Numbers One Through Ten

Feeling sad that Christmas is over? Here's a few things to 'chin up' about:

1. The brother and sister down the street zooming around on their brand new gender specific pink and blue motorized razor scooters. And the fact that, while they will come inside sweaty and stinky, they have actually burned no calories at all, only gasoline.

2. Gift cards!

3. The infinite supply of gum in my stocking(s).

4. New Year's is just around the corner. Bubbly, hoppin' john, collards, and a brand new start!

5. It snowed in Charleston. For the second time. In one winter.

6. Reminiscing about our well planned but poorly executed "igloo" in Hendersonville that I'm sure any Eskimo worth her salt would giggle at.

7. On the flip side of the ghastly and depressing task of un-decorating for Christmas, is the delight of simplifying your surroundings for January.

8. The two Hallmark driven "holidays" between now and Easter keister: Valentine's Day, and St. Patrick's Day. One's about love, the other's about the love of the Irish. And about how everyone you know claims a liddle bit o' brogue they can't disguise.

9. America.

10. On January 1, the countdown begins again. Merry, merry!


and wonders of His love

I think. Honestly, I do. That the thing I love about Christmas, the thing that makes me cry when we sing old fashioned Christmas hymns in church with lyrics so precise, the thing that makes me read and reread the account of Jesus' birth in Luke to seek and search any small clue is this:

if God. If God can be born to an obscure unmarried teenager and her anxious fiance in a crude, cold, clammy, stinky stable. If God can boldly step in to this furious fray. Step up to humanity's plate. Step out of heaven. If God can intervene. Interject. Interpose His precious blood.

Then He really must so love the world.

I can't help but marvel at His creativity. A baby. Of all things. To come as a baby instead of an apparition or a booming thunderhead or a beaming parting of the clouds. It's shocking, if you really think on it.

There cannot be an Easter Jesus without a Christmas Jesus. And Christmas Jesus came with the intent to be Easter Jesus.

repeat the sounding joy!


O Simplicitas

by Madeleine L'Engle

An angel came to me
and I was unprepared
to be what God was using.
Mother I was to be.
A moment I despaired,
thought briefly of refusing.
The angel knew I heard.
According to God's Word
I bowed to this strange choosing.

A palace should have been
the birthplace of a king
(I had no way of knowing).
We went to Bethlehem;
it was so strange a thing.
The wind was cold, and blowing,
my cloak was old, and thin.
They turned us from the inn;
the town was overflowing.

God's Word, a child so small
who still must learn to speak
lay in humiliation.
Joseph stood, strong and tall.
The beasts were warm and meek
and moved with hesitation.
The Child born in a stall?
I understood it: all.
Kings came in adoration.

Perhaps is was absurd;
a stable set apart,
the sleepy cattle lowing;
and the Incarnate Word
resting against my heart.
My joy was overflowing.
The shepherds came, adored
the folly of the Lord,
wiser than all men's knowing.


The Scoop: a tidbit for a Monday night giggle.

Once upon a time when I was driving back to Charleston from Chapel Hill for work on a rainy, windy, f-f-freezing cold Sunday afternoon I happened upon a shiny, white Cadillac. This Cadillac was, in fact, an ordinary Cadillac, as it was driven by a blue-haired, hundred-year-old lady at approximately 57 miles per hour in the right hand lane. Now what was so special about this centenarian and her lily white Caddy?

Well, it may have had something to do with the triple scoop Butter Pecan ice-cream cone she was downing like a madwoman on her way to Bridge club.


Mary had a baby, yes, Lord!

If you squint, screw your face up the right way and look closely at the snow-covered house, you will see a lady beckoning at the door for the sleigh riders to hurry on to the house. Likely for cider, hot chocolate or some such delightful confection. In another dimension, that's me.

In this dimension, this is me. Leggings, hoodie, amazing knit socks from Loose Lucy's or Granny's Goodies (can't remember which), and of course a Christmas apron if there's baking to be done. And there's always baking to be done.

When I went home this weekend to Andrew, Christmas came with me, wrapped around my shoulders and tied around my heart. I finished up decorating the apartment, (also known as getting our Christmas tree), mandated (nicely) that Christmas music be the only music played, and made PW's blackberry cobbler for dessert one night. I would have taken pictures, but I've realized by now that if you're at all savvy at this whole blogging/internet thing, you've probably met The Pioneer Woman.

