A few days in Charleston: Episode Two--The Pawn Shop

Of course, if I am in Charleston, I'm going to carve out some time to see my ~*gurlies*~, one about to be flung to the far east, and one about to be flung into jewelry design fame. No, seriously. Kelly a.k.a Stinks is going to China to be a missionary. Used to be she might've said you couldn't get me to be a missionary in a foreign land for all the tea in China...and now she just might get to find out exactly how much tea they're talking about. Lauren a.k.a La or Raren is just tapping into the amazing world that is gemology and metalsmithing and is about to take Two Blue Stripes to the next level-like, woah!

And I am lucky enough--no, blessed enough--to call them dear.

Thursday afternoon the three of us convened at Lauren's house, both Kelly and Lauren pleasantly surprised that I was in town, to catch up, ogle Lauren's latest creations, and exclaim that Kelly just purchased her plane ticket to the ends of the earth. It was a glorious reunion, I have to say. It always is.

After an hour or so of chatter, we set out to see if we might find Lauren some "scraps" at a local pawn shop. She'd been dying to go and check it out, but needed reinforcements because, well, it's a pawn shop. Sketchy doesn't really cover it. None of us had ever been into a pawn shop before, and had only envisioned it as a place that burglars frequent to exchange their loot for cash, or that divorcees go to cash in on their dissolved marriages and turn in their rings. But what we didn't imagine was that this pawn shop was a cleverly disguised arsenal with guns of all makes and models lining the walls and glistening behind the fingerprint riddled glass cases. SCARY.



Unfortunately, we left empty handed, astonished at the overpriced junk jewelry but ready to get the heck out of dodge. Good story, huh? Hey, a blogger's got to blog about something, right?

Anyway, we met at Chic-fil-a the next morning to put our Bridge Run Free Chicken Biscuit coupons to good use and then Kelly went to work and Raren and I went to the beach with some peeps. Great day in the mornin'.

If you're totally disillusioned with my story-telling abilities, just wait until Episode Three. There are pictures and they are funny. I'll give you a hint: it's been a long time comin'.

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.

Rain "Orr" shine, they tied the knot!

Looorrrdy do. I've got to sit down. The last six days have been a crazy whirlwind. Andrew and I have been to Hendersonville, Clemson, and Charleston--all in the name of fidelity, family, and friendship. The first leg of our trip was to Hendersonville, to crash for the night and to see Zach's new digs, (and what shiny and spacious digs they are), and catch up with old pals that we haven't seen since I-don't-know-when. Andrew and I went our separate ways on Saturday morning--him to Lake Wateree for another friend's nuptials, me to Pendleton for a sweet, sophisticated bridal luncheon with Jamie and Friends. I left with moments to spare and only took one wrong turn, (even though I had the GPS--hey, sometimes you can't really tell where the purple line is. Geez). Still, I had to shimmy out of my shorts and into my skirt on the road, tempting the Fates and testing my flexibility and concentration. I made it in time for mimosas and excited chatter and the powers that be were none the wiser of my tardiness.

Saturday afternoon, sans husband, the Girls 'n' I made our way to the amphitheater at the Botanical Gardens at Clemson, just in time for the first raindrops to splat on the stones and drive us inside to the Madren Center to rehearse for the Big Day. We dined in style at The Galley with friends and family surrounding Jamie and Kent with kind words, encouragement, laughter, and advice. I'm pretty sure anyone with a propensity for tears was boo-hooing, Yours Truly included. I just can't take it when grandfathers, dads, or brothers get choked up, man! And then, of course, Steph with her life altering friendship with Jamie--I was a goner. For sure. It was one for the books. And for a few, one worth a "To-Go" box.

