What ha' happened was...

Andrew got me flowers for Valentine's Day. {Awwwwww!}

Dane asked Meghan to be his Lawfully Wedded Wife! {Awwwww, a second time!}

At some point I made Ree's Meatloaf for dinner.

And took pictures of it. All whilst my husband sat salivating by. How cruel.

Andrew and I went to "Science Day" at a local elementary school to help four classes of 3rd graders "swab" the environment and inoculate agar plates. Except you can't use words like "inoculate" and "agar". You have to say "smear the q-tip on the jello".

He wears his Toms every day of the week. And I like it.

Little bird, little bird--brush your gray wings on my head...{tweet, tweet!}

Did you know? {Groundhog's Day Edition}

Tomorrow, (February 2nd), will be Punxsutawney Phil's 125th prognostication. Which basically means Phil's got some serious longevity in his genome.

Phil lives in a burrow on Gobbler's Knob. Just say that out loud. Gobbler's Knob.

Before being dubbed "Phil" he was called Br'er Groundhog.

A groundhog is also known as a woodchuck. However, "how much wood could a groundhog chuck" doesn't really present the same challenge.

Let us have a moment of silence and pray that Br'er Groundhog does not see his shadow, henceforth cursing us with six more weeks of winter.

{Dear Springtime, please hurry! Love, MaryGene}

Growing Pains

Ow.

Oy.

Ughhhhh.

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
         To bring good news to the afflicted;
         He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
         To proclaim liberty to captives
         And freedom to prisoners;
    ²To proclaim the favorable year of the LORD
         And the day of vengeance of our God;
         To comfort all who mourn,
    ³To grant those who mourn in Zion,
         Giving them a garland instead of ashes,
         The 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]

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.

A swiftly tilting planet

Wait, what? Huh? What just happened?

I'm pretty sure that the planet I'm on tilts just a little differently so that everything major happens all at the same time. Read: quitting a job, moving, starting a job {which requires a 4.5 hour "commute"}, Andrew starting Year Two at school, etc. Oh my transition. It's not that I don't like change--I do--at least I think I do. I'm ready to leave this apartment tucked safely in my memory as our First and create Home in a tiny, cheap, new, challenging space. I'm ready to leave the world of cosmetics and hair and beauty and don navy blue scrubs and a Clemson purple stethoscope again. As much as I sometimes want to dig in my heels and yelp, "but this is easier the way it is!", I can't help but note that the transitions, literary climaxes, or the ever-cheesy Michael Jackson-esque key change in books, music, movies are usually the most exciting parts of the piece: where the audience is riveted, moved, watching with rapt attention. I think when change comes our way, God is not just watchful, He's giving a standing ovation, savoring His grace and hard work in our lives. Yes, Lord, and Amen.

As for the logistical bits, Andrew and I are moving our little family into a teensy, tiny apartment close to campus so that Andrew can walk to class and we can save some moola. Sometime in the next month we will be making that arduous 15 minute trek with all of our worldly goods, so if the airwaves go silent, don't worry about us. We'll probably be cramming all of our stuff into the single, cubby hole, non-walk in closet that the space affords. Awesome. Speaking of which, I recently did a massive closet purge, (only on my side, I'm still prodding Andrew to do his), in order to A) get a tax write off (yippieee!) and B) simplify and downsize. Just in time to squish everything into a closet that will barely fit my stuff, let alone Andrew's. Awesome, for the eh-second time-ah. Anyway, you will definitely be seeing organizational/decor updates and whatnot, (don't you love how the world whatnot pretty much covers everything? and whatnot? YES). However, if this planet does spin out of orbit to crash into the moon or something, you may have to hold on to your hats while we get things up and running enough to share. 

My brand, spankin' new, big-girl job starts September 13th and will require a 4.5 hour drive from here to there, weekly-ish. My plan for tackling such a commute is pretty loose as of right now, simply because I'm not sure what my schedule will be like and I will know more once the job actually starts. Duh. BUT. I have decided to use my time in the car wisely and listen to audiobooks instead of compulsively pressing the scan button, as many of you know, I likey to do. :) Andrew found this amazingly timely free audiobook app for our iPod--we'd been looking on Amazon and even on UNC's student library, but either they cost an arm and a leg, (i.e. ~$20 range. Yikes.), or there's a "wait list" and you only get them for seven days. Womp, wommmmp. I had to drive down last weekend for pre-employment paperwork and whatnot, (see, you have no idea what that means! They could've made me stand on my head or do the chicken dance in the cafeteria and you'd never know), and on the way there and back I listened to 19 chapters of Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott. Fo' free! I was a little leery of the aforementioned Brit-Lit chunker, but thought I would give it a shot. The worst that could happen is that I hated it, turned it off and went back to my beloved scan button. Ivanhoe is a classic and I've been feeling the need to read something meaty lately. It's awesome. SO GOOD. I-want-to-listen-to-it-right-now good. At first, I was like, "HUHWHAAAT??? Speak American!", but once you listen carefully for a little while you get into Sir Walter's writing language and style and it all starts to come together. I highly recommend it for long, solo car trips. 

I'm still praising the Lord for his provision and sovereignty, but you can pray for me for the Mommy-wow-I'm-a-real-nurse-now transition. I'm a leeetle nervous, but confident that His power is made perfect in my weakness ( II Corinthians 12:9) and my transformation will only make Him more famous if I'm the most unlikely candidate for success.

A promise to hold fast:

5 Those who plant in tears will harvest with shouts of joy. 6 They weep as they go to plant their seed but they sing as they return with the harvest. Psalm 126 

Post script: a very happy birthday to Mrs. Jamie Orr. I love you through and through! 

