If Stones Could Talk... Coupled With Some Baby Talk

In the Pink

2012-02-08T18:27:00.000-06:00

I bought these Pom Poms made by Martha Stewart at Big Lots when they had them on sale for a whopping $2.00. The Daughter and I used them at least four times. Then they died. I think we got our money's worth.

I also think I would have liked this pink rug in my room...when I was five.

Butterfly Rug by Surya

Anthropologie has these darling loafers. If I had an extra $168 lying around, I might buy them.Too bad. I don't.

www.anthropologie.com

Their rose knob is a little better priced at $8.00. I think I could probably swing a couple of those.

www.anthropologie.com

Antiquaria is one of my favorite day-dreaming sites. How about this mixed place setting of china, with delightful touches of pink? And the best part is that each place setting may vary slightly, but each piece fits cohesively with the others to whom it is married...so you could be in for a delightful surprise when you open the box!

from antiquaria.bigcartel.com

Find these Matouk scalloped bed linens at Neiman-Marcus' "Pink Sale!" Warning: these are definitely a budget buster. Perhaps you could find a way to justify it by saying that Matouk linens last a long time. Might be worth a try.

Add caption

And no pink collection would be complete without something from the iconic Thomas Pink of London's Jermyn Street.

However, I would be hard-pressed to get The Husband in this.

or these.

And in another life and another time, I might ride this pink gem down the Amalfi Coast. My long blonde hair would be blowing in the wind. Oh wait, I am a brunette.

This little Vespa is bargain priced at under 5K...for somebody.

Given all of these options, who wouldn't want to be in the pink!

Handyman Happiness

2012-02-08T08:31:00.000-06:00

Flannery O'Connor tells us that a "good man is hard to find," and I would add the additional admonition that a handy man is nigh unto impossible to find...that is...unless you are married to one, are the daughter of one, birthed one yourself, or are one of those individuals who is fortunate enough to know Ron Woodside. I don't know how we stumbled across this gold mine of a handyman, but I am so very thankful that we did. Before Ron came along, the "Honey Do" list at my house was the "Honey Don't."

Ron is here!

Here he is installing new weather
stripping under my front door!

Ron brings handyman happiness to my house. When I see his white truck pull up in my driveway on time just as he said he would, I am either filled with relief or nearly giddy with joy. I know it is gonna be good when Ron is around. In addition to just being plain ole "handy," this honest-as-the-day-is-born man is a certified electrician and plumber. You name it and he can do it: drywall installation and repair, painting, stone work, installation of tile, grouting, rewiring, mold removal, rebuilding you-name-it and repairing furniture. No task is too great or too small. In my house, Ron has done everything from replacing lightbulbs in those nearly inaccessible places to second story painting (he uses a safety rope when he is up on the tall ladders). He likes children, dogs and people. He makes friends wherever he goes. If you comment and leave me your email address, I will think long and hard about sending you his information so you can find out for yourself why this man is in such demand. I won't charge you any money or ask for references, but I will ask that you treat him with the honor and respect that any craftsman deserves. Otherwise, you are just gonna have to spender your time wondering what you've missed.

Here is my new front door surround, ordered
and installed by Ron! He also painted
and installed new weather stripping.
No more drafty front door for me!

Oh, and by the way, thanks to Ron I have a functioning light in my shower for the first time in twenty-six years. I don't know whether I really want to see everything that I can now see in the glaring bright light. Some things are better kept in the dark.

The Gift of Silence

2012-02-06T10:02:00.000-06:00

Learning to listen in the silence. Learning to be silent. Learning to just be. Learning that stillness can be a form of worship. I am undertaking a spiritual directions group with a small group of women, something this middle-aged woman has never done before. I have been in Bible Studies off and on for thirty something years. I have diligently filled notebooks with pages of notes, completed the blanks in workbooks, read countless Christian books and devotionals, memorized scripture, and invested time, energy, prayer and devotion learning all that I could about my Savior and Lord.
However, it was not until I began this group that I have begun to realize just how busy I have been. For days upon end and years upon years I have been busy, busy, busy. It's a busyness of the soul, fed by this information everywhere, instant gratification, and privileged lifestyle we lead. Now I am learning about a different type of devotion. One that does not require an extension of energy on my part. It is even different from waiting. It is resting. It is stretching me in ways that I have never been stretched before.
This is not easy for me. There are days when the stillness and the silence are deafening. There are days when they are comforting and healing. There are days when I run right back to my old emotionally energetic ways.
But I am learning. I am learning that there is a new way to worship.
The words of the prophet Habakkuk are taking on a new meaning for me, "The Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth keep silent before him."
Thomas a' Kempis also obviously understood this type of worship:
"Thou brightness of eternal glory, thou comforter of the pilgrim soul, with thee is my tongue without voice, and my very silence speaketh unto Thee. Come, oh, come; for without Thee I shall have no joyful day or hour; for Thou art my joy, and without thee my table is empty, Praise and glory be unto Thee; let my mouth, my soul, and all creatures together, praise and bless Thee."

Super Bowl Fever

2012-02-04T18:42:00.000-06:00

The Husband is at the Super Bowl once again. He leaves town every year on the Friday before the big game and heads out early so that he will not miss out on any of the attendant festivities. And trust me, there are many. He is in hog heaven. In the weeks before the game, he spends hours pouring over maps and researching where all of the different activities will be. He will have his game face on for three solid days. He will not sleep, and he will only eat ballpark food.
I, also, am a happy clam because I will be joining our friends for annual Super Supper Bowl and watching a movie with the women (or almost all of the women because out of the crowd that gathers there are two women who actually prefer to watch the game.) But thankfully, it is the kind of gathering that lets you do whatever floats your boat. So I will be watching a movie. Some of you are groaning. Even though I have been fortunate enough to attend three Super Bowls myself, it is not exactly my cup of tea. I don't appreciate the full experience that pro football affords its many fans (The Husband included). The NFL season is just too long and my team always seems to fade in the finish. So plenty of food, a vintage movie, and the company of old friends suit me just fine.
Each of us is charged with bringing a couple of appetizers or some other delectable treats for the group to share. That's why I call it the Supper Bowl...we begin about five and we graze and we graze and we graze until we are all wishing we had not eaten so much. Then after the National Anthem is sung, most of the women tromp upstairs and sprawl out on the big comfy bed or the floor to watch a movie. It's the best part of the evening. The room is dark and the movie is usually something 99% of us have never seen before. It's a tradition. It began nearly thirty years ago and has been going on ever since. We started when our children were babies. Now our children have children of their own.
Some of the people who come are folks I only see one time each year. But I look forward each year to greeting them and sharing the evening getting caught up on what is going on in their lives. This Super Bowl Party is one tradition that is familiar and comforting, and besides, it is a great way to spend a Sunday evening that has apparently become a national pastime....(even though I think that's supposed to be baseball.) But in our family, the great American pastime is the Super Bowl or the Super Supper Bowl...take your pick!
Thankfully, these are foods that I absolutely and categorically know we WON'T be eating on Sunday!

Cheese curls and rice krispie treats? And those little summer sausage goalposts?
Ummm...not for me!

Last time I counted there were too many men on the field
Oops, this one deserves a big penalty.

I confess this looks totally nasty to me.
Stale bread and warm deli meat.
Besides, I keep wondering who has handled all this food
and how long has it been out of the refrigerator?
No worries, somewhere the men will eat it...

all photos were found here

Get Crafty for Valentine's

2012-02-03T18:41:00.000-06:00

I am mad about the ideas on the blog thinkgarnish.com. It is such a serious love affair that I am actually thinking I might have to buck my own trend and get back into the kitchen and try out some of their ideas. Oh, and of course, I shall have to buy some of their products. But the great thing about this lovely little design company is that you won't have to break the bank to do so. Here's a preview of just a few of their fabulous ideas and products!

Deliver a cuppa to someone special!

Pez! Does anyone besides me remember Pez?

This one is called "Wear your heart on your straw!"
Gotta love it!

It's just old fashioned glassine bags, a little baker's twine,
and some yummy sugar cookies!

Signs and Wonders

2012-02-02T21:00:00.000-06:00

I saw these in my yard today. Daffodils in Nashville blooming at the end of January. It made me feel a little like Dorothy when she told Toto, "We are not in Kansas anymore." I ask myself, "Is this really Nashvegas on the second day of FEBRUARY?" I am pretty sure that this is neither Kansas nor Florida.
Perhaps I have been teleported to a parallel universe where winter no longer exists. If so, I am thankful. Make that oh so thankful for a day when windows and doors can be flung wide open. Where morning dew glitters on the ground without the threat of frost. Where breezes lightly ruffle your hair as you drive down the highway with all four car windows down and your arm waving and swooping in the wind. Ahh. I will not lie. It's good to breathe this air. Little Two and I unpacked the stroller and took a walk at 3:00 pm. We stopped to watch the creek babbling happily over the rocks. Little Two clapped her hands with glee. I danced a jig.
Today, I wore a cardigan sweater over a sleeveless top, with a skirt, no less. No coat, no boots, no scarves, no gloves. This is my kind of February.
So long winter of my discontent. I am embracing this gift of spring!

Delightful. Utterly delightful!