On Friday night Andrew and I went to the Varsity theater on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill, (kind of like the Astro (may she rest in peace) for all you Tiger fans), bought Salted Caramel Hot Chocolates from Starbucks, (recommendation, YES), and took in It's a Wonderful Life on the big screen in good old fashioned black and white. I loved every minute of it.

On Saturday, we got up bright at early at the frigid crack of nine thirty and made it over to Rob and Ann's house in Raleigh. They had graciously retrieved our Christmas tree from the mountains of North Carolina for us and we were just going to pick up our adopted baby tree and bring him to his new home. As we were heading out to the car Ann shouted, "look!", and sure enough: snow. It snowed on Saturday from about two o'clock onward, enough that our neighbors made a really big, sad, dirty snowman. College kids. Can't live with 'em (germs), can't keep 'em from playing bad electric guitar at all hours. By Sunday afternoon, the snow had burned off, but the cold dug in his icy heels and had decided to extend his stay.

And now this. We had requested a "table-top" tree from Rob and Ann, and a table-top tree is what we got. Short. Little. Table-top. Perfect. Only problem is, our table top that we were going to put our table-topper on was apparently too tall for our table-top tree. So our tree ended up on the floor like a regular, read: tall, tree and is more like a Christmas bush than a tree. "Oh, Christmas bush, oh, Christmas bush, how hearty your diameter..."

I'm almost 5'3" but I was wearing probably two inch clogs in this picture. So, I'm about 5'5" in this pic. (OOooOO, go me!) However, if you forget that little (get it) detail, and look at this photograph long enough, I kind of look like a giant. Kind of.

Never have I ever felt closer to the heavens. "Angels from the realms of glory, wing your flight o'er all the earth...!" Whew! I'm out of breath. You know, lack of oxygen at these high altitudes... :)


Vitamins. With a short 'i', like the British.

Go here. Read. Get a big glass of water. Swallow. Zip those skinny jeans.


Growing Pains




It's as if a torturous seamstress has threaded her fiery needle through each of my shoulder blades to draw them together, tightly, tightly.

It's as if bathroom breaks are a luxury, a bonus, a plus.

It's as if crumbling mascara and crumbling composure were part of the job description.

It's as if a mean-spirited cobbler inlaid my arches with cobble stones rather than mounds of supportive cushioning.

It's as if my calves had spent all day pirouetting without my knowledge until that fateful moment of alighting on a chair for the first time all shift.

It's as if a trickster barista brewed my brew without the zing of caffeine to ensure my second visit of the day.

It's as if my figurer will go on figurin' until somebody hits the lights. My brain does not stop when my badge swipes the clock.

It's as if I will never blow dry my hair or stay up late or wear normal clothes again.

It's as if I were a nurse, or some such thing.

For every ache, I am thankful.
For every complaint, there is a gut check.
Hard earned exhaustion is the unction, the ointment, of searing unemployment.

And I wear it well, and am thankful.

1The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me,
         Because the LORD has anointed me
bring good news to the afflicted;
         He has sent me to 
bind up the brokenhearted,
proclaim liberty to captives
         And freedom to prisoners;
2To proclaim the favorable year of the LORD
         And the 
day of vengeance of our God;
comfort all who mourn,
3To grant those who mourn in Zion,
         Giving them a garland instead of ashes,
oil of gladness instead of mourning,
         The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting
         So they will be called 
oaks of righteousness,
         The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified. [Isaiah 61]


In no particular order.

The kitchen sink area. Yes, that is a miniature "The David" sculpture. 

Fridge and washer. And trashcan. Ew, sorry. Note, nut wreath of awesomeness from last year.

Stove and coffee area looking into the hallway.

On top of the fridge--fruit bowl, winery, greenhouse, and mixer.

Fuel station.

Kitchen sink again.

El Bano. Eez tiny. So tiny that there is no good angle to show much of anything. Obviously, that's the back of the bog.

Page from a book taped to the glass of an old frame. And a shell. :)

Yup. Blue sink. Blue tub. Black and white checked floor. Awesome.

Blue tub.

Our kitchen table--used to be an old library table, so we stuck with that theme and added a vintage desk lamp, a stack of cookbooks, a photograph of a kid looking at a globe at school (that my dad took, btw),  and a wall map (shower curtain in the kids' section at Target!)