Mail call

Dear Fall,

It's me again. I just wanted to check in with you and make sure you're still on schedule with the cool weather and pumpkins and everything. I know, I know. We've talked about this before. But you have to admit, sometimes you're late and then there's a few embarrassing episodes with seasonally inappropriate clothing and pit sweat. I know you're not really familiar with pit sweat, given your chilly disposition, but trust me. It ain't pretty. I mean really, you could come a little early. I don't think anyone would complain. Just make sure you let Mother Nature and Father Time know where you're going. It's kind of annoying when you show up early without their knowledge and they make you go back and call Summer to fill in for a few more weeks. Ugh. She's not pretty when she knows she's sloppy seconds.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to your visit, and I think everyone else is, too. You're kind of a favorite. Just remember to show up no later than September 22. I don't want to be wearing a sun dress on my November birthday. Awkward.

Love,

MG [and the rest of the Southeast]

First things first.

So, y'know how there's that understood chain of events that happens once you meet "The One"? Like...love...really love...engaged...naivete...married...more naivete...decorating the nursery...babies...etcetera. Well, in between the "married...babies"...I've been told that certain happenings should take place in order to deem one ready for los bebes. It's called the, "Can you keep a living thing alive?" test. And it starts with houseplants.

Remember when I planted my herb garden on the porch? Yes? Basil, Rosemary, Thyme, Mint...all delicious, aromatic and lovely little organisms. Well, I also have a few other houseplants just for the decor factor, and with a few cuttings here and there as well. Here's how they're all doing:

"Devil's Ivy" or Pothos plant--thriving!

Clipping of Pothos--precious!

Philodendron--growing!

Philodendron clipping--perfect!

Herb fiesta--three out of four?

So.....if you did not notice....I'm missing an herb. Cue the funeral dirge--the Thyme died. Dead as a doornail. Or a doorknob. Or a stone. Dead and gone, as T.I. would say. We went on vacation and, alas, the Thyme was not hearty enough to withstand the hot, hot heat of a southeastern summer.

Ok, the plants and babies theory: apparently, the order is plants, fish, dog, baby. If you can keep the three previous living things alive and healthy, it's a good indication of your readiness for the responsibility of a bambino, (according to someone). Basically, if we do some simple math, I'm at approximately an 86% success rate, (I'm counting the clippings as one plant). YIKES. If I was a goldfish I would be hoarding food flakes and hiding in my plastic tank castle.

AnyHOW, regardless of Andrew's and my proximity to reproducing a squishy, pooping, screaming, delightfully cute little rugrat, we are definitely getting one of these regardless of how the whole fish thing turns out:

Oh, hello, Love! (Vizsla puppies...me wantie).

Can we all say a collective, "yes, please!" In fact, let's skip the fish and cut to the chase, ignoring my slightly brown thumb altogether: I gotta get me a puppy dog!

A smidge of randomosity

1. I saw a gentleman in Harris Teeter the other day with two 12 packs of Mountain Dew and a bag of Funyuns. Wikipedia says that Funyuns were invented by a bloke named Douglas Bubbletrousers. I'm having a hard time believing that the "Funyuns" bio isn't one of the reasons Wikipedia is not an acceptable source on college term papers.

2. I just painted my nails OPI's Bubble Bath. Ah, bliss.



3. I purchased Tigi's Rockaholic Dirty Secret Dry Shampoo so that my husband and I can take our grungy, dirty, hippie steez to the next level.



4. I'm already thinking about Christmas. and Fall.



5. Bing Crosby originally sang the song Pennies From Heaven in the clip from Elf. How'd you like your nickname to be an onomatopoeia?

6. "Elf" is a funny word.

7. It looks like we're having chicken again tonight. Womp, womp.

8. Why can' we have juss like a salad? (please, tell me you know what movie I'm talking about.)

9. In case you're clueless...



10. Amen.

"Let freedom ring; let the white dove sing." -Martina McBride

On the fourth day of the seventh month of the two thousand and tenth year of our Lord, Andrew and I got no takers on an Independence Day afternoon on the American Tobacco Campus in historic Durham. But we went anyway. Just him and me, me and him. We actually went out to lunch with some new church friends, spend two hours talking, came home and fell asleep and didn't leave the apartment until about six o'clock. But, since no one was joining us, we weren't actually late at all. In keeping with my latest trend of sharing the history of my topics, here's a brief rundown of the story of the American Tobacco Company, which later was renovated and refurbished to be the American Tobacco Campus, now a thriving area for art, music, food, sports, and community.

In 1865, Washington Duke of North Carolina was released from Libby Prison, having been captured during the Confederate army's retreat from Richmond. He was sent to New Bern, North Carolina-137 miles from his 300 acre farm four miles north of Durham. A federal soldier gave him 50 cents for his 5 dollar Confederate note, and with that Duke set off, walking 137 miles to his home.

There was little left of the farm except for a small amount of Bright leaf tobacco. Duke subsequently sold some of his land and became a tobacco farmer. With his family's help, he pulverized and cleaned the crop in a small log barn. Then he packed it into muslin bags and labeled it "Pro Bono Publico"--for the good of the public. The first wagon load he took to Raleigh was drawn by two blind mules.

Soon Duke & Sons found itself in tight competition with the Genuine "Bull Durham Tobacco Factory. His son, James Buchanan "Buck" Duke, decided the company could generate much needed profit for the relatively small but growing cigarette market. He succeeded in this area so well that in 1890 his four biggest rivals joined him and he became president of the new firm--The American Tobacco Company.

Duke & Sons found W.T. Blackwell's Genuine "Bull" Durham Tobacco Factory to be strong rival. In fact, it was one of the largest in the world. The "Bull" had many imitators, other brands that capitalized on the words "Bull" or "Durham" in their tobacco advertising. Buck Duke refused to follow suit, choosing instead to delve into the cigarette market in order to compete.

In subsequent years, American became the biggest tobacco company in the world with successful products such as the unique, "toasted" tobacco in the Lucky Strike brand. Pall Mall and Tareyton also ranked among their successes. American even enjoyed the help of celebrities such as Frank Sinatra and Jack Benny in its promotional efforts.

In the early 1890's, Washington Duke left the business for his sons to handle while he became involved with local affairs. He succeeded in bringing Trinity College to Durham. Through the continued generosity of the Duke family, the school soon became the largest endowed college in the Southeast and, in 1924, Trinity College became Duke University.