Thirty-Eight Days and Counting

2012-02-01T22:27:00.000-06:00

It won't be too long until these two begin their lives as husband and wife. We are counting down the days, and our hearts are filled with joy and anticipation.
The Lord knew what He was talking about when He said, "It is not good for the man to be alone, therefore I will create a companion, a helper for him." We believe the lovely red-haired young woman you see in the pictures is just exactly who God has had in His heart from the beginning of time for our eldest son.

And this is the new family our son will be gaining when the two become one

And what's even better...we love his new family, too! God is good!

All of these beautiful photographs were taken by the bride's mother

Valentine Inspiration on Etsy

2012-02-01T08:33:00.000-06:00

We have never been big "Valentine's Day" folks around here. My birthday falls the week before Valentine's, and The Husband is always fresh out of inspiration because he has spent all of his emotional and creative energy on my birthday. Besides, my hips could not take two dinners in one week. So I am mostly content with a card and very happy when they are accompanied by some flowers. Hint. Hint.
However, it seems as though the rest of the world goes Valentine crazy! If you are one of those folks who loves a little February event to lift you out of the winter doldrums, boy, do I have some inspiration for you. Here you go!

Whooo Loves You? I Dooo!

You can always start small with this little guy. I don't know about you, but he's already got my heart strings tied up!

If you like to do over the top, and he or she's into vintage in a big way...this might win you some brownie points! Besides, it's perfect for two!

For those love birds who want to cuddle on the porch, you can find this gem here!

And here are a couple of options to warm the bench up when you are not there!

Sweet and simple! That's how I like it! Find it here.

Pillows, like couples, should come in pairs!

Some hand-stenciled burlap goodness!

I don't drink much tea, but I find the sentiment charming!

But this one, well, this one sings my song!

Now that's love....

Finally, this one takes me back to elementary school...

Cept in my day it was "Yes, No, or Maybe..."
http://www.etsy.com/shop/DigitalThings?ref=seller_in

Whatever you decide, make sure that the ones you love know how much you love them. And for that, no gift is necessary.

Grandmother Treats on Etsy

2012-01-30T21:03:00.000-06:00

All I know is that if I had a big blank wall ANYWHERE, I would have to put one of these wall decals in my home. I raised three sons and a daughter and sometimes I felt like I lived in a house full of monkeys. Besides, seeing this on a daily basis would certainly make me smile. Could there possibly be a better rationale for a purchase than that?

Simple Shapes has a great touch for the graphics. Check her out!

And all the way from Jolly Ole England, I bring you the incomparable Belle and Boo. I have ordered from these delightful young ladies before, and trust me, they never disappoint. Isn't this coat the cutest thing you have EVER seen?!

You better act quickly, they are running a 30% off sale on all winter items. It's too good to pass up!
http://www.etsy.com/shop/belleandboo?ref=seller_info

And if you don't want clothes or art prints, Belle and Boo have a wonderfully priced birthday and stationary line. Here is one of the featured items from their blog:

courtesy of belleandboo.blogspot.com

Simply charming!

And from the land down under, comes this precious little vintage chenille Babushka doll. No button eyes to worry about, it's a wonderful child-friendly toy just waiting for a cuddle!

http://www.etsy.com/shop/leahkl?ref=seller_info

And this little gem is perfect for those burgeoning toddler imaginations. I spent a lot of time with my children pouring beans and rice into stainless steel cups...this looks like so much more fun!

Applenamos has a whole collection of handmade wooden toys based on the
Waldorf and Montessori principles of education.

Finally, I am also all agog over these darling little playhouse sets. Lizzie Boutique has hit a homerun with all four of her options, each with a different story and child-friendly felt characters!

Perfect for storytime with a toddler and a grandmother!

Happy Shopping or Happy Looking, take your pick on Etsy!

Wedding Treats from Etsy

2012-01-28T21:00:00.000-06:00

Wedding bells are about to ring at our house. I cannot help but be excited, and have been having some fun wandering around Etsy as I admire their marvelous collection of charming wedding wares. Take a look at some of the special delights I found!

You can find this gorgeous brooch bouquet (perfect for a vintage wedding) here:
http://www.etsy.com/listing/91686187/brooch-bouquet-crystal-brooch-custom?ref=v1_other_2

Can't you just see this romantic touch of whimsy from The Lonely Heart
woven in and out of the table decor where the Bride and Groom will sit?!

Bring the outdoors in or add a woodland touch with these moss-covered letters.
You can purchase them at Teresa's Plants and More!

It would be fun for the wedding couple to pull these out and
dine with them at every anniversary!
Bella Jackson Studios can stamp whatever you
wish on vintage silverware, so get creative!

Don't you find this modern interpretation of the traditional "love birds" utterly charming?
I wanted to purchase one of nearly everything in Cotton Bird's Store

And these place cards look just like letterpress! What's not to love!
Find them at the Scarlet Sage Tree!

A Pair of Christmas Stars

2012-01-25T09:01:00.000-06:00

I am finally getting around to posting a few pictures from Christmas. I am somewhat hampered by the fact that my computer left click button is no longer functioning which means that I cannot successfully crop photos. However, I am confident that there is a way to overcome this short of going out and purchasing a mouse, but I haven't figured this out yet...but I digress.
I am enclosing some pictures of the two stars of Christmas. Of course I am referring to the two little girls who shine brightly in our hearts and bring us continual joy, even when they are cranky, grumpy, or out of sorts. Here's to Little One and Little Two and the wonder of Christmas as reflected in their eyes!

Little Two is exploring all of the toys that Nonna and Pappy
keep under the tree....just for her and Little One!

Little One and Little Two working their first puzzle
together; Little Two wants to eat the pieces.
Little One is very patient with her!

Cousins helping each other....

Little One is thinking,
"My, my, what precious cheeks Little Two has..."
We all agree!

Nonna reading a book to her favorite girls

It's a tradition that everyone has to come "down the stairs" to see
what Santa brought...in this case, it is "Grand Santa."

Sharing a little Christmas love...

Eldest son with new Golden Retriever puppy:
Miss Merry Love Christmas,
otherwise known as Lovey.
What was I thinking?
Do I need a little more chaos in my life?!!

The big children who still want Santa to come visit them!
Which, of course, he does!

More Christmas Love

2012-01-23T21:04:00.001-06:00

I am blessed to know a young woman who is an amazing graphic designer, the inimitable Emily Holmes, purveyor of Emily O. Holmes Custom Paper Lovelies. She has designed our Christmas card the past two years, and I could not have been more pleased. She will also be doing the rehearsal dinner invitations for the upcoming wedding of our eldest son. In addition to being a delightful person, Emily is creative, tireless, prompt, and can work within a budget. In short, she is a dream!

Take a look a some of her beautiful design work, followed by a peek at our Christmas card!

See what I mean?!!!

And if you give her a call, tell her I sent you!

all graphics are the work of Emily O. Holmes (emilyoholmes.com)

Christmas Redux

2012-01-22T14:04:00.000-06:00

I barely got some (and some not at all) of my Christmas cards in the mail this year. I was not able to go my typical extra mile to put on my over-the-top, grandiose and glorious Christmas celebration that I always somehow end up doing. It was instead a time to travel the week before Christmas to bury a loved one. Hence, out of necessity, every plan was adjusted, some things were cancelled, and everything was scaled back. And to my surprise, I found that I not only survived the necessary adjustment, I discovered that I was blessed by it. For one week after Christmas I was flat on my back with the most horrific flu. It knocked me down and out for ten whole days. Next year you can bet your bottom dollar that I will be getting a flu shot. I also had a lot of time to reflect during those ten days, and I determined that I will gladly be continuing some form of a scaled back and scaled down Christmas. I am learning in my old age that I don't have to kill myself propagating some vision of Christmas that apparently only exists in my head. It took a funeral and the flu for the good Lord to get it through this thick skull of mine. Simpler is better. Read that again and say it aloud if you struggle from the same delusional notions of Christmas that I did: Simpler is better. It's not more holy, it's just better. Remember that everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial. I am learning what this means. And thankfully, God is oh so very good to this incredibly stubborn and oft times, dense, woman.
For me Christmas began with the Ish Girls' Bible Study Christmas celebration of giving our "Favorite Things." It was sweet and tender and lovely as each of us felt the joy and love of the others and of the Christ as we gifted one another with our favorite things.
Here we are in all of our joy and silliness!

Obviously, some of us are sillier than others!

Can you tell that I keep my house too cold for these young lovelies?!

It was a precious day with precious women who continually inspire me with their love for the Lord, their love for their families, and their commitment and service to their communities.

A Magnificent Obsession

2012-01-18T07:34:00.000-06:00

Sigh...the long awaited debut of Season 2 of Masterpiece Theatre's famed Downton Abbey has finally arrived. So these days I am living Sunday to Sunday as I immerse myself once again in this fascinating commentary on life in England just before and during the onset of the Great World War. History buffs will find themselves just as fascinated as those who enjoy the counterplay and commentary on the outmoded caste system of class that once dominated British life. And what's not to love about the changing fashions and the glorious sets which give us all a glimpse into what is sure to seem a fantasy world. Here's to Downton Abbey. If you have not yet made its acquaintance, I urge you to do so! Warning: it could be hazardous to your Sunday evenings and your Monday mornings and all of your daydreams, musings and random ponderings throughout the week! And while you decide, here are some lovelies upon which you may feast your eyes...my, my, that sounds terribly British, does it not?!