The living room of Christmastimes. The plate of ornaments is just waiting for the tree.

Kitchen table again. (Hence the "no particular order" title.)

Coffee table decor.

Couch times complete with a Christmas tartan.

The view from the front door--you can see straight back to the bedroom. The little tear drop door hanging will eventually have mistletoe. Right now it's just pine cones and ribbon.
Our amazingly comfy and warm bed! We didn't have a headboard and some of the walls in our apartment are not nail friendly, so we kind of had to work around that to get a little Christmas in our bedroom.

I'm pretty sure I will keep these lights up forever. The Noel pillow was a birthday gift from my sister--and I LOVE IT!


Looking from the bedroom towards the front.

I added a little Christmas to the lampshade by hanging my Grandmother's crocheted snowflakes to the rim. Perfect touch, methinks!

Is this real life? 



Tomorrow. is first day. of the rest of my life. I'm turning 24. I can hardly believe it. Sometimes I feel like I just got home from school on the last day of my eighth grade year at Moultrie ready to burn my uniform in the backyard and excited about *high school* (and a hush goes over the crowd).

Getting older is weird. Everyone's getting married. Some are already having babies. Buying big stuff we always thought was for boring, old, financially stable people (like cars, houses, computers, etc.), but not for people like moi. What like we're supposed to have babies next??? As Kent said at Steph's wedding last weekend, "kids is a cuss word in our house." Just kidding. But am I? In these last few hours of 23, my youth and zeal waning with every tick tock, I wonder, what's to become of me.

Will I have 2.1 kids and a house with a picket fence? God forbid a mini-van? Will I work for 35 years as a nurse and spend the majority of my life at my job? Will I aspire to so many exciting and admirable things but never get farther than a google search or a daydream? I don't know.

I like kids. And I like picket fences. And I think it's perfectly admirable and exciting to want those things. I definitely want them. But right now? I know that I don't just want to do what I'm supposed to do next just because I don't know what else to do. Supposed to says who? Who's blueprint am I following? My parents? My friends? My colleagues?

Listen, y'all. I'm not trying to be Debbie Downer, I'm just in a funky place right now. News flash, things don't just fall in to place. You have to decide (with Divine guidance, of course) what you want. And what I want is a teensy bit elusive right now. I just got what I spent the last year praying for, (a job, for all you newcomers or those with slight amnesia), and now I'm kind of looking around wondering what just happened. Confession, I'm also trying not to just push through to May when Andrew's done with school and we can be together again (baby lambs and rose petals...roll credits...NOT). Because come May, then what? And I can't really answer that question right now. Neither of us can. And honestly, I think we're precisely where God wants us. Not a little to the left or the right, but right here, exactly. In an odd little cattywampus place, like when you've realized you miscounted the steps in the dark. Because. Last year we learned a slew of very, very hard lessons. And now, it's Friday before midterms and guess what? There's a test. Lesson...test. Duh. Why didn't I think of that? And the first and only question on this test:

1. Trust Me? (Check yes or no).


I didn't have to pee in the woods. But I would have if it came down to it.

My life is straight-up bananas right now. So sorry if my lack of blogging has messed up your morning routine. But I'm not going to tell you a sob story about how busy I am. 'Cuz I don't have time for that.

So. Andrew and I both grew up camping every summer and sometimes fall. Ironically enough, my family went from the beach to the mountains, just minutes from Andrew's parents' house and Andrew's family went from the mountains to the beach, a few hours north of my parents' house. We probably passed each other on the highway. Good thing we didn't meet back then though. I was pretty squirrely. Like I'm not now. Right.

Anyway, Andrew and I decided to take our first fledgling camper steps as newlyweds last weekend, at a state park only a half hour from our apartment. We kept it simple--tent, stove, sleeping bags--got everything in the car and headed out Friday afternoon to spend the night in the woods. (Which has always been kind of been an enigma to me. But whatever.)

Plastic bins always get the job done.
We got to the campground just as the sun was setting--we tried and tried to get there before dark, but Ranger Rick and his Girlscout assistant gave us a site that already had someone in it so we had to go back to their little hut and switch sites. We ended up pitching our tent and starting the fire during the wee twilight hours of the evening. (This has nothing to do with vampires, for those of you who's hearts just skipped a beat).

