Healing and Persian Proverbs

One day Mr. Urban asked me to marry him.  Right away I said yes.   A few minutes later, my mother took all this to be her cue to let the parties begin.

First, she hosted an engagement reception for us.  One which I was able negotiate full artistic control over:  Small (that is, what small means in my mother's dictionary) and cozy.   The party was lovely and romantic and filled with love and mango calla lilies, and we'll remember it always.

A few months later, my mother hosted another party, a wedding shower.  And no matter how much I tried to assert influence, she wouldn't budge.  She had waited a long time for these days, and not even I could distract her from her vision...

On the day of the party, all I had to do was to meet a Persian makeup artist that my mother had booked for me to prepare me for the festivities.  And just so you know, typical Persian women wear their makeup with the same flair and perfection of a Hollywood actress preparing for the Oscars would.  A task clearly over my head.

I sat quietly for two hours while the renowned Persian makeup artist transformed me in to Ru Paul and sent me on my merry way. 

On the way home, I called my fiance who was helping my parents get ready for the big party to prepare him for what no prospective groom should ever face.  Fighting back tears I told him that my mother's lady had done a number on me. 

As I walked into my parents' home, my whole family and my husband-to-be greeted me at the door with the biggest, most enthusiastic smiles, all complementing me at the same time on how beautiful I looked.   When my mother reiterated that my makeup looked beautiful, but that I could wash it if I didn't like it, I could no longer hold back the tears.  Because I knew that no amount of makeup remover in the world would wipe all that black and red and purple off my skin in time for the arrival of 40 of my mother's closest friends and 4 of mine.

In no time, my mother and sister whisked me up the stairs, before the tears could leave my eyes permanently puffy for the party.  And in the loving ways of mothers and sisters they made me into the bride-to-be that I had hoped to look like.

Later, among the arriving guests, was a short and chubby older gentleman, sporting an accordion and the most adorable smile, which my mother introduced as my surprise for the party: An Iranian Folk Song Accordionist, that she had somehow "discovered" (and according to my mother since that party, he has realized his long held dreams of becoming famous, by being invited to all Persian parties in Vancouver) - lucky me.

The sweet Accordionist, wasted no time at all, and began following me throughout the party, playing folk songs that would make my mother's friends nostalgically sing along.

After about an hour, I was finally able to corner my mom in the kitchen alone.  I asked "when is he leaving?"  Looking disappointed, she said you can ask him to leave if you want to, which meant, he ain't leavin' any time soon...

After what seemed like hours of folk singing and dancing and eating some great food, I finally sat down to open gifts of sexy lingerie from my mother's friends.  All these women were genuinely happy for me.  As we were sitting in a circle in my mother's living room, they made me the kindest of wishes and advised me to always stay loving and patient, be forgetful of things I don't like and savor the good times.

And over and again they wished me the Persian saying Harche Pish Ayad,  Khosh Ayad ...  Whatever happens in your life, receive it as a blessing...

Yesterday, I received some bad news... but thanks to my mother and her friends, I know that whatever comes, it is a blessing in the grand scheme of my life...