The cast, the house and the Golden Globe!

Dame Maggie Smith steals every scene in which she appears...even when all she does is raise an eyebrow!

A veritable masterpiece of fashion design!

Looks just like one of my intimate dinner parties at home...

Nobody does a uniform better than the British...don't you agree?!

Fashion forward Lady Sybil bares the ankle in her harem...gasp...pants!

The Updated Book List from The Mom

2012-01-10T19:27:00.000-06:00

I have been second guessing myself about this update for about a year. If I add another book, does it mean I have to remove one? What angst that thought inspires! My favorite books are like old friends. They hang around in my head for a long time and are sometimes by best companions. As I have said before, the List is almost akin to a living entity for me; it is in a fluid state, a state of flux, and I am constantly sifting through various books to see if they are worth making it onto "The List." So, please bear with me; I will probably find myself continuously editing this, or at least adding to it. I am already asking myself, "Why, oh why, did I ever commit to listing my 100 favorite books?" They are not in order of preference, because on any given day, the order can change.
A special note: I am not listing the Bible on my list because it is THE BOOK, the one book that has ultimately changed my life more than any other, and I believe with all of my heart that it was not written by mortal men, but is the inspired Word of God. The Bible therefore has a separate category all its own so that is why you will not find it on the list, even though I am tempted to put the Psalms of David, Job, Romans, and Revelation as four of the books on my list...

Again, in no particular order:

My Top Twenty-Five -- Give or Take a Few

East of Eden ~ John Steinbeck
Brothers Karamazov ~ Dostoevsky
Chronicles of Narnia ~ C.S. Lewis
The Lord of the Rings Trilogy ~ J.R.R. Tolkien
The Fountainhead ~ Ayn Rand
Absalom, Absalom and Go Down Moses ~ William Faulkner
The Great Divorce ~ C.S. Lewis
Night ~ Elie Wiesel
King Lear, Hamlet, Twelfth Night ~ William Shakespeare
The Man Who Was Thursday ~ G.K. Chesterton
All the King's Men ~ Robert Penn Warren
Shadow of the Wind ~ Carlos Ruiz Zafon
One Thousand Gifts ~ Ann Voskamp
Frederick Buechner's Autobiographical Series: Telling Secrets, Sacred Journey, Now and Then
Can You Drink the Cup and The Wounded Healer ~ Henry Nouwen
The Scent of Water ~ Elizabeth Goudge
Anna Karenina ~ Leo Tolstoy
Hyperspace ~ Michio Kaku
Wise Blood ~ Flannery O'Connor
The Sparrow ~ Mary Doria Russell
Tale of Two Cities ~ Charles Dickens
Pride and Prejudice ~ Jane Austen
The Glass Castle ~ Jeanette Walls
Prince of Tides, Beach Music, South of Broad ~ Pat Conroy
Cry the Beloved Country ~ Alan Paton
Out of Africa ~ Isak Dinesin
The Dispossessed ~ Ursula Le Guin
The Dune Series ~ Frank Herbert

The BEST of the REST, at least according to The Mom...

Pensees ~ Blaise Pascal
Seven Storey Mountain ~ Thomas Merton
Ulysses ~ James Joyce
Paradise Lost ~ Milton
Odyssey ~ Homer
Inferno ~ Dante
The Art of the Commonplace ~ Wendell Berry
Pilgrim at Tinker Creek ~ Annie Dillard
To Kill A Mockingbird ~ Harper Lee
The Tapestry ~ Edith Schaeffer
Peace Like a River ~ Leif Enger
Ragamuffin Gospel ~ Brennan Manning
A Wrinkle in Time ~ Madeleine L'Engle
Winston Churchill, The Last Lion Multi-volume Biography ~ William Manchester
Of Human Bondage ~ Somerset Maugham
Walking the Bible and Where God Was Born ~ Bruce Feiler
Reading Lolita in Tehran ~ Azir Nafisi
Anne of Green Gables (Series) ~ Lucy Maud Montgomery
The Dark Is Rising (Series) ~ Susan Cooper
The Children of Men ~ P.D. James
The Collected Poems of Robert Frost ~ Robert Frost
Exodus ~ Leon Uris
Jane Eyre ~ Charlotte Bronte
Wuthering Heights ~ Emily Bronte
Age of Innocence ~ Edith Wharton
Huckleberry Finn ~ Mark Twain
On Walden Pond ~ Henry David Thoreau
Lost Horizon ~ James Hilton
Tess D'Urbervilles ~ Thomas Hardy
Contact ~ Carl Sagan
Candide ~ Voltaire
The Road ~ Cormac McCarthy
Kite Runner and A Thousand Splendid Suns ~ Khalid Hosseini
House of Sand and Fog ~ Andre Dubus
A Lesson Before Dying ~ Ernest Gaines
The Awakening ~ Kate Chopin
Beloved ~ Toni Morrison
Time Traveler's Wife ~ Audrey Niffenegger
The Historian ~ Elizabeth Kostova
The Help ~ Kathryn Stockett
Edgar Sawtelle ~ David Wroblewski
Integrity ~ Stephen Carter
Redeeming Love ~ Francine Rivers
Catcher in the Rye ~ J.D. Salinger
1984 ~ George Orwell
The Stranger ~ Albert Camus
Metaphorphosis ~ Franz Kafka
Faust ~ Goethe
Doctor Zhivago ~ Boris Pasternak
Mists of Avalon ~ Marion Zimmer Bradley
Le Morte D'Arthur ~ Thomas Malory
Bullfinch's Mythology ~ Bullfinch
The Constant Gardener ~ John Le Carre
Hunger Games ~ Suzanne Collins
A Severe Mercy ~ Sheldon Vanauken
Hudson Taylor's Spiritual Secret ~ Howard Taylor
Amy Charmichael: A Chance to Die ~ Elizabeth Eliot
Christy ~ Catherine Marshall
Catherine the Great ~ Henri Troyat
Ten Little Indians, et al ~ Agatha Christie
Works of Edgar Allen Poe ~ Edgar Allen Poe
The Civil War ~ Bruce Catton
Band of Brothers ~ Stephen Ambrose
Lonesome Dove Series ~ Larry McMurtry
Snow Falling on Cedars ~ David Guterson
Joy Luck Club ~ Amy Tan
Memoirs of a Geisha ~ Arthur Golden
Shogun ~ James Clavell
Pillars of the Earth ~ Ken Follett

My Favorite Books I Read as a Child and Loved Again When I Re-Read Them as an Adult

Winnie the Pooh ~ A.A. Milne
Black Beauty ~ Anna Sewell
Little Women ~ Louisa May Alcott
Black Stallion Series ~ Walter Farley
Last of the Mohicans ~ James Fenimore Cooper
The Velveteen Rabbit ~ Margery Williams
The Secret Garden ~ Frances Hodgson BurnettE.
Where the Wild Things Are ~ Maurice Sendak
Heidi ~ Johannah Spyri
Treasure Island ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
Peter Pan ~ J.M. Barrie
The Sword in the Stone ~ T.H. White
Charlotte's Web ~ E. B. White
A Swiftly Tilting Planet ~ Madeleine L'Engle
Misty of Chincoteague ~ Marguerite Henry

Addendum: (I knew that this was going to happen)
Special Note: There are so many books that I could have included and did not include, but I tried to list those books that changed or altered my perspective on life, influenced my worldview, or challenged me in some way; I have also tried to remember those books that stayed with me long after the pages were closed. Some might quibble with the fact that the list is so weighted heavily in the area of fiction, but the majority of my lifetime experiences with reading have been for pleasure and therefore I have been drawn to books that offered the best hope of escape, travel, or adventure!

Diary of A Young Girl ~ Anne Frank
The Killer Angels ~ Michael Shaara
The Bright Shining Lie ~ John Paul Vann
We Were Soldiers Once...and Young ~ Harold G. Moore
Siddhartha ~ Hermann Hesse
The Glass Menagerie ~ Tennessee Williams
The Scarlet Letter ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne

The Pursuit of Truth

2012-01-04T20:02:00.000-06:00

Source: altruisminthemorning.com via Kathy on Pinterest

We took a radical departure this fall in our Ish Girls Bible Study. We left the tried, true and somewhat predictable route of an organized Bible study and wandered into the land of the Enneagram. I think every woman in our group felt safe enough (after three years together) to begin to explore the hidden aspects of our true selves in order to know how it is that we have been wondrously shaped by the hand of a Holy and Loving God. This journey required trust, vulnerability and a willingness to be exposed, yet it has proven to be an invaluable experience for each of us. I have come to understand aspects of each sister that either puzzled me or were beyond the scope of my understanding. The benefit is that it is helping me to see, love and encourage each sister in a manner that is glorifying to God .
We did make use of a manual. Under the tutelage of two of our members who have extensive experience with the Enneagram, we each read Richard Rohr's The Enneagram: A Christian Perspective and then listened weekly to a series of recorded lectures on the different subtypes. One of the sisters also developed weekly homework that was based on a biblical study of Christ as He reflects and represents each of the subtypes.
Since I come from a counseling background and had used the Myers-Briggs extensively as well as a variety of other instruments, I was initially somewhat skeptical. That is until I took the test and read the chapter on my type.
Then I wondered who had been following me around during childhood, reading my private journals, and peeking into my dreams, hopes and desires. My best self was there. And so was my worst. I felt exposed. It was totally eerie. It was also embarrassing to see my glaring faults laid out in such a straightforward, no-nonsense fashion. Ever so slowly I found freedom when I discussed my struggles and found my sisters nodding their heads at me...they understood, they saw, and blessedly, they loved me in spite of myself. That's what the body of Christ is all about. Loving each other in spite of ourselves...loving each other because of what He has done and is doing in each of our lives. I found I did not have to be afraid. I did not have to pretend. I did not have to be perfect or construct a false reality to protect myself from the pain. I could relax. I could be silly. I could share deeply from my heart and not feel condemned or castigated. It was freeing in a way that I have seldom experienced.
The quote from Pinterest at the top of the page just about sums me up as well as any one sentence could. In case you are wondering, I am a SEVEN. I am also married to a SEVEN which makes for a very interesting life.
This may sound a bit like the crazy wanderings of a middle-aged woman, but the study of the Enneagram has proven to be very self-illuminating for me and has helped me see the Creator and the Redeemer in a whole new way. Here's to a Happy New Year of walking in the Truth. The only Truth that matters and the only One that will continually set you free!