Congrats for making it through that snooze fest. Raise your hand if you skipped to this paragraph. Be honest. Now I don't care much for cigarettes, or Duke for that matter, but I'm a big fan of history and knowing the Five W's about a place. Andrew and I went and listened to some live music on the lawn, ate tapas at Cuban Revolution, and then attempted to watch the fireworks after the Bull's game, however, we soon found that the best place to see them was from the highway. C'est la vie. (...Er, "that's life". Probably shouldn't throw in a French catch-phrase during a post about American patriotism. Uhh, um...freedom fries?)


Listening to live music on the lawn, "Red, White, Blues & Bluegrass". A very peaceful afternoon. I'm pretty aware that my eyes are quite misshapen in this photograph. Moving on.


The Lucky Strikes tower and the stage underneath, housing performing "Mandolin Orange".




The stage underneath the tower (you can't see it in the pic, but the stage was "floating" in a stream that ran through the middle of the lawn.

Annnd we're on to a different topic altogether! This past weekend we went to Brad and Cory's engagement party in Society Hill, SC. It was a delightful evening meeting family and friends and celebrating with the Coopers and O'Tuels, and one soon-to-be Mrs. Cooper!


Me and Andy--yep, there's a ponytail back there.


The good ol' Pee Dee River. Man, I love me some South Cackalacky. For those of you who thought you might appear in some of these party pics, let's just say I exercised my artistic license and decidedly omitted them. If you're not pickin' up what I'm puttin' down, call me and we'll chat.

Oooohhh yeah, don't forget to visit your old pal Facebook and vote for Meghan to be the next Levi's girl!

Ok, I think I'm done here. Am I done? Yep. Done. I mean, finished.

Levi Strauss, put 'er there.

What do you think of when you hear the word "Levi's"? Do you think "mom jeans"? or cool name for a hipster kid? or a Biblical tribe? Well, think no further--I'm talking about Levi Strauss & Co., making denim look good since 1873. Levi Strauss, a German-Jewish immigrant to America, started his company in San Francisco, CA in 1853 selling dry goods (fabric, clothing, combs, purses, hankerchiefs, etc) at his store, Levi Strauss & Co. Obviously since San Fran was the hub of the California Gold Rush, he was in a fine geographical location to make a pretty penny helping all those miners get outfitted for their forays into the wild unknown. Jacob Davis, a tailor out of Reno, Nevada, approached Strauss with a business deal: he wanted to make men's work pants "with metal points of strain for greater strength" and wanted to use the fabric that Strauss sold wholesale, as well as to make Strauss his business partner. In 1873 they received US Patent #139121 for using copper rivets to make the pockets of denim work pants stronger. They began manufacturing "jeans" and the rest, as they say, is history. In the LS&Co. archives in San Francisco they house hundreds of garments from just about every time period, (including the "XX", the oldest pair of 501 jeans in the world, circa 1879). There are also letters to the company from people like Cary Grant, Ronald Reagan, Lady Bird Johnson, Clint Eastwood, Henry Kissinger, and a cowboy from the silent movies--William S. Hart. Back in the day, they also didn't call 'em jeans they called 'em "waist overalls". Ha! You can read more about Levi Strauss & Co.'s rich American heritage by visiting their website.

So, why am I giving you a history lesson? Well, it just so happens that one of my friends is a FINALIST in a contest to be the face and the voice and the, er, "click" of Levi Women's online presence in social media: Meghan Ellie Smith. The contest is to be the next "Levi's Girl", someone who is "socially minded, culturally connected, and will best represent the Levi's Brand". Meghan is all those things and more--she is an incredible artist, a daring fashionista--even when she doesn't try --and she lives in Brooklyn, NY and goes to school at the Fashion Institute of Technology. Y'know, FIT? Yah. Meghan was born and bred in the deep south and now she kicks it with her urbanite pals in the Big City. When she's not in school, she's either painting or frolicking around the subway, streets, or parks making video montages and uploading them to her hilarious blog, Antlered Pigeons.

HERE'S WHAT YOU NEED TO DO. Go to FACEBOOK and search Levi's. Then go to the company page, follow the link to vote, watch Meghan's stand-out video and VOTE FOR HER. You can vote once a day, every day, until July 15th. I'm going to do it. You should, too.



If you can't follow all that clicking mumbo jumbo, here's the link.

Cloudy with a chance of [Swedish] meatballs. And a side of rice.

Rain, rain go away little MaryGene wants to go to the pool.

Not quiiiite as catchy as the original, but it shall suffice. What the heeeeeck is up with this weather lately?? Huh? I thought it was "April showers bring May flowers" not "April sunshine gives you a tan too early for wedding season and then storms in May leave you pasty as a Martha Stewart white gourd in October." (Also not as catchy as the original, but it, too, shall suffice.) Good golly, Miss Molly. Geez, Louise.

Firstly, my last post on skin care and lotion and all that jazz?? I felt like it was SUPER LAME when I posted it and y'all generated the most comments I've received, EVER! Six whole comments. Thanks for letting me know I'm not alone. :) Hehe. Now, back to the post at hand.

Last weekend we ventured to Charlotte to meet Mom and Pop Armstrong to pick up Brother Barrett at the airport from his Mediterranean adventures in Greece and Turkey. We also, conveniently, made a stop at Ikea, a haven of Swedish made home goods, and meatballs and egg/shrimp open-faced sandwiches. Weird, Sweden. Weird. How about a couch? No? A meatball, then? Sven, get the meatballs! Their marketing scheme totally worked me over, however, because I left with a throw pillow and three awesomely retro Stacy-Peralta-Zephyr-skateboards-esque juice glasses. (For fiddy-nine cents each!! Heck yes.) I will say, though, that just thinking back on the moola I shelled out for my Pottery Barn throw pillows really irked me when I realized that the pillow from Ikea was going to set me back a whole $12. Seriously. The 20x20 insert at Pottery Barn alone will get you almost three entire pillows at Ikea. My advice?? Buy the 20x20 feather inserts at Ikea (around $6) and then buy your covers at Pottery Barn (if you've found some you love love love and just can't live without them). I AM SO SMART. My IQ must be, like, way up there. ;)

So, like any good blogger would, I read Pioneer Woman's blog almost every day, and last week she posted briefly about a website called freerice.com. And now I am addicted. You know my "I heart words" column (see upper left corner)? Yeah, well if you visit freerice, you'll know why I can't seem to x out until my bowl has at least 100 grains of rice in it. At least. Just try it. You will freak. out. I just went to the site to set up the hyperlink...and I played until I got 1100 grains of rice. YEAH.

