I am so married.

Wedding #2, the sequel, the church one...whatever you want to call it, happened over our Easter break in the beautiful state of Indiana. Perhaps you find sarcasm towards the Hoosier state in that sentence, but this time, there truly was none intended.

You see, this time I saw the state in which I was born and bred (fellow Hoosiers include: Diane Chambers from Cheers, James Dean, and the guy who draws Garfield) through different eyes. European eyes. Not mine though, my inlaws'. Seven of them traveled all the way from Barcelona to be a part of our Catholic wedding in the States, and I admit, I was at a bit of a loss as to what to do with these sophisticated Europeans in my humble state of corn and soy. But apparently we have buffalo by our house (and after visiting, you can have a buffalo burger, which seemed a bit weird). And Amish people! Okay, I knew about the Amish - who seemed much more quaint while visiting with the inlaws, instead of being just a consistent source of well-made furniture and Shoo-Fly Pie.

This wedding was the churchy one, held in beautiful St. Patrick's Catholic Church in Fort Wayne, Indiana. This place was always my favorite among the Fort's churches, with its intricate altar and beautiful stained glass windows. I was so excited that my mother managed to book this locale for our wedding, as I had always dreamed of getting married in an old church that wasn't constructed of weird geometric shapes as so many modern churches seem to be these days. The priest that came with the church, Fr. Chau, was a lovely Vietnamese guy, with a bit (read: more than a bit) of an accent. Add that to the fact that the old church was rather echoey like the Mammoth Caves in Kentucky, and you had a recipe for the old folk like my Aunt Virginia having not a clue as to what Fr. Chau was saying during the one and a half hour mass. Except for when he gave a sweet welcoming to Jordi's family and thanked them for coming all the way from BOSNIA.

Not Barcelona. BOSNIA. That, of course, echoed loud and clear.

It was a very long mass. And being that this was a very traditional church, we spent those 90 minutes on a kneeler at the front. Turns out the netting on my dress that made it all lovely and slightly poofy, also gave my knees quite a rubbing. Jordi had a different dilemma with the kneeler, as it revealed that his dress shoes, while seemingly identical from the top, actually had different soles. One brown, one black. Which of course is only noticeable if you happen to be kneeling down in front of a large group of people. For 90 minutes.

We just explained that this was the fashion of choice for former members of the Yugoslav Republic...

All in all, it was a truly lovely and meaningful ceremony, even though our DJ insisted on playing light jazz (blech) during the dinner hour. Somehow he managed to get the groove going later and people on the dance floor. He even heeded my requests eliminating the Hokey Pokey and Chicken Dance from the playlist.

My whole family (minus just a couple) managed to make it for the day, traveling from states far and wide. It really meant so much to us that so many people came to celebrate with us. It was a great reunion of sorts, with aunts and uncles who hadn't seen each other in years, and my increasingly gigantic cousins; it was finally explained to Jordi why I always refer to myself as "short." Of course my family is all located within the US borders.

But I like to think they still would have still made it for our wedding, no matter where they were located in the world.

I mean, Jordi's family came all the way from Bosnia, you know.