I built the fire, Andrew pitched the tent. Contraptions are not my thing.
We decided to be super low maintenance in the grub department: hot dogs, baked beans, and s'mores for dinner and coffee and biscuits on a stick for breakfast, granola bars while we were ABSOLUTELY DYING for our biscuits to get done. Easy peasy lemon squeesy. I can't say much for the nutritional value of these meals, but who counts calories while they're camping? You look like a swamp creature anyway, (remember you forsook your nice warm bed to sleep on a leaky air mattress in the middle of the woods that happens to be less than two miles from the highway. And BONUS, it's frickin' freezing Mr. Bigglesworth.), so who cares if you feel a bit squidgy around the middle, too. Right? Right. I love camping.

I know what you must be asking yourself: what on earth is a biscuit on a stick??? Well, Reader, they are only the most delightful, if just a hair troublesome, camping breakfast foodstuff that will ever cross your lips in the pale blush hours of the morning.

What you need:

Critical Thinking Skills

Acute hunger makes men do crazy things.

We filled ours with grape jelly, but you could use honey, butter, strawberry jam, chocolate...oh, the possibilities!
Our first solo camping trip was a great success--we enjoyed ourselves immensely and might even do it again sometime. Heh, heh. Although if I had to choose camping or Christmas, I'd choose Christmas.

Speaking of Christmas!...I started decorating this weekend. I KNOW! My obsession is out of control. But I just love it. Pictures will follow forthwith!


I'm a little bit of a Hallo-weeny.

Halloween. For some it brings back memories of trick-or-treating, churchy Fall Festivals, homemade costumes...and for some it's about the fear factor, blood and guts, horror, being scared out of their wits, ghost stories, murder mysteries...you get the picture. As a little girl, I remember being a black cat for approximately nine years in a row: black tights and leotard, a homemade safety pin attached tail, triangular felt ears hot-glued to a headband, my black patent leather church shoes and a few whiskers drawn on my freckly cheeks with Mama's eyeliner. Jessica, Noah and I, along with the rest of our neighborhood crew would set out down our street, stopping at each house to run up the driveway, and press the doorbell fifty times and yell trick-or-treat as soon as the door was cracked. We knew which houses gave out lame-o candy like tootsie rolls or dum dums. And we knew which ones were the jackpot houses, like the "glass house" at the end of the street, (always our last stop). They gave out ice cold Cokes and king sized Snickers bars. I know. I'm sure our parents were pleased as punch when we returned home with caffeine and sugar saturated half consumed Cokes in our grubby little hands.

Part of me wishes we could have the trick-or-treating and the fun costumes without the plastic tomb stone riddled yards, or the creepy skeletons on the porch. I remember one year we stopped at this house with a coffin on the front porch and as soon as you got up to the sidewalk, it would open and a guy with a BULLET HOLE in his forehead would sit up and scare the pants off of you. It was TERRIFYING. As we walked, (well, I ran), away I lost my shiny black shoe in the pixie grass on the edge of the yard and, as Noah had the flashlight, I was left rummaging around in the dark by myself with my heart in my eight year old throat, scared that the very fires of hell were licking at my heels because of the "dead guy" on the porch. I may have cried. I don't remember. I probably blocked that part out. When I found my shoe, I ran so fast I felt like Michael Johnson in the 1996 Summer Olympics, Izzy and all. I just leaned back and bolted. I probably screamed the quintessential, "wait for meeeee!!" a few times, too.

Anyhow, this blog is proof that I made it home, mostly unscathed, to dump my candy out on the kitchen table or the living room floor for my parents to inspect. We would sort through the "good" and "bad" candy and the rejects would be put in a big bag to be taken to the prisoners at the local jail where my Dad and some of his buddies had a prison ministry. I know. Unwanted candy taken to the prison? I don't even know what to say. We would share some candy with my parents, trade amongst ourselves, (although I'm pretty sure I got duped into giving away the good stuff because Noah and Jessica were pretty good negotiators back then), and then put away our candy for the days to come. My candy would usually be gone in about two weeks. Noah's would last until Easter. I'm not sure if he had ten times as much as I did or if he was just very disciplined as a ten year old. Either way, I marveled at his endless supply of Skittles, M&Ms, and Milky Ways.