This weekend is Kent and Jamie's wedding--Andrew and I are SO excited and can't wait to celebrate and see people we haven't seen in eons. And, of course, to visit our Alma Mater, the place we met and fell in love. Quite fitting to take part in a wedding and visit our old stomping grounds right before our anniversary. It's gonna be a bang up time.

Ta-ta for now!

She's got ruby red lips, blonde hair blue eyes, Lord I'm about to bid my heart good-byeeeeee

Law, it's been a month of Sunday's since my last post! Not really, it's just been a week. But, it's been a busy week! Sheesh! Let's see. I don't even know where to start. Today's Wednesday...Hm. Well, Friday I think we stayed home and hung out with each other. Cuz we're cool like that. But, Saturday--Saturday is the reason John Michael Montgomery's lyrics are titling this blog post. Saturday morning I was supposed to go to Ashleigh's wedding shower in Greenville, but the weather was freakin' out again--as it is in the habit of doing, as of late--so I ended up staying home. So, Saturday evening, we went to The Engineers Without Borders Symposium banquet, complete with cocktail attire, a silent auction, a live auction, a bonafide auctioneer, and tiny, unidentifiable hors d'oeuvres. The auction and dinner was obviously to raise money for EWB and to honor those individuals that have put their blood, sweat and tears into making EWB a success. Tables and tables of beautiful crafts and other items from all over the world were auctioned off, and also gift certificates and vouchers from local businesses. It was great to see all the nerds let loose without their lab coats and calculators, too. They just work too hard! ;) Anyway, the auctioneer's name was Charley. And he was very. serious. about. auctions. Very. The auction went something like this:

Well, folks we have here a one of a kind autographed basketball by Roy Williams and the entire UNC basketball team. Come on, don't pause--it's for a good cause!

Let's start at fiddy. Wouldja bid fiddy? Fiddy wouldja bid? Fiddy dollars up in the front--thanky, sir--Wouldja bid one hunert? Woulja bid one-hunert? one-hunert, one hunert, one hunert? Ma'am in the back--thanky ma'am! Wouldja bid one-fiddy? Wouldja bid one-fiddy? One-fiddy, one-fiddy, one-fiddy--it's for a good cause--one-fiddy, one--thanky sir! Wouldja give two-hunert, wouldja bid two hunert?...Alright, one-fiddy going once, one-fiddy going twice--SOLD! to the gentleman in the yellow bowtie!

And so on. And every time he said one-fiddy or whatever number, he would bounce on his toes in rhythm with the bidding. It was quite a sight. We didn't bid on anything because we're obviously in a more frugal season of life right now, but I just really wanted one of those ping-pong paddles with the numbers on it. Shucks.

So, Sunday was the SUPER BOWLLLL--Geaux Saints! I'm so glad they won. They deserved it. Sorry, Kelly. Sorry, Peyton. Better luck next time. I got into a cooking tizzy and decided to make meatballs and mocha silk pie--both from the P-Dub. She gots it right. I'm telling you, this pie is like WOAH. But here's my version:

The garnish: chopped baker's chocolate. Don't you just love it?! The paper and the stamp on the top makes it feel ol' fashioned to me. And there's my little piggy cutting board that my pops made. A little personality and just right for chopping veggies, fruit--and chocolate.

The crust: chopped pecans, chopped bakers chocolate, brown sugar, vanilla, instant coffee--and a little bit of maaaagic. Mmmm.


Our delicious super bowl meatball subs: with a little cheese, please!

So, there you have it. The last few days I've been babysitting precious little Elise and Will while Nanny Nancy has her baby. Love those kiddos. And Kelly was right. Your luck can change in Candy Land in the blink of an eye--and you'll find yourself canoodling in the Chocolate Swamp while the three year old next to you is frolicking in the Candy Kingdom at the finish line. Such is life. I hope my kids are as bright and energetic as they are some day. (I said, some day. Meaning, a far, far away day in the distant future....riiiight?? Right. Right? Riiiight.)

In other news, I shadowed on the Surgical ICU at UNC Hospital yesterday morning. I know--shadowed. Like I don't know what it's like to be a nurse in a hospital. BUT, it was good to finally go in UNC and see what it's like and get to know some people, aka The Management. I can has a job? Pretty please?? So, anyway, things are in the works and I can feel the Lord oiling the rusty joints on this thing, setting things in motion. And I am thankful. Thankful that God is in control, and not me. Because if I was in control, I might have lost it a long time ago.

So, tonight we've got ignite group, tomorrow hopefully hanging out with Graham and Joanna before they head on to Iowa (gulp. Sad day!), and then the in-laws are a-comin' to town this weekend. Should be a bang up time.

Until then, adios amigos!

Oh, my lanta!

I am. so. stuffed. Like a stuffed turkey or a stuffed mushroom. Ay-ay-ay. We went to Milltown in downtown Carrboro tonight for dinner, after a full day of breakfasting at Big Ed's with Ann and Company, watching the Tigers pummel (lightly) the Wolf Pack at the RBC Center, and wandering around the Museum of Natural Sciences slack jawed and stumbling over small children. Now, I'm in a food coma, more or less. Nothing works but my hands, which are graciously allowing me to type this wonderful, inspiring, groundbreaking blog post. Andrew is watching some smooth-talking Swedish guy--who's name, incidentally, is Hans-- on YouTube lecturing about world population growth, GDP, and infant mortality. Later, we will be doing scientific experiments with beakers and petri dishes and pipettes.