And Love Came Down

2011-12-25T17:34:00.000-06:00

Source: marvelouskiddo.blogspot.com via Kathy on Pinterest

A Christmas Poem by Christina Rosetti (written 1872, later set to music)

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, Whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, Whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

A Treasured Nativity...Once Again

2011-12-24T14:14:00.000-06:00

For the first twenty-five years that my husband and I were married, I bought something reminiscent of the nativity as a part of our Christmas gift to one another. Thus it is that our home at Christmas is filled with creches. When Christmas is over, I don't even put them all away. Some of them remain in place throughout the year as a perpetual reminder of the "Gift" they represent. As you might surmise, these creches come in all shapes and sizes. Some are ornaments that hang upon the tree; others are fashioned of wood, ceramic, or clay, and one set is made entirely of felt...it is perfect for little hands to hold and to move and to place just so over and over again. The other day Little One ran immediately to this nativity set and alternately carried the cow, the camel and the wise men around for long periods of time. After she left, I continued to find the pieces hidden away in the most unusual places.

Little One's favorite creche

However, my favorite of all the creches is one that unless you know the story is unlikely to draw your attention. Despite is supposed lack of beauty, this particular creche takes center stage in our home and is there to greet you when you open the door to our house; it sits on the entry hall table. It has a base made by one of my children of unfired (basically dried) clay; three little figures made by another of my children (there were once four figures, but sadly, Joseph has completely disintegrated), a banner hand-lettered by yet another child, and finally, a tiny clay plaque made by yet another. In short, it represents the collective efforts of all four of our offspring, but it was not planned to be that way -- it simply happened.

     The banner is twenty-three years old. I wouldn't trade anything in the world for the "Goly to God in the highest..." Goly was a first grader's way of writing "Glory," but I am sure that God understood exactly what this child of mine was trying to say. Another child lovingly crafted the base which originally was shaped more like a cave and had an overhanging top that has long since broken off. It holds the three figures (there were once four). There is Mary; she is the figure on the right bending over the tiny figure resting on a bed of clay. It is Baby Jesus but his head is no longer attached to his body and must be carefully positioned or it will roll off on its own. To the left of Jesus and Mary is a lion. When the son who made the figures came home with this nativity with the lion, I had the audacity to ask him, "A lion?" You should learn early never to ask children questions like this, unless you want to immediately be put in your place. I will never forget that he looked at me with something akin to disdain as he said, "Of course, Mommy, the lion goes with the lamb." And so it does. I cried. He patted me. The Lion of Judah and the Lamb of God...they go together, do they not, and indeed, are they not one and the same? Yes, some of the most profound truths come out of the mouth of babes.
   The final complement to this treasured creche is the little clay plaque in the back: you can barely read it, but in case you can't, I'll tell you: It says, "Jesus I Love You." It was originally supposed to be a cross, an Easter decoration, but when this child brought it home he told me,"I couldn't do the cross, Mommy, I wrote Jesus a letter instead. I thought He might like it better than the cross. I wanted to tell Him thank you." I cried again. He said, "I want it to go with the manger." It was springtime so I asked again, "Do you want me to put it with the Easter things?" He shook his head firmly. "No, this cross is a letter, and it goes with the manger."
   How could it be that a child understood something so deep, so powerful, so profound? How could he grasp at the age of five, the very essence of the cross? How could he know that the cross, the terrible, wondrous cross, is also a letter, an I-love-you letter from a Holy God to His beloved, yet sinful people.
   So you see perhaps why this tiny fragile nativity holds a place so dear to this mother's heart. Each child of mine made his or her contribution, unplanned unscripted over the course of many years to make it complete. There is a Banner of Love (Goly to God...). A little cave to cradle the Holy Family. A lion to stand guard and to lie down with the lamb. And finally, a love letter that would and should have been a cross, except that a little boy wanted so much to write this letter to say thank you to Jesus for the cross. And the child knew intuitively that this was no ordinary baby, this was a baby born to die to save us from our sins. Christmas irrevocably linked to Easter. It is no accident that we must become as little children, is it? And once again, I cry, "Lord help my unbelief. Help each of us to believe with the wonder and the certain faith of a child."

It is my Advent song this year...Merry Christmas!

from the archives

David's Daughter

2011-12-20T13:50:00.001-06:00

We have gathered from near and far to pay final tribute to a much loved aunt. Ours is a family where the generations glide over one another in such a way that you cannot tell where one begins and another ends. It is hard to explain to strangers, but it feels very right to us. Once again the warp and woof of life have become integrated in such a way as to illuminate the tapestry of family in the midst of shared grief and celebration.

Out of necessity, weddings and funerals have become the means for our extended family to gather. They serve to draw us close to one another. I rejoice to find that laughter and tears once again flow seamlessly in the sparkling gem of the house at 403 Park Avenue that my aunt lovingly restored and brought back to life. It has been the family home for more than seventy years, where it now faithfully bears witness to the passing of the generations.

Earlier, at the visitation I had taken my place in the receiving line alongside my eldest aunt. I, who left home for college at 18 with a restless searching heart, have come home to roost in this place of honor at my aunt’s side. I am the oldest of three sisters. We stand in a row: Kathy, Cindy, Julie. Our names comprise a litany of remembrance in a small town that knows our history as well as we know it ourselves. In our lives away from this place we are wives, mothers, educators, volunteers, denizens of our communities and more.

But today we are David’s daughters. We shake hands, hug necks, and repeat the words over and over again. I am known once again by my maiden name. We hear stories. At one point I turn to my sisters and say, “I am past middle age and I have never really thought of myself as simply David’s daughter. I have never said these words so many times before today.” My baby sister who was four when our father died marvels that she can never ever remember introducing herself this way. I start to cry. There is something treasured about being known as David’s daughter.

I look at the faces of my sisters and the soul hole gapes open for a second. Suddenly, I am bereft once again. This older woman is still a fatherless daughter even now. I wait for the old wave of pain. It eludes me and suddenly something deep inside shifts. The carapace over my soul softens. The joy rises up unbidden in my heart and breaks forth over the wall of the dam to flood my soul. I can scarcely breathe. All is still inside of me, waiting.

I stretch forth my hand to take the hand of the elderly man standing in the line before me. I look him in the eye and say again, “I am David’s eldest daughter.” His eyes twinkle as they meet mine. “I know,” he whispers. “I see the Scofield in your face.”

I lie abed this morning in my Momma’s house and replay the hours of yesterday. I recall the words that were spoken at the funeral by those that I love. I smile at some of the things I learned about my aunt. I ponder the beautiful words of an old hymn, unfamiliar to me.

I talk quietly to God. I marvel that as I whisper aloud the words, “David’s daughter,” the familiar ache is no longer patently obvious. Could it be that the death and the hole and the scar that have shaped my life are finally healed? Could it truly be? Until the tears slide down my face to wet the pillow, I am completely unaware that I am weeping.

God works in mysterious ways. I have traveled 400 miles to bury a loved one only to find that my soul has taken the longed-for journey of a lifetime. I look into the place of familiar sorrow and at long last find only a glorious peace rising up to meet me. The elongated shadow of the valley of death is no longer falling over me, holding me in its thrall.

I question myself once more, “Could this be real?”

The scripture immediately leaps to mind: “He whom the Son has set free is free indeed.” Suddenly I am walking, no, running in this newfound freedom.

Why today? Why now?

I close the door to my skeptical self and choose rest. I whisper, “Baruch Hashem Adonai.” There are no more words. The most profound sense of awe and gratitude holds me fast.

I know it to be the kiss of God's grace.

My father, David

Revisiting an Advent Prayer

2011-12-12T21:43:00.000-06:00

I have read the story hundreds of times. It never grows old. I have committed it to memory where it lingers and provides renewal and refreshment to my heart at the most opportune of times. Sometimes the words rise unbidden to the forefront of my mind where they replay like a poem or song that makes my heart want to sing...

"And it came to pass in those days...that Joseph went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David..."

You know the rest of the story as well as I do. You know the cadence of the words and the inherent poetry and beauty of the language itself and the special way that the story tells us at once so very much and so very little of what really happened that night.