As an adult, I love to think back on the excitement of thinking up a costume and the anticipation of trick-or-treating. But I also worry a teeny bit about those kids that dress up as Zombie Bride, a Dead Surgeon, or George Bush. What lessons or values are they learning through this American tradition?? I guess it's up to the parents, but still. If I was scared of the neighbor's 18 year old son with a stick-on bullet on his forehead, I'm not sure a ten year old dressed as Freddy Krueger is such a fantastic idea.

To each his own, I guess. But I still shiver when I'm walking the neighborhood and I see a tricked out house just waiting for a few little kids to venture up the driveway. I, for one, will be staying on the street.


Notable Achievements

Instead of posting on all that I haven't accomplished in the last ten or so days, I will post on a few notable things juxtaposed to that blessed and proverbial check mark. Glass half full, mm?

1. Half of the curtains are hung in our apartment. Score. This is an accomplishment because, A] we have cinder block walls on all outside walls (can't nail or screw into them without special equipment) and B] I made two of the curtains myself and I have one pair left to make.

2. Andrew and I paid off half of our credit card yesterday. Cheers to being [almost] debt free!

3. Sometime between the months of August and September I completed 30/30 days of Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred. They were not consecutive days because I was one giant hematoma after about a week straight of killer work-outs, but more like every other day with long walks on the "off" days. I lost just a couple of libbies, but I could tell a big difference tone wise. I think the biggest thing for me is monitoring what I put in my mouth. And I like brownies.

4. Today, I did Level 1 on the Shred DVD after not having done it in about a month. It was brutal. And I'm being kind. But I finished. Barely. So, it's an accomplishment in my book.

5. Chubby bunny.

6. It's less than a month 'til my birthday. My Dad's birthday is on Friday. He'll be 35. ;)

7. This list is no longer resembling the list that I set out to make. Oh, well.

8. I started looking for a Christmas card yesterday. Loves it.

9. I love Martha Stewart, but I know there's no way that she freakin' makes all those pies and cakes and decorations and crap. I mean, get real. But, I love her.

10. For the life of me, I wanted to make this list a consistent and congruous catalog of accomplishments, but pretty much the first three are the only legit achievements for today's inventory. But three is a good number. Makes a balanced arrangement. Adds height and dimension and interest.

Yep. Thanks for reading.


Hearth & H o m e

Staring down the barrel of the monthiversary of my auspicious employment, I will say it has flown by. As well as, dragged on. Lord, help us get through this year. But not just get through it. To savor it. Because as I have learned the Lesson of who I Am, somewhere between the Holy City and the City on a Hill, I will [am] learn[ing] where, exactly, my Home is. And one thing is for sure, for real: home is not a place, a house, an apartment, a city, or state. It's a feeling. It's an easy breath. A place of belonging. Peace. Comfort. Restfulness. Security. Trust. And I only know One place like that.

Today, the tenth of October. Sunday night. The fuzzy place between weekend and workweek. Laundry is done, scrubs are ready. I still need a fabulous picture of Andrew and me for my locker. I'm thinking towards all of the humdrum and all of the excitement this week holds. Which is how it should be. We're not quite ready to digitally reveal our newest home [little "h"] but here's a sneak peak at the front door:

Potential. Other than the "lead paint" clause in the contract, it's nearly perfect. ;) That is to say, it has character. I'm heading up on Wednesday to push full-steam ahead and try to "finish" it by the time I leave for work next week, so hopefully, we'll have pictures to post sometime in the near future. And by "we" I mean me. It's an illusion of my own design that Andrew has anything to do whatsoever with this blog. Other than, of course, he is many times the subject matter. Bless him. And as far as the Big Reveal goes, this isn't Extreme Makeover--it's our same ol' stuff in a new-to-us place. So while you're holding your breath, I won't hold it against you if you cheat and breathe through your nose a little bit.


It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

Except this ain't Paris.

I don't believe in the mountaintop--valley undulation of life. I believe that there are always good things and hard things happening in a person's life at the same time. There are always things to be thankful for. And things to pray fervently for. Things to cry about. Things to laugh about. The principal drivers of this concept, however, are perspective and disposition. You can always look at the bright side, denying that any wrong ever overtook you. Or you can be Debbie Downer and latch on to the negative aspects of any situation and deem your scenario doomed from the start. I hope to be neither, but with God's grace and wisdom, praise Him for the blessings and ask for strength and perseverance during trials and tribulations. Yes, Lord and Amen.