Sunday fun-day was Wedding Day and all the girls convened in the Bridal suite at the Martin Inn, dresses, shoes, and earrings in hand. Oh, and bobby-pins, hairspray, and waterproof mascara, too. It was a morning of finger foods and up-do's, cameras clicking and champagne glasses clinking, peals of laughter and a few crocodile tears, too. A quick change of ceremony venues because of the deluge outside--not without careful consideration--and we were set to see Jamie and Kent get hitched in a few short hours. The ceremony was beautiful--heartfelt and bursting with Truth, reminding us of our purpose, marriage's purpose, and Christ's heart of love for his people. Jamie was absolutely. STUNNING. I'm so serious. I've seen some beautiful brides in my time, but Jamie was just magazine picture perfect! We partied the afternoon away, and saw the freshly minted Orrs off with Clemson orange pompons (yes, I mean "pompons". Look it up.) and glow-sticks lighting their way.

Then. Andrew, Chris, and Jennigray and I began the arduous journey back to Charleston. Jennigray rode with me until Orangeburg and we giggled and chatted until she had to make the switch. The rest of the way home, I had to blast the radio and slap my leg in time to keep myself awake and alert to make it home. I was "le tired", as the French say. Andrew and I made it home safely, a little after one AM, and were greeted by my parents and my Big Brother, Noah, who is a hot-shot bartender in New York City. No, really. He is. We all hung out for the first part of the week until I had to get back yesterday. Noah taught us how to make some yummy cocktails, but more on that later.

Last night as I was driving back to the Triangle, a hurricane whipped up right above Stella and me and dogged us for about 50 miles. It was terrifying, to say the least. To say the most, I could not see but a few feet in front of my car, (there's a reason they call it "blinding rain"), water covered the road, and Lightening reached her bony, spindly fingers into our atmosphere every few minutes, with booming Thunder as her hair-raising side kick. I wanted to pull over and ugly-face cry. But I didn't. I gripped the steering wheel and squinted into the distance, cursing every 18-wheeler that sped by me, totally disregarding Stella's and my fragile state. We made it, though. A bowl of Multi-Grain Cheerios later and I was in bed, a-snoozin' away.

And I will leave you with this...moments before becoming Mrs. Jamie Blackwell Orr!

I ain't dead, just busy.

A Haiku.

Shopping at the mall
Panties for the Bride to Be
Party all night long

I'll let you guess what my weekend plans are. ;) (Bow-chicka-wow-wow!)

Wham! Bam! Thank-you ma'am!

I went to Charleston on Tuesday to see my three verybestfriends and did not take a single photograph. Maybe it was the hulking lenses the aforementioned bosom buddies were toting compared to my minuscule gold Olympus point n' shoot. Maybe it was the French Onion Soup and Verdi champagne. Maybe it was the OPI rainbow scattered across the countertop. Maybe it was the colossal list of engagements we were stalking on Facebook. Who knows? But I was there, even if I have no proof. The proof is in my heart. *Sniff.*

What a glorious thing it is to go home. And not in a figurative way, but in a literal way. To really know that the little lurch your heart makes when you accelerate over the crest of the Cooper River Bridge (the Second) is not caffeine overload from that last cup of coffee, or exhaustion from making the drive and pressing the radio "scan" button 6,000 times--it's because you've come home. Home. It's funny, too, how I can be sitting in my childhood bedroom and be homesick. Or chatting at the breakfast table with my parents and miss them terribly. It's almost as if I didn't realize how much home meant to me until I really left--not for college, which is transient, a false reality--but when my license changed to another state and my last name changed to one that was not my own, one that I still have trouble scrawling prettily on supermarket receipts. Don't get me wrong--I wouldn't change anything. Not one thing would I alter. Despite all of the changes in my life, Andrew is bar none the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. But I loved my mini-vacation/BFF pow-wow over the past few days. It was wonderful. Rejuvenating, even. I got a little girl time and a little salt air. Good for the heart and the soul. Home, where my thought's escaping/Home, where my music's playing/Home, where my love lies wating/silently for me.

We're off to Hendersonville for the weekend tomorrow afternoon. I got back around 6:30 this evening, did a load of laundry and put it all back into my bag. That was easy. :) To bed for me.

Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.

Me, I want a hula-hoop!