I learned something new about the story today. Our pastor was talking about the shepherds, and he likened their social status at that time to that of the gypsy, the migrant worker, the undocumented immigrant, or the homeless. The shepherds existed within Jewish society as a people without a voice. They had no legal status whatsoever and were considered so unreliable that they were forbidden by law to give testimony in court. They were never allowed to worship at the Temple because their occupation rendered them ceremonially unclean. In the pecking order of the Jews, they were the lowest of the low. In fact, they did not count, and they did not have to participate in the required census. They were quintessential nobodies.

Now here comes the irony.

The first witnesses, the first to receive the message, the first to come and worship, the first to spread the Good News, the first to "see" the Messiah were the very least of all in the kingdom of heaven.

Think about it.

Christ brought a revolutionary gospel, a revolutionary upheaval to the old order, and He taught us a revolutionary way to love and to live.

And he began with the nobodies. He did not begin with those in authority: the kings or the priests or the rulers. He did not seek out the rich and the powerful. He did not even seek the Wise Men. They sought Him.

I am just beginning to work all of this through in my head...and it is leading me to ask myself who and what do I worship when I am not engaging my head and my heart with the Lord? What draws my heart? What occupies my thinking? What else besides the gospel captivates me?

I am afraid it is not very pretty. I am afraid it is petty and selfish. I know the things that charm me most when my heart is not immersed in the gospel are things that are really of little value at all.

I so want to be a shepherd. I so want to be willing to leave it all in the field of my life and say to my family and those with whom I am in community ..."Let us now go even unto Bethlehem,and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known to us."

I want to kneel on that rough and filthy floor and offer to Him all that I am and all that I have. I want Christmas made new in my heart.

This is my Advent prayer.

from the archives

Booklovers Haven

2011-12-10T09:22:00.000-06:00

What? A city that calls itself the "Athens of the South" has no independent bookstore? You have got to be kidding! Thankfully, Parnassus has changed all that...
With the demise of Davis-Kidd, Nashvillians had been woefully missing what I like to call a "browsing" bookstore, and we all know a city of our size simply must have one. Although we are not totally bereft (we do have the delightful purveyor of used books, Bookman/Bookwoman down in Hillsboro Village, Rhino Booksellers near Lipscomb and the warehouse-like McKay's off of Charlotte), most of the book addicts I know have been waiting with bated breath for the much anticipated opening of Parnassus. Local author Ann Patchett (Run, Bel Canto, Patron Saint of Liars, et al) has partnered with a friend, Karen Hayes, to open this smallish but just right little shop around the corner in the heart of Green Hills.
Do yourself a favor and stop by. The collection is somewhat limited by the space, but Ann and Karen have done a superb job getting to the book-loving heart of Nashville. They have carefully done their homework and obviously understand our odd little quirks in taste as well as our eccentricities. If you are looking for a place that specializes in a plethora of cutting edge independent fiction, this is probably not it. Instead you will find Parnassus boasts a solid collection of classics, some lovely tried and true children's books along with some contemporary offerings, and a broad landscape of other lovelies from current fiction by up-and-coming authors to philosophy to music and travel. Simply put, you are bound to find something that just might call your name. As for me, I was happy just to walk through the doors and find that sense of kinship that I have been missing. Booklovers of all ages will be at home here.

I am an old fogey when it comes to books and have been around long enough to remember and miss Bernie Mills from the tiny Mills Bookstore. It was there that I bought my children's first hardcover books. I only allowed myself the luxury of splurging on special must-have books for them; my own books gladly traveled back and forth from the Nashville Public Library. But Bernie never once led me astray. He understood that I would likely never be a big spender, but he welcomed my company as a lover of the written word. And I totally trusted his recommendations. The chain bookstores obviously fill a need as do the on-line monsters, but I still like to "talk" books with a live person who knows something about them. And the friendly folks at Parnassus certainly do.
And besides, what would a bookstore in Nashville be without a little live music now and then? After all, we ARE Music City, are we not?!
While Parnassus thankfully fills a much-needed void, the verdict is not yet in whether or not this will become an integral part of the literary hub and heartbeat of this city. It is totally up to us the customers to ensure that it does. So the next time you are in the neighborhood, stop by. You will be welcomed with open arms!

all photos from Parnassus

The Wonder of It All

2011-12-05T20:51:00.000-06:00

Except that ye become like little children, ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. When we are young we wish to be old and when we are old, we wish for all of the wonder and the joy that was once ours. But come Christmastime even the most jaded and cynical among us find moments when we can catch a glimpse into the heart of the child we once were. Don't be afraid to let go of yourself this year, to shed the pretentiousness, the artifice, and the veneer with which we all too willingly cloak our lives. Come, take the journey with me. Let's look long and hard at the heart of Christmas, the real Christmas, not the commercialized version that begs for more and more and more and is only fleetingly and temporarily satisfied. Let us willingly see the ugly ache of our selfish desires and our mindless propensity for endless consumption for what they are, and turn to consider instead the Christmas that is the essential celebration of the gift of Emmanuel, God With Us. If we dare to surrender to the truth of this life-shattering reality, then and only then will we find ourselves looking through the doorway of our own heart into the very soul of heaven. The true Christmas is what brings the mystery and joy of heaven as close as the beating of our hearts.

I don't know about you, but I am keeping Christmas this year. Keeping. Not letting go. Holding fast and firm to the joy and the wonder and the glory of it all. And trusting the Holy Spirit to let me see, hear, and find fresh vision in each passing day. And resting in Emmanuel. God with us. God for us. God in us. The best gift. The everlasting gift. The only gift of any value and the one gift that restores to us, the fallen and the jaded, the softened wonder-filled heart we each of us are longing to have once again. The heart of a child.

The Marriage and The Tree

2011-12-02T10:17:00.000-06:00

A real tree. See how it leans slightly to the right?!

I swore that I would nevah evah have a fake tree. I caved. The Husband and I were finding the Continental Divide was invading our marriage every December. It would start immediately after Thanksgiving. He would camp out on one side of the den, arms akimbo, glaring at me whenever I took a deep breath because he knew what was coming. "Honey, it's time..." No matter how sweetly I prefaced it, the response was always the same. You would think I was asking him to undergo a natural childbirth without any preparation. Really. There was just no palatable way to approach the topic of THE TREE, because with him it was THE DREADED HORRIBLE NO GOOD TERRIBLE TREE.
Over the years I tried everything. I roped one of my adult children into accompanying me and let The Husband stay home. He still glared at us when we got home. I even went by myself. The Home Depot guys feel sorry for women shopping for 9 foot trees by themselves. They ask questions like "Will someone help you untie this from your car?" and "How are you going to get this inside? It's very heavy." Duh. But not one of them ever offered to accompany me home and put the tree up. I guess that was asking too much. After all, I was wearing a wedding ring.
One year I even ordered a tree and had it delivered. That went over about as well as if I had robbed Fort Knox. Over the course of a thirty-seven year marriage I am embarrassed to say that I have groveled. I have whined. I have begged. I have pleaded. I have bribed. However, no matter what strategy I have employed, The Husband is always in a huff about THE TREE.
I don't know what it is about THE TREE but it brings out the adolescent male in him. The adolescent male. In a nearly 60 year old man's body. Interesting.
Two years ago, I bridged the divide. I went to the after Christmas sale and bought a very nice and fully lit FAKE Christmas tree. It just about killed me. But I had had one too many arguments about THE TREE. It was one of those places where you just know that you are gonna have to climb the hill to die.
I surprised myself. I actually don't mind the tree. The clean-up is so much easier. I was definitely getting too old to climb a ladder to wrap a sheet around a dead molting tree so that I and I alone could drag it through the living room and out the front door of the house. I sound a bit like a martyr, don't I? I want him to remember those days. In fact I am hoping that he will read this post. I will email it to him just in case.
So...with a FAKE tree, you would think all of the problems would be solved. No solo trips to Home Depot. No exorbitant delivery fees. No wrestling with that green thing with screws that is supposed to help a tree remain upright. No more arguments, whining, begging, pleading, et al. Problem solved. Right? Then you tell me why it is that here I sit with a grumpy husband who is now moaning and groaning about bringing the box inside and having to assemble (with my son's assistance) a very heavy and unwieldy FAKE tree. It seems I can't win. But then again, it's not about winning. Or so I tell myself.
However, I am thinking The Husband is gonna have to climb that hill to die over this one. And I will be right there pushing him up that hill every step of the way. After all, the bigger sacrifice has been made. Now he just needs to make his. Tonight.

The fake tree. No leaning. No mess. No Fuss.
Except that it still requires help in assembly.

Christmas on 18th

2011-11-30T21:20:00.001-06:00

The outside of the house is certainly adorable, but it's when you peek inside the windows you begin to glimpse that something magical might be happening inside. The first time I stepped foot in Catherine Clement's house, I felt that I had come home to the house where dreams come true. Imagine the world of Mary Englebreit married to the whimsical illustrations of a Tasha Tudor and you begin to get an approximation of the charm that awaits within the walls of Catherine's home. This creatively inspired little treasure on 18th Avenue (near Belmont University) is a place where not only dreams, but also your favorite Christmas fantasies can be fulfilled. Come to Christmas on 18th Avenue this Saturday, December 3rd, from 10-5 as Catherine opens her home for her annual Christmas shopping extravaganza. Some of my favorite artists and artisans will be there with all kinds of treasures for you to hide under the tree for those people you know and love.