Of course. Here I am, two weeks in to my new job and nomadic lifestyle, missing my husband and my old,  "comfortable" life terribly. I understand now, why God was so frustrated with the Israelites for wanting to go back to Egypt. They had forgotten all that He had done and all of the promises He fulfilled. Yes, three days after witnessing the miraculous parting of the Red Sea, having nothing to drink, they looked at each other in dismay and said, "What shall we drink???" I think God may have said something along the lines of, "what the...?"

Two weekends ago, (which seems like an eternity!), Andrew and I packed up our apartment and moved 15 minutes up the road to good ol' Chapel Hill. Sounds simple, right? WRONG. It's amazing how much CRAPOLA one can accumulate in a year. All occasion cards and seasonal decorations. Bills and coupons. Office supplies and camping gear. Not to mention furniture. Oy vey! It was just the two of us and because of my schedule we had basically 36 workable hours to get everything packed, moved, and unpacked to a livable state. Friday night, Saturday day and evening, Sunday morning and early afternoon. It was hellacious. There's no other word. We were both tired to begin with and we just didn't realize how much stuff we had. Plus, since we hadn't seen each other in a week we really just wanted to relax and hang out. And I had a bad attitude. Whoops? Sorry, Andrew. Anyway, we did get everything done, just in the nick of time. We even got our monstrous couch in the narrow front door by removing the screen door, the front door, the couch legs, and pushing and pulling like freakin' lumberjacks with one of those big ol' toothy saws! YEAH! A big ol' toothy saw! Ahem. We got the couch in without [really] damaging anything. Much.

The chaos. PS, Thanks, Ulta, for all the boxes. And a great summer.
So, we moved from here to there, from hither to thither. When I get off of work on Thursday, I will be going home to hopefully put our little bungalow to rights, so that we have a comfy, cozy, albeit teensy-weensy, apartment to call casita. Pray for us.

In other news, Brad and Cory got hitched this weekend in a beautiful, God-filled ceremony in Hendersonville, NC.

The newly minted Coopers!
Yay for weddings and yay for marriage! Cowabunga, dudes. I gotta go to sleep.


Five Second Rule

It seems like that's the governing principal in my life right now. That I'm only in one place for five seconds at a time. In the last two weeks I have been from Charleston to Chapel Hill to Hendersonville and back again what seems like a bazillion times. Which is, truly, a very large number.

And I'm the one who signed up for it. And it's okay. So far, I love my job. It's not okay that I get to see my husband only on the weekends and that we feel like we have to be "doing something" in order to be using our time wisely, (you know, instead of grocery shopping, cleaning, watching movies...living "normal" life", if you will). But alas, there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven. Not sure which season and time this is, but undoubtedly, we will look back and be able to pinpoint God's faithfulness and sustenance in our lives. Cuz He's just like that, you know? Yup.

Anyhow, TODAY is Brad and Cory's wedding and Andrew and I couldn't be more thrilled to be surrounded by family and friends again! The string of common weddings has gone from a steady stream to a dwindling trickle, though. We've got to come up with other reasons to see our Clemson family! Reasons that don't involve high heels. Just sayin'.

Anyhow, as Ol' George G. used to say, "Life is just a bowl of cherries, so live and laugh at it all".

Welp, I've got to go get ready to be a program giver-outer lady. High heels, and all. Ciao!

PS--I'll [hopefully] be able to post more on the move and my job later. I just, you know, had five seconds to write a quick blurb. Stay tuned.


A Word

This is what the Lord says; "You will be in Babylon for seventy years. But then I will come and do for you all the good things I have promised, and I will bring you home again. For I know the plans I have for you," says the Lord. "They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. In those days when you pray, I will listen. If you look for me wholeheartedly, you will find me. I will be found by you," says the Lord. "I will end your captivity and restore your fortunes. I will gather you out of the nations where I sent you and will bring you home again to your own land." Jeremiah 29:10-14


September is on crazy pills.

No, really. As "David After Dentist" would say, "is this real life???" Seriously, I feel just like that kid. Is this gonna be forever?? RrrrrrAAAHHHHHH!!!!

I miss my husband. I just can't help it.