An interruption by two big lame Sally moments from this weekend:

1. I broke one of my beautiful, cream PB bowls yesterday. One down, 11 to go. Bum-mer.

2. Andrew was too cool for school and would not take a picture with me at the basketball game this afternoon. I blame it on the Wolf Pack. He wanted to be incognito.

Now back to our regular programming.

Last night we went to a potluck supper hosted by one of the head-honchos in the Environmental Engineering department at UNC. All the nerds were there in all their smartness and pocket-protected glory, and one of the most handsome of them all is married to me. We chit-chatted over drinks and wasabi peas and a table of pots chock full of luck until we were completely spent and decided to call it a night. The host's house was a veritable greenhouse with potted plants and a Koi pond and all kinds of indoor-outdoor mind-swindling tricks going on, but one thing that caught my eye was his bookshelf. You can tell a lot about a person by the books he reads. Or maybe displays. Because this bookshelf was floor to ceiling, wall to wall. And had titles like The Pleasure of Finding Things Out, Dutch, Harry Potter and the __________, Making Things Grow, etcetera. A bookshelf can say 1/3 who a person is, 1/3 who they think they are, and 1/3 who they want to be. Because no one has read all of the books on their bookshelves. Except maybe Kelly. But she doesn't count. You have books you've read and really enjoyed, books you have tried to read to get smarter or seem smarter (and to your credit, it's worked!), and books you want to be smart enough to read but can't make it through the first 10 pages without smacking the snooze button. [And when I say you I'm talking about the proverbial, collective you, kind of like the proverbial they, as in "you know, they say if you put sunblock in your hair it will grow twice as fast...". So, don't take it personally. Or do. And I made that whole sunblock thing up for an example, so don't go combing sunblock through your shorty-short tresses.] In no way am I saying this is a bad thing, however. If the human race never made it past Goodnight Moon or Berenstain Bears the world would be a silly place. Or maybe we'd all just get a really good night's sleep. Anyway, it's good to have a bookshelf of thirds, if you will, to push yourself, one philosophical summary page at a time. I've got a bookshelf like this one, meself. I like to delude myself into thinking that Four Plays by Aristophanes falls into the same category as a Karen Kingsbury novel.

'Kay. I'm fresh out. I know there's more to talk about than just the above ramblings, but my brain is still digesting my hambuger. {???} I shall take my leave. Later alligators. Until next time. Fare-thee-well. Over and out. 10-4. Arrivederci. Nighty-night. Sayonara. Ciao. Bye-bye. See ya. Adios. Adieu. Catch ya on the flip side. Until we meet again. God be with ye.

And lastly, as Mizz Klum would say, auf wiedersehen.


Post script: Haiti still needs our help, and will continue to need our help. No donation is too little, or too much--So, keep giving!

Hey, look over there! Some celestial beings are serenading that baby!

So, obviously, the previous post is my Christmas decorations. I'll have you know that I am seriously illiterate when it comes to uploading photographs on this blog. Some day, I'll be good at it. Just you wait, 'Enry 'Iggins, just you wait.

So, some little bits and pieces, snippets and side notes. The angel on top of our tree was made by the one and only Joe Smith, my tinkering, toy-making father. Santy Claus? I think so. It's modeled after an ol' fashioned weather vane. Love it!

Two things I love to use when decorating for Christmas: white lights and the extra limbs from the bottom of the tree. You can never go wrong with white Christmas lights. And they really make the Christmas aesthetic shiiiine through, (ya like that pun?). This year we got our tree from Rob and Ann, and we actually had enough limbs once we trimmed the bottom of the tree to use them to decorate. In previous years we've just picked up piles from the tree lot--they're going to get rid of 'em anyway and we just paid for a tree so why not? They are very versatile and can be used for mantels, flower arrangements, the creche, or--like I did--above the cabinets just to add a little Christmas height. Heh, heh. (Or should I say, "Ho, ho ho!")

Last weekend in Hendersonville we went to this great little shop called Honeysuckle Hollow and we found a few vintage Christmas cards, amongst the piles of odds and ends. I clothes pinned them to one of the PB ribbons from one of our wedding gifts. We obviously don't have a mantel, so we had to improvise with the stockings.

Let's talk flora and fauna. House plants are also an interesting way to add a little outside to the inside of your home, as well as adding a texture and color to a room that may be a little bit unexpected. Bonus, they also clean the air! Thank youuu, photosynthesis. The first and most obvious plants I used were poinsettias. Named for Joel Roberts Poinsett, the first US minister to Mexico, (he brought them back with him--who knew they were tropical plants?! CooOooooOol.), red poinsettias add that classic Christmas color to a grouping of plants. You'll notice I also used a little Norfolk Island Pine for a little something extra--it's a pine tree so it mirrors the Christmas tree look.

If everyone in America had red cars, we'd be a red car-nation. Carnations have gotten a bad wrap over the years for being old fashioned and cheap. And they are, let's be serious. But "old fashioned" can also be termed "retro" or "vintage" and cheap...well, these days cheap is good. Cheap is greeeaaat. Honestly, when I think of carnations I think of a 1950s prom with a powder blue suit and a white carnation for a boutonniere. But, if you can get over that image and get enough carnations--like a lot, at least a dozen, two dozen is better--they can add volume and texture to a table arrangement--and they're a little bit different. I'm not saying bring me carnations on my birthday or anniversary, I'm just sayin' quit hatin' on 'em! If you want to hate on something, hate on Baby's Breath. That stuff is whack. Plus, it's called Baby's Breath. Blech. I also stuck a few sweet grass roses in that bouquet for a little more fullness to the bunch.

Now, hold on to your hats, folks: I used sticks. I picked up sticks from outside while I was on a walk one day and used them just like a bunch of flowers. But they're deader. And greyer. And stick-ier. Buuuuut, I really like them. They're different. They add height and they don't die, cuz they're already dead! Hooray!