May the following pictures serve as an added enticement for you to come experience my favorite place to shop during the holiday season. Rest assured that I will be there when the doors open. The treasures are many and plentiful, but I always like to make sure that I don't miss out on anything! Is anyone surprised?!! Nonetheless, I hope to see you there!

By the way, I am still in love with my bottle brush wreath
I purchased last year and haven't taken it down yet.
Who said it had to be Christmas decor?

A Few of My Favorite Things

2011-11-29T20:06:00.000-06:00

Yippee. We are having a "Favorite Things" party this year with my Ish Bible Study Girls instead of our annual ornament exchange. I totally highjacked the idea from Pinterest. And I love it. Each person (there are seven of us) brings six of their favorite things, but the caveat is that you can spend no more than $6.00 on the item. Then after we have brunch, we will go around the room and explain what the gift is and why it is our favorite thing. When it is all said and done, each person will get to give away one of her own favorite things, and will take home six of her friends' favorite things. How fun is that?!
I have been having a delightful time dreaming up all of the things I would love to give my friends and pondering what it is about this good life that I love so much. I have decided that some of the best things in life are not those that can be wrapped with paper and string. They are intangibles connected with memory or experience or they are those things that remind us of times when we can transcend ourselves or forget ourselves or can be our best selves. Without further ado, here is my short list:

The smell of a well-loved old book.
The sound of rain falling on a tin roof.
Watching the rain as it sweeps across the bay.
A novel that keeps you entranced until the very end.
The milky smell of a newborn's breath.
The tail-wagging greeting from your favorite dog after a long day at work.
Exotic postage stamps on a letter addressed to you.
Picking and eating figs on a warm day.
The first daffodils of spring.
Jumping in a pile of leaves.
New snow boots.
The music of Yo Yo Ma.
Alison Krauss' voice singing hymns.
The look and the scent of peonies.
Seeing my children's faces for the very first time.
The moment when I first remember understanding what it meant to be a child of God.
Falling in love with my husband.
The clean scent of newly-mown grass.
The beloved faces of family and dear friends.
Lying on a blanket in the middle of the night watching the stars.
Remembering to appreciate the beauty of a particular sunset.
The familiar cadences of a well-loved scripture.
Going away from home and coming back again.
The perfect pillow.

Upon reflection I find that there are a preponderance of things I love...far too many to list. I struggled even to narrow it down to these few. Somehow that makes me incredibly happy. That there are too many to list. Lord willing, I hope it will always be so.

Iron Bowling

2011-11-26T17:46:00.000-06:00

Today is the Iron Bowl in the South. The rest of the world goes on, but down in the Deep South there is only one thing on people's minds, and it's not what they got at the mall yesterday. Alabama is playing Auburn at Jordan-Hare Stadium. And just so you know, the sportscasters are correct when they pronounce it, "Jurrrdan-Hare" rather than "Jordan-Hare." These things are important to know. THE GAME is always historic. No matter where they play. No matter who wins. The old-timers can give you the scores and the quarterbacks for both teams for the past twenty years without blinking an eye.
In our family, we are a house divided. One son went to the University of Alabama to play baseball and the two remaining sons went to...Auburn. Even the husband and I are on opposite sides of the fence on this one. His sisters went to Alabama...and my sisters and just about every other living relative of mine went to....Auburn. He gets totally obnoxious during the game, but I try not to unfairly denigrate or malign the opponent. He all too willingly lets me take the high road and does not seem to lose any sleep over his attitude. But I make sure that he gets up and goes to early church the next day. Repentance is good for the soul.
The one thing we are in total agreement about today is that our Alma Mater, Vanderbilt, is now certain to be bowl ready after turning Wake Forest on its ear. A bowl eligible Vanderbilt is something to be celebrated as it only happens every decade or so. But today that's about the only thing we have in common.
It's truly a good thing that this rivalry or division does not extend much beyond the gridiron. Otherwise, we would be headed for more than church tomorrow...it would probably be marriage counseling, as well.
But since I have the computer and he is on the other side of the room, I'll just type my sentiment real loud: WAR DAMN EAGLE! Win or lose, the Auburn Tigers are my only Alabama team!

Source: google.com via Ashley Henderson on Pinterest

Source: bing.com via Tricia on Pinterest

Giving Thanks

2011-11-25T08:30:00.001-06:00

I can close my eyes and see him sitting there. His elbows are on the table and his hands are folded. He is waiting for the hubbub to die down, for everyone to find their place at the table. There is one last shift and shuffle, chairs scraping across the linoleum floor as each finds his or her place. His beloved wife, my grandmother, wipes her hands against her apron and brings one last steaming dish to the table. She takes her seat at the other end, he nods, and we are ready. All heads bow as my grandfather begins to utter the words. The sibilant sounds rise and fall from his lips. He is thanking God for the bounty and suddenly I am sitting here so many years later thanking God once again for him. This humble gentle farmer who never raised his voice to me or anyone else that I can ever recall. He was the proverbial Rock of Gibraltar. He and my grandmother both. Faithful to the end. Lovers of family, friends, community and church, and deep deep lovers of God. They were certainly never wealthy as the world defines wealth. Yet they possessed riches untold, riches so deep that they are still being mined today. Riches remembered as my aunts and my cousins gathered in the kitchen of that house one last time yesterday.
My cousin lifted the wheelchair out of the car. All week long they had wondered if my aunt would be able to leave the Hospice wing of the nursing home to make the trip to her home for one last meal. Thanksgiving. She did. Today I am giving thanks that strong backs, strong arms, the sacrificing love of her sisters, and a hospital who understood prevailed. That plus the indomitable spirit of this once adventurous aunt. It wasn't easy. In fact, it was downright hard. But it was what everyone wanted, most especially this aunt and her precious sisters. In a perfect world, I expect my father would have been there, too. He, who left this world too soon as a young, young man.He would have been there helping my cousin lift the chair. He would not be that young man forever frozen in time, gone at 34. He would be in his eighties, hair gray, but eyes still twinkling. There is little doubt that my aunt will be seeing him soon. The disease that is ravaging her body is robbing her of her ability to cope with daily life. She is withdrawing from this world. The ship is getting ready to sail.
By God's grace, and the love of my aunts and cousins, she made it home yesterday to sit at that table once again. As has happened so many times over the years, heads were bowed. Thanks were given. A meal was blessed. A family heritage of hope, faith, and love was celebrated. It was and is Thanksgiving at its best.

Source: google.com via Jennifer on Pinterest

Party Time

2011-11-21T18:42:00.001-06:00

My Momma loves acorns. Word has it she even put them on her wedding invitation, and you can find them tucked in little places all over our house. Her china, Constance by Bernardaud, is green and gold and guess what? They tell me it has oak leaves and little acorns all around the rim. I wouldn't know. I am still eating off the plastic plates from Ikea.
Back to the acorn theme. It was no surprise when my Momma got around to planning my first birthday party that she had an invitation designed with a little acorn and the opening sentence, "We are nuts about"... well, me, of course!

So acorns turned up everywhere at my birthday. First up front and center is my darling cake from The Painted Cupcake. But it couldn't hold a candle to me....just saying.

Here I am with my Daddy giving the "Number One" sign! Too bad you can't really tell that I am all dressed up for my special day with an adorable shirt that boasts an acorn applique complete with my name, (not that I can read, yet!)
And here I am trying to figure out what in the world is happening...I certainly think Daddy has lost his mind. He is always telling me that fire is hot and to avoid it at all costs...and here he is, shoving a candle in my face. Why is it that adults get to break all of the rules?

What in the world is this thing, anyway?

Am I supposed to eat it?

I am not too sure until Daddy offers me a taste of that pink fluffy stuff on top. My food groups have been rather limited at this point. I eat things like carrots and green beans. Definitely nothing pink...until now. But my culinary horizons have suddenly expanded. I am not too wild about the cake, but I really, really like strawberry icing. Will someone please make a note of that?

My Birmingham family also made the trek to celebrate with me. Here are my cousins and my Momma's sister. Isn't she pretty? I think she looks like my Momma, don't you? And my cousins are sooo much fun! I want to grow up to be just like them.

And here is one of the whole crew! I forgot to look at the camera. Oh well.

And this is what I felt like at the end of the night....

Plum tuckered out and in my best friend's bed!

As everyone knows, birthdays can be exhausting.

I don' t know about you, but I am headed to bed to get my beauty sleep.

After all, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

It's a ONEderful day!

2011-11-19T18:29:00.000-06:00

One glimpse and our hearts were hers. That's all it took. Who would know that a little being could wield so much power? She is our second son's firstborn child, and she entered the world one year ago today.

Little Two is joy in human form! Over the past year we have relished watching her grow and change. Her personality has emerged and we have discovered that Little Two is keenly observant, loves dogs, is mostly laid-back and easy going, can be shy at times, and loves to jump, swing, climb, and push things around. She has a hard time taking a nap if there is anything exciting happening. At her playcare, they have dubbed her the Class President. She likes to hang out by the door so that she can greet whomever is coming or going. She doesn't want to miss out on any of the fun! She is a whiz at finger painting and loves to give it her full concentration. Music also entrances her, and Little Two can boogie with the best of them!

She looks like her Daddy except for the fact that he was blond as a little boy. She has dark blue eyes, chubby cheeks and her once wild hair has settled down into a beautiful cap of dark hair with soft curls in the back. And when she says my name, I melt.