Bebop: slang; to move, go, to proceed, (often followed by on down); Americanism: probably from the nonsense syllables typical of scat singing

I'll tell you one thing. Bebopin' on down from one place to another like the ping pong ball in a pin-ball machine has left me uttering nonsense syllables and puttering around the house in my bathrobe and stocking feet. Well, maybe not quite such a drastic picture, but we have been veritable road runners over the last week or so, from Durham to Hendersonville, Hendo to Charleston, Charleston to Sumter and back again, and in a handful of days, back up to the triangle. Stella sure is gettin' her exercise, and that's a lot more than I can say!

We arrived in Charleston from Hendersonville on Christmas Eve at around five o'clock, allowing time for hugs, hellos, hmm-ing and haw-ing, and then zipped to Saint Andrew's for a birthday party, celebrating a tiny, mewling, squidgy baby boy that changed the world and mankind's destiny as we know it. After church, we painstakingly worked on the last third of a jigsaw puzzle while simultaneously watching the all-time classic National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Christmas morning was spent leisurely opening gifts by the tree, listening to Christmas music and then a quick clean up to facilitate the preparations for the oh-so-delectable Christmas dinner. We all pitched in to get everything on the table--I won't tell you how many sticks of butter I put in the mashed potatoes--and sat down to a spread rivaling Good King Wenceslas' St. Stephen's Day feast. YUM. The rest of the afternoon was spent, firstly recovering from the aforementioned glut, and then reluctantly to enthusiastically singing Christmas carols around the table. We played games and finished the puzzle, save for one missing, gosh-darned piece.

Around 9-ish (because some of us run on more of a Brazilian concept of time), Jennigray (+ Arm Candy), Kelly, Lauren, and Meghan stopped by for a much needed, if short-lived, reunion. Stories of holiday travel woes, Grinch-like happenings, and home-visit hilarity were exchanged, garnering laughter, incredulity, and other colorful responses all around. It was good to squeeze the necks of my lovelies, even if I would have liked it to be a longer visit. Lauren even gave gifts all around, baggies and boxes filled with Christmas delights! Lauren is a Clemson grad now, leaving behind forever the hurry-scurry and sleepless nights of collegiate life. See ya later, 8am classes! Watch for that girl in the headlines--you'll be seeing her name, for sure.

Saturday, Andrew and I went up to Sumter, SC for Jordan and Michael's wedding. It was a pinky-out affair, complete with coat tails and floor length bridesmaids dresses--just lovely. Jordan was stunning, as always, and a perfect match to her handsome groom. We danced the night away with friends we hadn't seen in a coon's age, loving every minute of it. We met some new Alabama folks and kissed the cheeks of dear old friends. Andrew and I drove back to Charleston in the wee hours of the morning, reminiscing on our own wedding and the weddings of our friends. When all of these weddings taper off, we're all going to have to find some other excuse to get together. And if we're talking babies, I call "not it". I'm thinking beach house, Memorial Day weekend, everyone pitch in for food, drinks, sand, sun, and FUN! Yeah. Have your people call my people and we'll work it out.

So, we're back in the Chuck, leaning towards New Year's Eve and popping the cork on that bottle of bubbly. 2010 seems like it will be good to us. I'm resolving to resolve this year, not sure what about, though. There just always seems to be much room for amelioration--I could pick anything to improve upon, methinks. Either way, I stand resolute. So let it be written, so let it be done.

I'll let you know how it goes. In the meantime, soak up the last days of 2009 like a biscuit soppin' up red eye gravy. Mmm-mm. See y'all on the other side!

Nick-nack-paddy-whack

Yestereve, as the sun faded to from pomegranate to peach over Lake Marion, Stella and I threw out our proverbial elbows and barrelled up 95 North from Charleston back to Durham. I spent one night in my old twin bed to help Mama decorate for Christmas--minus the tree, reserved for Jessica and Kawika, (Mele Kalikimaka is the thing to say/on a bright Hawaiian Christmas day!). Mama and I got the two main things squared away: the front of the house and the mantel, so the mini-weekend was a success. For those on the Smith family side of things, the above photo is a tasty preview of the glorious splendor that awaits you down South in just a few short weeks. Get excited. And don't forget your plaid onesie pajamas.