Sigh. I just love Christmas. My inspirations are always from the classic or traditional, nature, hearth and home, comfort, and of course, the birth of our Saviour. I'm not saying I'll never deviate, but if it ain't broke, don't fix it. I also love to do some things the same every year and some things differently every year. From mall displays to magazines, blogs to bookstores, inspiration is everywhere. Use whatever moves you!

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices/for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!

Advent, Advent, a little light burns

I just got back from a lovely trip along the Milky Way/I stopped off at the North Pole to spend the holiday!

Actually, it was the Hendersonville Armstrongs. And it was Thanksgiving. But it was just as magical as a trip to the North Pole via the Milky Way, I'm sure of it. We arrived on Wednesday at noon and I dropped Andrew off at FBC to shoot some hoops with the dudes. I GPSed my way to the Armstrong homestead and just made myself at home, watching Private Practice on ABC.com (couldn't work their new-fangled television) and --still--coughing and sputtering my head off. The next four days were a blurry--albeit relaxing--fury of family and friends and food, food, food and decorating and shopping and churching and hanging out. A highly successful Thanksgiving weekend, if I do say so m'self. We piled our loot in Stella's spacious backseat and zipped--well, crawled--our way back to Durham. We saw Christmas trees coming and going, strapped on the tops of cars, rolled up and squeezed on trailers to get to the tree vendor, and precariously dangling out of truck beds--and we saw about twice as many cops. Po-Po. Coppers. Officers of the Law. Interesting how cops are supposed to make you feel safe, like the good guys are gettin' the bad guys, when all they do for me is conjure up feelings of anxiety. When I see cops on the road, I just want to slow my vehicle to a walking pace and smile demurely like I've never done anything wrong in my life. If I spot a five-O anywhere near the vicinity of my automobile, I usually panic for a split second like I might be doing something wrong and I just don't know it--what's up with that, America?? Geez. I'm just drivin'. Anyyyyhow. We saw a bunch of fender-benders as well. And a lot of idiot drivers swerving in and out of traffic like getting to their destination 1.5 minutes quicker was all that mattered in the universe. Newsflash: you're an idiot and you make me want to ram the back of your vehicle, but I would never do that because I love Stella too much and that would not help the situation at large, but in another life, I would. I would. Ahem. Let me get a hold of myself. Pardon moi.

Onward: I would like to make note that today is the first Sunday in Advent. Advent is the period of each of the four Sundays before Christmas, honoring the coming of the Christ child into the world. Usually, we light advent wreaths, which have four candles around the outside and then a candle in the middle. Each candle is lit every Sunday prior to Christmas, and then on Christmas Day the middle candle is lit. The Latin word adventus means "coming", or the coming of Jesus. The time is supposed to be used in preparation and "expectant waiting" for the nativity. It is also meant to show the relationship between the waiting endured by the Hebrews for the coming of the Messiah, but also to mirror our own waiting on the second coming of Christ; to commemorate the first coming, whilst preparing for the second coming. One more of the wonderful things about Christmas. I love how God continually points to the past, present and future. Just lovely.

Advent, Advent, a little light burns. First one. Then two. Then three, then four. And then the Christ child at the door.

Find a tree and put it in your house

November First. First November, then December! Today, is el Dia de los Muertos for Latin America--the Day of the Dead, literally--a day to remember and honor friends and loved ones that have passed away. You can find out more information about this holy day of our Hispanic neighbors to the south here. What a mosaic world we live in.

So, Andrew and I have re-discovered a favorite family past time: Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. Yep, Jane Seymour, Gerber baby extraordinaire, has found her way back to our TV screen and back into our hearts. Let me just say--although no one is quite as smokin' hot as my one and only--Sully. is. fiiiiiine. He lives with the Indians. Basically, if you've never let your imagination go with this family-friendly TV series, you're missing out. It's set in Colorado Springs in the 1800s (think General Custer, Civil War era, etc.) and Dr. Michaela Quinn is an unmarried, female physician that moves to this quaint little settlement to be the town doctor. Of course, the drama unfolds because she's a woman, she's alone, she's a high falutin Bostonian--you get the picture. In the pilot episode, she is bequeathed three children (Matthew, Colleen, and Brian) by a woman on her deathbed, and of course, Sully, the Indian outlaw, begins to notice her and romance blooms, unbeknownst to them. There's medical drama, cowboys and Indians drama, love drama--it's just great! Way better than the OC or One Tree Hill or any other mindless "drama" series today. All's I'm sayin'.

Saturday morning, we drove over to an area of Raleigh called South Park, a neighborhood rife with poverty, gang violence, prostitution, and heavy drug activity to participate in a "Love Feast", a name aptly given to this outpouring of our abundant resources--God's abundant resources--to the community there. We had hamburgers, hot dogs, cole slaw, potato salad, birthday cakes, chips, fruit, candy and more to serve up to the people who live in South Park. We took any extra winter clothes, blankets, shoes, etc. to give away to anyone who had need. We put our nerves behind us and prayed for anyone who would let us, and most were very willing to receive prayer. It was an interesting, awkward, fun, sad, uncomfortable, natural, heartbreaking, heavenly, faith-building experience, one that I hope, I pray will show up repeatedly in the timeline of my lifetime. It is the Church's responsibility to care for this poor, hurting, broken world. And we don't have to go to Africa to do it. It is my responsibility to feed, clothe, pray for the neighborhoods around me that are quite easily and readily (might I say, thankfully?) driven by, detoured around, shied away from. And in my limited, novice experience, I really believe that in these communities respect and trust come with consistency. A church cannot do a drive by at Christmas or Thanksgiving--these people are hungry and naked more than twice a year. Lord, put a burr under my saddle, that I may never feel okay not helping those who need it. Make me uncomfortable in my comfort, that I may be a laid down lover of Jesus Christ, and his little lost lambs.