To say that I am thankful simply does not touch what my heart feels when I am with her. And when I watch my son and his precious wife caring for Little Two, I glimpse once again the greatness of God's love and the beauty of His incredible plan for each of us.

"Behold what manner of love the Father has given us that we should be called the sons and daughters of God." This love that God has lavished upon us is a love beyond compare. It is a love that would sacrifice everything and did. It is a love everlasting. It is a love that loves without condemnation but with clarity. It is a love that sees, forgives, redeems, restores, and keeps on loving. It is a love that is not defined by expectation or performance. It is simply love, God's love.

Being a grandparent has afforded me an understanding of the heart of God that escaped me when I was a parent. I think, perhaps it was because I felt the tremendous weight of responsibility coupled with an innate fear of failure. As a grandparent, I feel neither. I have the unbelievable freedom to be able to love without restraint, without fear, and without condemnation. When I look into Little Two's eyes, I see the reflection of the incomparable love of the Father and His goodness in giving all of us the gift of this little girl.

I pray that as she grows into the woman God has called her to be that she will always know that His hand knitted her together in her mother's womb and that she is fearfully and wonderfully made. There will be times when she will experience self-doubt and angst, but I pray that God's tender mercy will always be near at hand, reminding her that she is both a treasure and a daughter of the Most High. For it was for her and for you and for me that His only son was given as a ransom. What love, what love indeed.

May this love surround you and enfold you, Little Two, all the days of your life. And may you serve the Lord with gladness and enter His courts with thanksgiving. We see the faithfulness of the prayers we prayed for your Daddy whenever we look at you. We know that God is very good, very very good. We are so very thankful for you.

Happy Birthday!

A Lovely Quote to Share

2011-11-16T20:44:00.000-06:00

The weather has been weird. Here in Nashvegas we have been running about 20 degrees above the average. The leaves don't seem to know that it's time to come off the trees, and I don't blame them. I finally got my black linen pants back out of the back of the closet and started wearing them again. Then today we had rain, fog, and a sky that looked like snow could be in the offing. The temperature finally dropped about 35 degrees which puts us back into the normal range for this time of year. I am glad. I can eat my soup without sweating, think about having a cup of hot tea in the evenings, and put some cider on to simmer and not feel in the least bit ridiculous. It is, after all, fall, and despite my love for the warmth of the sun, it remains one of my favorite seasons.
If you hop on over to Dear Lillie, you can download the lovely graphic below without charge. I read it aloud to myself and sighed. Even after all this time, I am still a lover of the red-headed orphan girl from Prince Edward Island whom Lucy Maude Montgomery immortalized for generations of young women. No matter how old I grow, I always know that Anne of Green Gables and I will remain kindred spirits.

Source: weheartit.com via Hillary on Pinterest

Source: vintagemint.com via Rebecca on Pinterest

2011-11-14T17:23:00.000-06:00

I am so very thankful for the joy of being a grandmother to Little One and Little Two. Daily as I pray for them, I ask the Lord to shelter them in His loving arms and to whisper to them of His greatness as they wake and sleep. It is joy unspeakable to have lived to see my children's children and to be able to share with them in words, stories and songs of the great, great love that Jesus has for them and for each of us. I pray that His name will always be on their lips and His word hidden away in their heart. Aren't they precious?!

Jesus loves me! this I know,

For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong;
they are weak but He is strong.

Jesus loves me! loves me still,
'tho I'm very weak and ill,
that I might from sin be free,
bled and died upon the tree.

Jesus loves me! He who died
heaven's gate to open wide;
He will wash away my sin,
let His little child come in.

Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me!
The Bible tells me so.

Momma Told Me It Was So

2011-11-11T07:15:00.000-06:00

Things I learned while I was at Momma's this week:

A sasanqua bush is a member of the camellia family, but is not a camellia per se. The sasanqua may also appear to be similar to a japonica, but it is not to be confused with one. I don't know if this is horticulturally correct, but my grandmother told my Momma so that makes it so in our family. Sasanquas, japonicas and camellias thrive in Southern Alabama and Northwest Florida, but all three species apparently originated in China and Japan. According to my mother, my grandmother (my mother's mother), was known for her camellias. She even had a horticulturist who would come over to her house in Samson from Montgomery to graft and take rootstock from her camellias. She was very proud of these aristocratic beauties that had been grown from very old "family" stock. The Sasanquas are currently in proud display at my Momma's house. They have a beautiful luscious double pink bloom. Apparently these sasanquas are also well-loved by the bees who were having their own little pollinating party all over them this week, but I managed to find a few buds that had not yet fully opened. I brought them into the house and put them in a vase for Momma to enjoy. I know they won't last long, but they are gorgeous in the meantime.
Momma and I both like Kettle corn. This is not necessarily a good thing. Between the two of us we just about demolished a whole bag in two days. Again, this is not the best thing to discover about your mother -- that you have a shared addiction to kettle corn.
My grandfather had fat knees. That is apparently where I get my fat knees. Great. I think I could have lived another fifty years and been fine not knowing this. My grandfather also played the saxophone, the violin, and the piano. He was the musical one in the family. My mother must have inherited her ability to play by ear from him. Apparently, I got the fat knees, but I did not get any of the musical genes. Sigh.
My great-grandmother, Annie Frances Brooks (Momma Frankie) knew how to wring a chicken's neck. She had a housekeeper named Pearlie, but Pearlie was a bit squeamish and drew the line at wringing a chicken's neck. So my great-grandmother took over the task. Apparently she was very good at it. I am not sure why this was important for me to know.
My mother is still using her dictionary to look up new words. She also likes to talk about the finer points of grammar. We spent some time discussing whether or not it is redundant to say "falling down" or if one should just say "falling." My mother is concerned that "falling down" is similar in redundancy to the expression "close proximity." I told her I would check it out and get back to her.
I am now in possession of the famous family recipe for cornbread dressing, i.e., dressing that is served with turkey. While I was cleaning out a cabinet at Momma's, I found a copy of the recipe in my aunt's handwriting with little notes about my grandmother, great-grandmother, and great-great-grandmother and the particular way that each prepared the recipe. My sister has modified it and modernized it, but I wanted to print it in its original form. If I were as smart at Colonel Sanders with his 17 different spices for fried chicken, I would patent and copyright this tried and true family gem. It is moist, delicious and amazing. When my daughter and I get together to make it in a couple of weeks, we will represent the fifth and sixth generations of women in our family to make this dressing. Oh, and for you Non-Southerners, dressing is NEVER confused with stuffing. They are two totally different animals. Dressing is served with turkey and welcome at my table, stuffing is not. Here is the recipe in the original format:

Cook a 3-4 pound hen a few days early. Simmer the whole hen. Even if you like the white meat the best, be aware that the thighs, legs and back make the best stock, so use the whole hen. Separate your stock and put it aside. Good chicken stock is like gold and will serve as the basis of your dressing.

Prepare and cook a skillet of cornbread using about two cups of meal. Remove from skillet and crumble it up. Let the cornbread sit out, cool down, and dry out. You want your cornbread to be slightly stale. This step can also be completed several days in advance.

Make a dozen biscuits. After you eat a few, let the rest sit out and dry out. Like the cornbread, they work best in the dressing if they are slightly stale. This is yet another step that can be completed several days ahead.

Now you are ready to get started.
Dice celery and sweet white onion until you have 3 cups of celery and 3 cups of each. Saute slightly in a couple of tablespoons of butter in a large deep skillet. (Momma said that we were not wild about celery, so she cut this back a bit.)
Crumble and pack cornbread until you have 4 firm cups
Crumble biscuits (or rolls) until you have 2 cups.
Mix bread (cornbread and biscuits) with the onion and celery.
Add four cups of chicken stock to the bread mixture. It will be soupy. Salt and pepper to taste.
Let this set-up overnight in the refrigerator.
The next morning, heat it back up and add more stock to the bread mixture as needed (usually about a cup).
Beat 3 eggs and combine into mixture by hand.
Butter your baking dishes. Cook at 325 degrees for one hour. Increase to 350 degrees or higher for 15 more minutes or until brown on the top.
Note: If you are desperate, you can use canned stock.

Well, I am not going to be wringing any chicken's neck, but I will be making my own stock. I am not yet desperate enough to put canned stock in this recipe. But it's nice to have plan number two in case I run out of time.

Bon Appetit, ya'll.

Woo Hoo Little One Turns Two

2011-11-06T19:57:00.000-06:00

You would think we have all gone to the dogs. It was a dog-themed birthday party for Little One who recently turned two. Little One has a love affair with Clifford, the Big Red Dog, so it seemed apropos that he should take center stage on the table and the birthday cake.

There were bone crayon favors for the kiddos.

These were not to be outdone by the dog hats modeled by Uncle Bro Bro and Uncle Bear. Don't they look cute?!

And as you might surmise, Little One had a ball. She donned her Minnie Mouse costume (compliments of Uncle Bro Bro and Betta) and paraded around as if she owned the day. She did.

Her own parents got into the spirit of things.

There were a few grandparents who would likely have been sent to the funny house if they had been seen anywhere other than Little One's Birthday Party. I am hoping you might not be able to recognize a few of these people. If you are not a grandparent, you should be forewarned that grandparents are likely to do all kinds of crazy things for love.