I also got to briefly hug the neck of my beloved Kelly Byrd and wile away the hours, burn the midnight oil, shoot the breeze with my lovely towheaded friend--fitting since she has now pitched her tent and hung her plaque on Sullivan's Island. Ah, to life--l'chaim! [Tevye to God]: I know, I know. We are Your chosen people. But, once in a while, can't You choose someone else?

This past week, Andrew and I had the pleasure of pseudo-hosting Chris and Jennigray as they were en route from Florida to the North country--New York, we thought, but back to New England--New Jersey for a wee bit--back to the blustering, blistering cold of winter, bypassing fall entirely. Interesting that the place they were supposed to go was called "New" and the place they went instead is still called "New". Something going on there, methinks. Sometimes you have to squint your eyes and listen carefully beyond the rumble of the U-haul for God's voice and direction. And bring your woolies--as Beckie would say--it's going to be a cold one. I commend them on their flexibility and steadily pleasant attitudes. Where most people would dissolve into tears and frustration--they just laugh and shrug and go with the flow. Nicely done, Hewitts, nicely done.

In a totally different subject category, I have a bone to pick with the fashion industry about this trend I have a love/hate relationship with. There are many things women sacrifice in order to look their most fashionably best: expanding their lungs fully in order to take a complete breath, any semblance of balance, the ability to cry without looking like the Joker, being able to lift their arms beyond shoulder height without bisecting the garment in question, freezing to death/sweating to death...the list could go on forever. This one small clothing item I have had to deal with quite a bit recently is the aptly named: Tights. They are the chameleon of clothing: they could be an accessory, an undergarment, in some unfortunate cases pants (you know who I'm talking about), but whatever category they fall into in your closet, they are everywhere lately. Including on my body. I thought that somewhere around third grade my days of wearing crotch-sagging, ankle-pooling, behind the knee-running, opaque tights were over. It seems that the universe is chuckling at me, because tights are one of the biggest must-have trends this winter--and I will admit, they are very practical and cute in many, many ways. The patterns, the colors--short skirts and high boots--YUM. I really do love it. But I just have this thingggg about wearing something actually named for how it feels to wear it: tiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.ss.ssss. With an "s", meaning plurally tight. Twice as tight. Two tights, not just one. Got it? And no matter who you are, or how stylish you are, if you lifted up your dress in church, you know your tights would be under your armpits, because that's just how they are. It's roll control, it's breathability, it's sag prevention. Whatever your flavor, your tights are always soaring above your umbilicus. Don't get me wrong, I like them. I wear them--in all colors of the earth-toned rainbow. But I don't feel bad--not one iota of shame, regret, sorrow, or penitence-- when I sprint for my closet after church to peel them off, take a breather, and put on my jeans.

As Forest would say, "And that's all I have to say about that".

And one more thing before you go

It's Kelly Byrd's birthday. Her 23rd.

An Ode:

O, my high flying Kelly Byrd:
she flies on the heights of the written word

Her birth will forever be marvelous in my sight
For without her friendship my life would not be alright

She lives there, and I live here
O, but to live what some would call "near"

I hope that this day leaves her glad
For her 23rd year will certainly not be all that bad

That is, if I am within it more than without
Which will be--it must be!--without a doubt.

Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday, dear Kelly Byrd
Happy Birthday to you!

Tha End.

Apples to apples

Sunday afternoon. Cool, overcast sky. Motionless trees only just beginning to blush in tune with the calendar date. October, "eighth month" in Latin (although, no longer the eighth month), synonymous with Fall in the Northern Hemisphere and Spring in the Southern Hemisphere. Funny how that works. The beginnings of death and life, and all that separates them is the tilt of the planet. Death and life. And all that separates them is the bent of our mindset.