Saturday evening was an entirely different scenario. It was Halloween, All Hallows Eve, (there's a connection to el Dia de los Muertos there), and Andrew and I went to a "costume optional" party at David Goodman's for mostly Summit Church people that had previously been helping out with their kids' Fall Festival type deal. So, anyway, some people were dressed up--and by dressed up I mean they wore jeans, a flannel shirt, and a cowboy hat--but Andrew and I were dressed up. In some languages, "dressed up" also translates to embarrassed, mortified, snickered at. We were Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. Never mind that Babe, in fact, was male, let's just talk about the fact that I had viking horns glued to a blue kids' headband that made the clearance of my upper half about three times wider than it is naturally. Yeah, I stabbed a guy in the jugular with one of my horns trying to get something to drink. I also had a cowbell roughly the size of my head around my neck that actually made noise--lots of it. Eventually I took it off because, let's face it--it was hard to walk and could even be heard above the din of people playing NERTS or exclaiming over the hot cider. My poor, dear, sweetie-peetie-poo-poo Andrew was wearing a waffle shirt, a flannel shirt, Carhart pants, snow boots, and a beanie--not to mention the frying pan and hatchet! He was sweating like a dog, but totally looked the part. Hey, go big or go home, right? Do it right or don't do it at all, folks.

It just so happens that I pushed pause on this creative query into my weekend happenings and spent a moment in time with a precious sister and her lovely boyfriend: Lauren and Eric. They were just a-passing through, on their way back to Clemson, but wanted to stop for a quick hello and a bit of leftover Halloween candy. It is refreshing to see familiar faces--ones so dear, at that--in my neck of the woods. What a blessing.

A tree in my house: So, my tentative plan is to get a Christmas tree the weekend after Thanksgiving, the first weekend in December. I will say that usually I would like to get a tree on Thanksgiving weekend, but we'll be out of town visiting the fam. I'm just lettin' y'all know so no one loses sleep. Don't worry.

A praise report: I am ecstatic to announce the long awaited and much prayed for engagement of Jamie Blackwell to Kent Orr!!

Fall Breakin' it down

I've got two glorious pumpkins sitting on my counter. One with holes, one with stripes. And I've got Christmas lights on top of my cabinets. White ones that glow with the glow of a thousand Who's singing "Da Who Dores" a.k.a "Welcome Christmas" on Christmas morning. Yeah, you know exactly what I'm talkin' about. I love it so much!

This weekend was Andrew's fall break from UNC, which meant that he had a few extra days with no classes to catch up on grading lab reports. We were still able to have some serious fun, though. The first, was Thursday evening. We volunteered to take tickets at the UNC game as a fundraiser for Engineers Without Borders, although in true Andrew Armstrong style we were late. Outside forces were definitely to blame, however, because we had to get cash for the bus and then we had to fight traffic to get to the Friday Center where we parked. Because we were late we ended up ushering, not taking tickets. Usheringggg. Also known as standing for three and a half hours. We had to wear khaki pants and a white collared shirt--they could have just said dress like tools--so we already stood out amongst all the baby blue, garnet and gold. Then they hand us these GINORMOUS plastic rain coat looking jackets that say EVENT STAFF on the backs of them. The jackets might as well have been neoprene--they did not breath at all. Definitely can cancel my appointment with the endocrinologist because I'm positive my sweat glands are in good working order. UNC played FSU, the school from whence my father gained his undergraduate diploma in 1967 (I think), and lost. Yup, FSU won by a field goal after stinking up the field for the entire first half of the game. I think the Seminoles knew it was my dad's birthday, so they decided to win. Long story short, I did not enjoy my first Carolina football experience. But, we ended up going to Top of the Hill on Franklin Street after we left to watch the rest of the game on the big screen, so the night kind of redeemed itself. But we still looked like tools.

Friday, however was a much more glorious day. I did pretty much nothing all day (and by nothing, I mean nothing) and then we went to the North Carolina State Fair on Friday night! Fairs are known for their rides, food, animals, etc.--but most of all, they are known for the people that frequent their dusty, noisy grounds. And those people--you know the ones I'm talking about--were out in droves. I know everyone knows about this phenomenon, I just wonder if some people know that they, in fact, are the people everyone knows about. I'm talking mullets. I'm talking "Hell yeah, I'm American" paraphernalia. I'm talking jorts (jean shorts), tattoos, screaming babies, cigarettes, neon colored bras under sheer white tank tops, and more. Unicorn balloons. Airbrushed personalized clothing items. Cotton candy. Funnel cakes. Fried Snickers. Turkey legs. Infants to octogenarians, everyone was at the fair. Everyone who's anyone, really. All of this not to say that the Durham Armstrongs are exempt from that kind of hillbillyness--I wore my Frye boots, come on now!--but just to say that there are loads of interesting people at the fair. And being that Andrew and I are "people watchers", we saw lots of interesting people. With our jaws slack and our eyes glazed over from taking it all in, we wandered into the animal exhibitions: We saw the biggest horse I've ever seen in all of my days, we saw big fat pigs and their cute little oinking piglets, we saw goats, donkeys, baby chicks, cows, sheep--pretty much Old MacDonald and his farm. Side note, this little girl with a serious lisp was milking a goat for people to watch and answering questions--she was probably the cutest thing I've ever seen. And she was milking that goat like she was born to do it, yanking those teats like nothin' you've ever seen--it was mildly disturbing, but very impressive. Yes, I just said teats. Moving on. Confession...we ate fair food. Yes, I had a corn dog and Andrew had a Polish sausage and then we topped it off with a fried Snickers and fried Oreos. I know. I know. Paula Deen would have been proud. And yes, the treadmill is calling my name. All in all, a fabulous night. Many thanks to our dear friend Ann who got us in fo' free!

Yesterday, Saturday, we had plans to carve pumpkins and watch the Clemson game--and we did both of those things, but we had surprise visitors from Wake Forest come and join us! My old roomie Jess and her boyfriend Ryan were in the area and they came and watched the game with us--so good to catch up, laugh, and drink cider and eat sweet potato cookies and of course--cheer for the Tigers together! And cheer, we did! My heart was in my throat--I thought it was going to be a triple overtime repeat from four years ago. Whew! What a game. When Jess and Ryan left we carved our pumpkins into the glorious, if elementary, structures they are today. Not only did we carve them, we used power tools. Carving kits are for amateurs. :) While we were at Target getting our aforementioned pumpkins, I also picked up a few strands of Christmas lights from the very last aisle in the store that is just beginning to brim with the trimmings and trappings of Christmas. I have been looking forward to this for months.