In order to give myself something to do this past weekend while I was waiting with bated breath for my First Day, I made a Fall banner. A pennant banner to be more specific. It will coordinate just perfectly with my nut wreath from last year. I got the idea from this fine lady and decided to give it a go. And it turned out pretty well, methinks.

Here's what you need:
Computer & printer OR stencils
Manilla folder
Exacto knife
Scotch Tape
Fabric paint of any color
Sponge paint brush
Ruler/straight edge
Needle & thread OR hot glue gun

Here we go!

First, if you don't have stencils, print out your F, A, L and clip art onto regular computer paper.  Tape letters onto manilla folder or other sturdy medium,  being sure to trim away excess paper so they all fit. Trace around figures with exacto knife being sure to press down firmly so as to cut through the folder.
These will be your stencils! Be sure to save the "floating triangle" for the A!
I didn't take pictures of myself measuring the pennants, but if you lay out your burlap and "size" the triangles before you cut, making sure all of your letters fit on that size, you can cut one and then use that as a guide to cut the rest. Next, tape the stencil onto the burlap and use the sponge brush to dab the paint in the center  of the stencil and onto the burlap. Don't wipe or  swipe brush back and forth so as not to push paint under the edges. Continue with all of your letters and shapes.
Once the stencils are dry, measure out a length of twine and either hand sew or hot glue each pennant onto the twine by wrapping a little bit of the fat part of the triangle around the twine and folding it over. Leave an inch or so between each triangle, not too much or it will be very long!
Voila! Happy Fall, y'all.
Obviously, that is not my mantle. It's my parents'. But you gotta use what you can where you are, right? Eventually I will take this back to NC with me and use it in our apartment, but who knows when the decorating stage of our new digs will be. It might be Christmas before I get to hang this up at home, and if that is the case, you're lookin' at my latest Christmas tree decoration.

These last few days have been INSANE very busy, and the next couple of weeks are likely to follow suit. I am certifiably exhaustified.


Labor Day is an opposite day, cuz no one goes to work.

Except me. I had to work on Labor Day. At the ungodly hour of six am, so in light of that sitch, Andrew and I celebrated our holiday on Sunday. We went to the Eno River State Park and frolicked around the historical sights and had a picnic on the riverbank. And wished we had a puppy. Nonetheless, we still had a fun time in the perfectly temperate weather learning some history about this place we call home.

Looking over the river.
Avoiding poison ivy.
The Old Mill. Put "Old" in front of anything and you can charge people to come see it.
A Mechanical Engineer's dream come true.

Happy as a clam!
We really had a very relaxing time, hanging out, poking around the park, eating our PB&J picnic lunch, tossing the frisbee, and leaving all of our cares behind. :) State Parks are very under appreciated in mi opinion.

Moving on, quite literally. It's starting:

Rows upon rows of cardboard boxes.
Boxes o' books.
 Sadly, not everything we have will fit into our new apartment. Given, we haven't actually tried to fit everything in there yet, however, we're quite sure that the space we're dealing with leaves no room for things that we hardly use, are keeping for sentimental reasons, or can't use yet because we don't live in a house, etc. So, we're going through everything, (and by "we" I mean me), and either getting rid of stuff for good, or boxing things up to store with the 'rents for the next ten-ish months. And they thought they were done with us and our ubiquitous stuff! Muahahaha! That means books, storage bins, "extra" instruments, extra tables and chairs, my old computer and printer, summer clothes, (sob!), and much more has to be taken to my parent's casa with me this weekend. I don't know if all of that can be crammed into Stella's spacious trunk and backseat, but goshdarnit I will try. She'll just have to suck in when I shut the doors.

Honestly, September is going to fly by and I'm not at all sad about it. It's already the eighth and sometime between now and next weekend I've got to start my job and move all in the same chunk of time. We're trying to get situated before Brad and Cory's wedding weekend, (the 25th), because of our timeline of getting out of here and into there: we have to move sooner rather than later which plants our migration right smack in the middle of my two-ish week orientation at the hospital. SWEET. My logic is as follows: because of the move, the job, the wedding, etc, September will be over before I know it and it will be October and officially FALL, which I can hardly complain about. :)

Thank you for reading the above psychobabble that is tumbling around in my head. Basically, I'm ready to get the show on the road. I've got places to go, people to see, and things to do. And I love Fall.