The beginning of my weekend was spent in Clemson with friends most dear to my heart. I drove in on Thursday and came home Saturday evening in order to make it to church on Sunday morning. We couldn't get to Clemson fast enough and all of a sudden it was over, until next time. We reveled in our new found freedom of graduation and plans and hopes and all that the Lord has been doing since that fateful May when we traversed that graduation stage. Not all of us, of course, but Lauren might as well be graduated. Any minute now. We spoke of selling out, of making our passions our vocations, we spoke of life, art, love--love--and of this something that won't let us be free of each other, even if we wanted to be. As we nibbled on pumpkin bread, Kelly read us an excerpt from her latest project, one that we all want her to finish, if only to see ourselves from the outside. So what if the names are changed. Sell out, all of you, please. Sell out to the One who sold out for you. Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus!/Oh for grace to trust him more!

Andrew went to the U2 concert last night at the RBC center (!!!!!!) which consisted of waiting in line from 7am until concert time, which was approximately 7pm. He said it was worth it. I believe him. We fell into bed, exhausted, and were almost late for church this morning. The sermon this morning was challenging--talking about modern day idols in our hearts, i.e. anything that we think we just cannot live without or anything that we go to when we don't know the answer or are struggling or burdened that is outside of God. Not just that, but how those "weeds" can strangle the roots of the Truth and distort our interpretation of who God is, what he has for us, and what he has for others. One example was "vacation", and how sometimes our society can be so stressed out that some people feel that they literally may perish without a vacation. Most of the examples cited were not bad things, per se, like careers, vacation, etc. but things that could easily become the center of our attentions, affections, and so on and so forth. We heard about Balaam's donkey from Numbers and how the iniquity in the heart of the king of Moab and the iniquity in the heart of the prophet Balaam so got in the way that the Lord used a donkey to stop Balaam from cursing the nation of Israel. Our "homework" was to do a "google" search of our own hearts and ask the Lord to reveal the things in us that we worship that are not him. Chewy, gritty, hard to face. But so very healthy. Our leadership class was partly on the Father Heart of God and Evangelism (two lessons each class period). Both were very good, especially the God the Father lesson. In other news, Catch the Fire has begun the process of buying a church building that will be a more permanent and accessible home for the members of CTF. We are so excited and are believing God and his promises--the work he has begun already will come to completion.

On the calendar this month is Collin's fifteenth birthday (today, actually), Jordan's bachelorette weekend, Andrew and Christy's wedding, and Halloween. Tonight, we rest, do homework, laundry, meal plan, and have dessert and coffee with Joanna and Graham at their new apartment--well, Joanna's new apartment until Graham joins her in November. I'm also going to begin changing my name this week-- social security, driver's license, etcetera. Hopefully I will survive the ordeal and come out on the other side relatively unscathed.

How 'bout them apples?

Fun-strating: (noun) "Golly, dealing with car problems with my best friends sure was fun-strating!"

I can't believe it's August third. What changes a year can bring. This weekend, starting with Thursday evening, was slam jammed with chaos and fun-strating activities. Fun-strating? yes, I made that word up. I believe the proper definition is when your activities are less than optimal, but the people you are with are amusing and fun to be with, and you really don't have anything better to do, but you might possibly rather be doing something else. Watch for it on the SAT.

As in the aforementioned post, Thursday night a gaggle of us went out to Riveroaks to see Jennigray and celebrate her birthday for just a few hours in-between final destinations. So short, it was practically a layover. We had delicious cupcakes from Cupcake and big glasses of milk and sat around the kitchen table giving updates on our very different, and very intertwined lives. We left around two o'clock--so tired, but refreshed and happy.

Friday, I do not remember very well. Must have been a sugar hang-over.