Da who doooores, da who dore-es/Welcome Christmas, Christmas day!

Dolla dolla bill, y'all

Ahem. Let me just push up my horn rimmed glasses and straighten my pocket protector before I get started: I studied my critical care book today. After three months of silence on the homework/exam front, I decided to stretch my mental faculties by cracking open the fabled textbook and brushing up on some critical illnesses. Delightful. It actually made me feel like a bonafide nurse again. Now. If only I could get a job that would soar above and beyond what I can learn in that book. It's a hard row to hoe, unemployment. I'm no farmer; I lack any type of green appendage. So I'll keep fertilizing, yanking out rocks, and watering, watering, watering until harvest time.

I've cleaned, straightened, organized and re-organized, worked out, checked job statuses, applied for new positions, planned meals, tried on my clothes (it's almost like shopping, except not), painted my toes a collegiate Cajun Shrimp and truthfully, I got bored. So, I actually ventured out of the comfort of my apartment, today--superconscious of my lack of a sense of direction and my South Carolina license plate. One I remedied with my GPS, the other I chalked up as payback for giving tourists in Charleston a hard time. I made it as far as the Southpoint Mall where I discovered myriad stores very much to my liking. Among them, Anthropology, Nordstrom, and (sigh) Barnes & Noble. My home away from home. Something about a Barnes & Noble--the smell, the books--gives me comfort. Maybe it's because anywhere, everywhere Barnes & Noble is, it never changes. The people perusing the shelves of books and magazines change and the queue in front of the Starbucks cafe might parade different looking people, but it's all basically the same. And I like it. Change is good--great--but don't change my Barnes & Noble. I sought greeting cards and Rosetta Stone Spanish, and much to my dismay the price tag on the latter boasted an arm and a leg, two body parts I'm very fond of. I've decided to go ahead and tackle the speaking Spanish dream, if it means I have to teach myself. I'm just not prepared to sell my first born to do it. So, we're still on the hunt for a well priced and worth it teaching tool.

This past weekend Andrew and I drove his truck to Hendersonville to get fixed by apparently the best fix-it man in the southeast--Ronnie. A broken air-conditioner is no laughing matter in the summertime. Too bad we couldn't have collected our perspiration and traded it for parts and labor because we sweated the whole four hours and 250 miles there. We dropped the truck off and wound our way around the mountain to the Davidson River campground where Andrew's family and then some were camped. It made me miss my family and the good ol' days. We passed the Fish Camp and Dolly's--two Cove Creek staples--ever-present in my childhood memories. Gosh, we had it good. My sister and I actually made sticky note count downs until Cove Creek camping weekend, beginning days before school even let out for the summer. We would use one sticky note for one week and tear it into 7 approximately equal parts, the idea being to tear each tab off as the day passed. It was thrilling to watch the yellow papers stuck to our bathroom mirrors dwindle to just a few tabs; our excitement heightened with every passing week, every sticky note in the trash. And finally, Mama and Daddy would pull out the camper and get our boxes down from the attic: time to pack. Joy, rapture! Nothing could elicit such giddiness like a small rectangular cardboard box stocked first with a bathing suit, jean shorts and economy sized trash bags. It's the simple things, y'all.

For tonight, it's leftover spaghetti in light of date night tomorrow (woohoo!). I don't know where we're going or what we're doing and frankly, I don't care. As long as I get some face-time with my husband, I'm good.

Until next time.

So, this is how these things start.

So I decided to purchase a little piece of cyberspace for the Armstrong family (i.e. Andrew and me) to mark our comings and goings of this first year of marriage, moving, grad school, nursing, et cetera. The things written and posted here might be epic and monumental, or microscopic and inconsequential, but they will appear here all the same. I'm hoping that I can keep up with this enough to be able to look back and just remember.

Firstly, the name of our patch of internet is a combo platter of the Armstrong and Smith family mottos: Invictus maneo--I remain unvanquished--and Tenebras expellit et hostes--He expels the darkness and the enemy. I'm still trying to figure out what all that means, but I've always been into "knowing your roots", so to speak, and I actually have spent some time researching and talking with my parents about where we came from (my dad says I was just a twinkle in his eye, but I know better). And once I married into the Armstrong family, it just became a whole new adventure! On our honeymoon to New Brunswick and Nova Scotia we actually bought an Armstrong tartan, which is a Scottish wool blanket woven with the plaid of the Armstrong clan. SUPER COOL. I love it. Anyhow, back to the latin stuff: I feel like people's names and heritage (and family motto) are important, and --can I say it??--prophetic. I think it's awesome that my family name and my new name both speak against the powers of darkness in this world and I hope that I can live into my names and bring the Light into the darkest of dark places.

All that being said, we are moving to Durham, North Carolina on August seventh. Two months and one day after being pronounced man and wife. My emotions are all over the map--and can I say that I have a terrible sense of direction? I'm excited to get into our new apartment and "set up house" (you roll your eyes, but adventure comes in many forms) and I'm excited to find a church and meet people and hmm perhaps get a job (still prayin' hard on that one). But I'm sad, sad to leave home--to leave my family and friends and church and all things familiar. It's funny, I think I had a delayed reaction to getting married because now I'm lamenting that I won't be in my house anymore, or possibly be able to be home for Christmas, or be able to go to the beach any time I want--aren't you supposed to grieve those things, before the "I do's"? Hmm, guess not. But I'd say it's 60/40 excitement. or maybe 55/45. Sheesh. Good times behind, good times ahead.

Before we leave however, there will be a flurry of activity: Noah and Melody to New York City, wedding in Atlanta, seeing friends before we hit the road, and packing. Lots and lots of packing.

So, here's to day one: cheers!