I got passed this link from Patrick's twitter feed.  This is how to rock out your wedding.  (Original link here)

Turn on your speakers and smile for a few minutes.

Those of us who make handmade gifts wait for moments like these:

That's 4x4 and Spitty on their wedding day, posing with a sunburned me in front of 'red shift,' finally given and acknowledgeable at last. I have video of the giving, which is hilarious and NSFW and must be uploaded somehow, but for now, this photo has to suffice.

I don't know if the intention matters when I work on a quilt, but while sewing, I think a lot about the person (or people) it's for. I find myself hoping that the intentions, the well-wishes, the hopes and dreams and all kinds of intangible thoughts somehow work their way into the stitching.

Furlough, night one. A lazy night drive, a stop off at Sonic for tots and limeade, leads us to north Georgia.

Most of the wedding party is out making a late-night run to Waffle House. I need sleep more than I need caffeine, so I'm staying here at the house instead, winding down slowly and typing myself to sleep. Jeff has the video camera and I trust he'll capture anything that's awesome.

Red Shift, the red-and-black quilt, has been given away. Jeff has video of the giving. There is hilarity and much profanity. I will post it as soon as I can get my hands on it. I survived the giving, and Jim and Tracey did indeed keep the secret from each other, and oh, I will not live this stunt down any time soon.

It was absolutely, emphatically, utterly worth it.

Congratulations to Jason and Crystal, who threw a rockin' masquerade-themed wedding on top of Burritt Mountain last night.  A few of us:

[Original: "We'll never tell where the money is" on flickr; from left to right: Suzan, Dana, Asai, me]

Jeff: "You've kinda got that Harley Quinn action going on there."

For those who came over last night for the rather epic rounds of Werewolf: the cats have forgiven us for the herd of people we brought into 'their' house. Mostly.  Edmund may still eat my skull, though, purely on principle.

The title of the post contains the ending of my mother's vow to Paul -- whom she met in a ballroom dance class -- as they lit candles honoring the spouses they'd each lost to cancer in years past.

You had a long road getting here, Mom, and now that I've met him, I can see how happy he makes you.

(Backdated one day to her wedding day, since I couldn't edit photos in the hotel room.)

"I've wanted to do this for a long time now," she said. But, it went without saying, she couldn't arrange for this kind of surgery until she had insurance that would cover it. Despite the fact that it was obviously medically necessary.

"I think it's a good idea," I said.

"Yeah. I mean, it'll do a lot for me, both physically and …"

"Self-image?"

"Yeah."

For as long as I've had the privilege to know her, Eleanor's made jokes about her breasts. Taglines like "Eleanor: the breasts of three women!" and jokes about her bras abounded. Deep down, though, I know she was frustrated with the way she looked, and handled it the best way she knew how—through humor.

Re: my previous entry, 'A hair rock band, and a red-haired girl'—not everyone appears in my life, stays for a while, and completely vanishes shortly thereafter.

The fable of Kara, as told through the lens of my eye, has a little bit of magic, a little bit of luck, and a lot of good will. All too infrequently, a person appears in your life who, through their own personality and force of will, effects a subtle change in the lives around them.Maybe it would be a little easier if I believed in fairy godmothers. If I did, it would suit my personality just fine to believe in a blonde, saucy, soccer-playing fairy godmother—from New Jersey, no less. After all, who needs a magic wand when you've got tact, a chemical engineering degree, and a soccer ball?

Welcome home, Amy, I say to myself. Look around. This is where you belong, whether or not you want to admit it.