Saturday, Meghan and Ruthie and I drove down (or over?) to McDonough, Georgia for Ben and Jenn's wedding. After scouring the roads for a Chic-fil-a and finding ourselves successful, we rolled into town around four o'clock to the "ring-ring" of my cell-phone with Andrew on the other end telling me that Dane's car was broken down on the side of the road. Three hours and some major scrambling later, we were sitting in the white wooden chairs at the outdoor wedding, listening to the rumble of thunder in the distance, and praying that the rain would hold off. A few people felt drops. Everyone eyed their neighbor, not knowing protocol on who gets up first in the event of a downpour at a wedding. We stayed glued to our seats with our shiny orange and pink programs shielding our hair and faces from the ever-increasing drip, drip, drops of rain. Andrew played two Shane & Shane songs in the drizzle. Enter mothers, grandmothers, groomsmen and bridesmaids. It's now raining, frankly raining. The bride and her father walked down the aisle strewn with pink rose petals in a pretty convincing downpour. She reached her groom, the pastor prayed, the rain stopped. And God is good.

The rest of the weekend we dealt with Dane's Jetta's clutch failure and Duane the tow truck driver. We drove home in Stella Dijon, the Avalon, all five of us packed in like sardines in my so-called--and so cool--luxury vehicle. I got home in the rain, again, and headed back out to meet Jenni and Brittany for supper. A last hurrah with some of my favorites before the move.

Today was a delightful day of trying to burn off the hot dogs, pizza, chocolate covered bon-bons and other delectable self-esteem killers from this weekend. Andrew and I walked the I'On trail--50 minutes of mosquitoes and dripping sweat. Yum. I cleaned my bathroom and spackled nail holes in my room, ready to erase forever the lime-green of my high school neon obsession. Back to eggshell for me.

Some praise: Ben and Jenn got married, Andrew got in-state NC tuition for grad-school, I got a call from my Duke contact about a possible job. Possible is good. Better than impossible. Thank you Lord.

The rest of the week will no doubt be filled with packing, organizing, down-sizing, upgrading, moving out, moving in, and moving on. Time to roll up our sleeves and get to work.

Of things hoped for.

Today began with errands and ended with a howling low country thunderstorm-- and had the beach with Lauren and Kelly sandwiched in between. Out under the big sky we squealed in incredulity over dreams coming true, and come true. Kelly keeps saying this summer's on crazy pills. It's true, look it up. Our friends and family are splattered across the US-- a sister in Los Angeles and a brother in New York City, a dear friend in Connecticut and many more dear friends all over the expanse of this great country. We all have used this summer as a launch pad to get our dreams off the ground, but in the meantime it has been a last soak-it-up of childhood, whimsy, and summer sun. With August a hair's breadth away we're all feeling the push of the second hand and the marking of the calendar.

It's a wonder this Charleston summer has been so full of water. Not the salt of the ocean or the chlorine of the neighborhood pool--but in life, not just in leisure. I have never been more keenly aware of our world's universal solvent until these past few months. The drought is over (symbolic?) in South Carolina and it rains nearly every afternoon, like it did when we were kids. If this were the travel channel, it would indeed be dubbed "the rainy season". My parents exclaim over how many inches with our back porch measuring glass. Andrew and I washed each other's feet at our wedding in June. Andrew is going to study water filtration and sanitation at UNC. And Joshua had to step into the Jordan before its waters were staved off upstream. There's plenty more where that came from.

At the end of April, August was so far off my radar that I really had given it no thought. Now in its balmy hands it holds my new home, a job, and hope for the future and things unseen. Those hopes range from putting my house together well to learning to be a good--great--wife. And of course, the unspeakable--becoming a nurse. Let me just say, Chapel Thrill has a lot to live up to--these first 22 years have been quite a ride. The next two are yet unwritten.

For now, for the next week, I will scarcely blink as I drive around my hometown and spend the evenings with my family around the dinner table.

On the edge of nine, I should think most would head towards bed with a book and a cup of tea, but I'm off to Riveroaks on the Wando River to reunite with Jennigray, Lauren, Meghan and Kelly. Only in town for a moment, but long enough for a cupcake. ;)