other after someone asked, “How much further?” No-one wanted to say, “I’ve seen enough, lets turn around,” because IT WAS SO FCKING PRETTY, honestly bordering ostentatious beauty.

Thirteen miles and six hours later, we were all exhausted but so so happy. We each milled about the mountainside house, quietly reflecting on the day as we prepared dinner. What we ate, I can’t remember; I was distracted with the reel. I thought of the gold confetti that fell on us most of the way before we encountered our first patches of snow; of Layla eager to meet other dogs on Bear Creek Trail and at the rock garden; of specifically the rock garden and the reminder that so many others have walked this trail before us, for no other reason than to be close to nature, to bathe in the freedom she gives.

I spent our entire first day hiking feeling as though floating up and down mountains in someone else’s dream, only able to muster enough focus to keep from tripping constantly. Ever little leaf called to me, the snow glimmered. I wanted to touch everything. Us Louisiana kids packed for temperatures around 56*-64* and we were definitely met with winter temps, so for my rickety knees to work properly, I had to keep moving. We crossed a ramshackle mining bridge to get to the “top of the waterfall” and felt every inch of our lives possibly being risked; Neil would randomly say, “THE WATERFALL! It’s worth it,” when he could feel us all dying. I didn’t know there was a possibility that we might actually slip and fall to our death (though what a place to be buried). That night ended up being the most magical sleep of my life.

Cornet Creek Falls was absolutely the most fun hike because it was so involved (at least for me) and I was ready for it. The day of rest we took in between Wasatch and Cornet was crucial for me, and for Layla, to be able to enjoy the rest of the trip. Elevation punched me in the face in the best way! When we got to Cornet’s water fall, I went crazy wild woman and just started climbing up the rocks as fast as I could. I felt wild, totally inspired by the wild that surrounded me. I still can’t find words supportive enough to label the sensation of climbing feeling totally natural, of sliding on your bare palms and feet to just keep from seriously scuffing something up. I was a tomboy growing up, a climber…but I never dreamed at nearly 30 I’d want to climb EVERY fourteener before forty. Red dirt was flinging everywhere, I think Layla’s paws will always have a little red in them now. After playing for about an hour at the fall, we made our descent back down the trail, taking time to swing on trees and roam a bit. Neil and Zach wanted to climb a little higher than I did in an area just off the trail, but we stopped where there wasn’t much room to really rest, so I had to wedge myself in to the safest spot I could manage, and wait. It was a misty meditation, regardless of how nervous I was to be potentially, literally flying solo. Heavier rocks eventually started tumbling down and I DIDN’T HAVE TIME TO ROLL MY EYES. I had to press as far back as possible (without losing my footing and my hold on Layla) and hope that the boys weren’t about to get tangled in the trees bending around me. The real challenge came on this day when the rain arrived; we were thankful it wasn’t heavy rain but it was plenty cold which oddly motivated us to move faster on the way down! I immediately took a nap when we got home, and woke up to real, fresh, fluffy, falling snow. SNOW THAT STICKS! My mind was blown. 234567890th time in less than a week — was I dead and just reeling? No, this was tangible.

We finished up our trip with what seemed like a leisurely walk to Bridal Veils Falls, a truly breath taking experience at a pace that felt like a lazy river in summer.

Layla often led the way on our hikes, excited by each step and smell and challenge by her favorite element. It was amusing to see the retriever that normally wants to lay around all afternoon practically sprint up these trails. She pushed herself yet seemed content no matter how long we adventured. We encountered quite a few animals, though none as majestic as the giant elk that showed up in the DRIVE WAY after an afternoon house nap. Her spirit is not the same in Louisiana, and I absolutely feel her on it. Sometimes when she’s asleep and looks like she’s dreaming, I wonder if she’s dreaming of the next mountain or set of squirrels.

ya know…just talking a walk.

The continuous, perpetual summer of the south removes the presence of change, therefore, we remain the same. I will never not be completely fascinated from this experience forward with the way my surroundings moved me. Louisiana motivates you to either get where you’re going in a hurry, as to avoid a sweaty, sticky mess, or to embrace the heat and move slowly, never feeling completely dry. To be brief, this year has been a whirlwind of movement, and while I’ve had quiet moments, I haven’t spent much time mentally celebrating the beauty that’s unfolding. My spirit set its wild self loose among the Rockies and will be, from here on out, totally unsatisfied with stones unturned.

The spirit can plant roots anywhere (this we know) and while I have blushed and inwardly rolled my eyes at those that have called me “free spirited,” I think the definition is clearer now, though I still feel the term is often too blanketed. “Wanderlust” is okay, but I don’t immediately picture myself twirling in a field or ascending a mountain. — I think of Paul Rudd’s epic pep-talk in one of the funniest movies Jennifer Aniston ever pulled off. — I’m not bohemian enough to claim anything other than righteously curious and uncontrollably fascinated by the natural world around me. My continuous thought throughout the trip, a moment that pinches me just the way the cold Telluride morning would, is with me as I recount the moments now: I can climb a little longer.

And so can you.

Be affected by the world around you. Allow yourself celebration, healing, experience. YOU ARE WORTH YOUR DREAMS.

I want to take this hammock all over the world with you Neil!!! Let’s see everything together. ❤

Here’s a song from an album I heard in my head while hiking through the Rockies:: Lit Me Up

the patient recounts her dream Two cold snaps in New Orleans and I am already disappointed I'm not getting a full Fall.

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