In case you can't tell, that's Little One and Little Two with an unnamed male relative wearing some sort of ratty wig.

Here he is again with The Daughter. I think he needs to find a new dentist.

.
Lots of family came to share in the fun! Grandmother GiGi actually looked pretty cool in her hippie costume!

Little Two enjoyed the party as well

Even a young Justin Bieber made an appearance.

But the Queen of the Day was undisputably Little One. Here she is opening one of her favorite gifts with glee. What little girl doesn't love a purple tutu?

That smile is worth a million dollars. I mean it better be, because there is really nothing too cute about an almost sixty year old dressed up as a luau princess. Like I said before...oh, the things we do for love. And for a smile like that, I would probably do it again. And again. At least until the grass skirt wears out.

Happy Birthday, precious Little One. You have brought great joy to our lives. Our hearts are full...

Saying Goodbye

2011-10-31T21:16:00.000-05:00

God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7) I've read the words before, but they have assumed a special poignancy during this time. One of my daddy's sisters is literally staring death in the face. She has been told that she has days or weeks to live. It is a prognosis that was delivered with no lack of certainty, yet it is one that she is facing with grace and peace, dignity and strength. She told the doctors, "I am not ready to die, but I am willing because I know where I am going." She is standing firm in the face of the final enemy because she knows the One whom she has believed, and she knows that in the end He will stand upon the earth and she with Him. She will see Him soon.
This beloved aunt of mine is a mere 12 years older than I in age. She is someone whom I have always admired. Her influence upon me was solidified during the year that she lived with us (my mother and sisters) in Fort Walton Beach, Florida. I was in fifth or sixth grade at the time, but I remember that she never spoke to me as if I were a child. She conversed with me on a wide range of subjects and expected me both to formulate and share my opinions and ideas with her. I was fascinated by her obvious passion for scholarly pursuits, and I watched her carefully to see what she read and how she acquired and assimilated information. She is probably one of the smartest people I have ever known. One of her gifts to me was that she made me feel as though it was okay to be intellectually curious and to embrace a passion for learning.
This aunt of mine is also an articulate, opinionated, well-read, and highly educated woman. She is fluent in multiple languages and has lived and traveled extensively throughout the world. She has made her home in the Far East, the British Isles, and the continent of Europe, but she has always called Opp, Alabama, her true home. When she returned to Opp after her retirement as an educator with the Department of Defense, she lovingly restored and refurbished our grandparents' home and made it a warm and inviting place for family and friends to gather.
This week I have cried with my cousin, my sisters, and my Momma. And we have laughed, too. We have felt the bitter taste of impending death co-mingling with the sweetness of memories laced with love, and through it all we have been strengthened by the knowledge of our aunt's enduring faith in the Savior. Lord willing, I will travel to Opp, Alabama, this next week to hug her neck one last time and say my own goodbyes. I am trusting God to hold her close as He prepares to bring one of His own to her permanent home. And of all the places that she has lived, I have no doubt her home in heaven will be the best one yet.

My aunt is the one on the far right
(my grandmother and another of Daddy's sisters are also in the picture.)
This was taken at my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary celebration in 1976.

The Passing of A Spiritual Father

2011-10-25T18:42:00.000-05:00

I cannot believe that he is gone. I cannot help but picture the man, Cortez A. Cooper, Jr., "Corty" to his friends, as alive, vibrant, warm, and very confident of the Hope of the Gospel he so ardently believed and lived to the fullest. The streets of heaven are even now ringing with the sound of his warm chuckle and his eyes are sparkling with delight at the magnificent display of the Glory of God. He is home.
I was a wayward child who had wandered from the fold of God. I had a dear friend who would come knocking on my dorm room each Sunday to coax a freshman girl at Vanderbilt out of bed to attend services at First Presbyterian Church on Franklin Road in Nashville. To a small town girl, this church, with its Cheek House mansion, stables, and school spread over beautifully manicured acres, looked more like a country club than a house of worship. But I could not have been more wrong. Something amazing was happening in those church services.
A pastor was taking the church and the city by storm. God was also using the man to woo not just my heart, but many others back to the Truth. A revival that had begun in the early 70's was finding new growth and momentum in its movement toward maturity. This revival would ultimately lead years later to the founding of a new church (Christ Presbyterian Church) pastored by Corty. As for me, at first I could not understand why Sunday after Sunday, I sat in the sanctuary at First Pres and wept. It did not matter whether the sermon was serious and sober in nature or more encouraging in tone and tenor, I always found myself overcome with emotion. Sometimes when the service was over, I could hardly speak...certainly a rarity for me.
At this point in my life, I was a young woman who had always run from emotion and had spent some time also running from God. I was fine and I was strong, or so I thought. But something was happening to me as I sat under Cortez Cooper's solid, strong, and powerful Biblical teaching, my heart that had been frozen with regards to God, was undergoing a great change. God was waking me up, as if from a deep slumber, He was quickening my spirit, and I was coming alive. I resisted for a time, but the Holy Spirit was using Corty Cooper to draw me as inexorably to the Truth of the Gospel as a magnet is drawn to the North.
The Husband and I soon found our spiritual home in that church. We were welcomed into Corty and Pat's home and introduced to church members and other families with whom we would labor and minister in the years to come. Shortly after The Husband and I married, we found ourselves drafted by Corty into the Youth Ministry of the Church. It was a sign of his influence in our lives. Week after week we sat under this man's teaching and enjoyed life in a vibrant and growing church community. Corty Cooper baptised three of our four children, affording us the privilege of incorporating each child's "life verse" into the baptism service. It was also he that I sought out for advice and counsel when my own grandmother languished in a coma for several years before she passed away. He tenderly took me to the scriptures and encouraged me to struggle and grieve what I could not seem to understand or embrace.

Dr. Cortez A. Cooper, Jr.

I did not grow up with a father. But I was blessed to learn much from a pastor who taught me the love, the kindness, the strength, and the faithfulness of The Father. My grief is immense today. I cannot help but think of Corty's beloved and lovely wife Pat and how much she must already miss this vital man who loved her so. I think of his family and his children and grandchildren and the sheep of the flock that he was tending in his later years. There are so many who have been tutored by his love for God, his passion for the Gospel and the wisdom of his solid grounding in the Word.

For me, one of the great men of God of our generation has now gone to be with the Lord. I cannot help but cry just as I did those many years ago when I was a girl of 18 and being drawn back to the arms of the Father. Corty, thank you for teaching me of the great, great love of the Father. Thank you for being faithful in things great and small. I and many others will miss your smile, your grace, and your powerful love for God. Heaven is blessed tonight to have a precious son of the Father who is beholding the face of the One he loved in life, in death, and in life everlasting. May you find joy in the fullness of your inheritance in Christ until we meet again.

We Are Ao Happy That She Said Yes!

2011-10-24T20:55:00.002-05:00

They both live in East Nasty AKA East Nashville. They go to the same church. They are in the same fellowship group. They hang out with some of the same people. It seemed only natural that they would become friends. And so they did. The friendship deepened. We watched him begin to rely on her for advice, support and counsel. She made him laugh. And he was utterly and completely himself when he was with her. There was no pretense, no artifice. It all seemed so very natural. It was.
Time passed. We all kept waiting with bated breath for him to see what was right there in front of him. He finally did. Thankfully. The beautiful friendship finally became a dating relationship. It seemed so very right. Wisely, they took things slowly. They gave their relationship time to evolve and change. But we all knew. I was praying from the first time that I met her. I had this little tickle in my heart. But I have been wrong before. So I kept praying. And I, like so many others, watched and waited.
A friendship between a man and a woman can be a very special thing. And when it blossoms into a love that will last a lifetime, it is a very beautiful thing, an amazing thing, a holy thing.
Our family is overjoyed that come spring we will be welcoming this incredibly lovely red-headed beauty into our family. She already feels like one of us. The fit seems almost seamless. Yet I tremble and quake at the thought of being a mother-in-law to another daughter-in-law. However, God has blessed me abundantly in this regard already. I truly love the women my sons have chosen. I could not have dreamed up anyone any more suited for either of them. I am thankful for them. And I have prayed for them from the time that my sons were babes in arms. And I believed with all of my heart that God would be faithful. And He has.

My own mother taught me well. "Raise your sons to love another woman best," she wisely told me when my boys were just toddlers. It was a hard truth, but it rang true even then. And by God's grace, I took her advice to heart. I have always wanted my sons to love, adore, and cherish their wives. I understand my role as their mother. I am no longer the woman that they love, the woman that they adore, the woman that they turn to to share the places of their hearts. But I derive some small consolation that I was the first woman that they loved, and so it is with joy that I more than willingly surrender my place in their hearts to the woman who truly deserves to be first in their lives...their wives.

There she is. The-soon-to-be newest member of our family. Just as I consider my other daughter-in-law to be a treasure, I consider this young woman to be a treasure as well. I am thankful that my sons have heeded the word of the Lord, "A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies." Yes. Yes, indeed.

Sleepless in Seattle and Exhausted in Nashville

2011-10-22T17:27:00.000-05:00

There are tired women everywhere. Women who pour themselves out like drink offerings for the sake of their families. Women who balance caring for children with work and household responsibilities. Some have husbands who stand beside them and some don't. I have been thinking a lot about those women. I am almost embarrassed when I consider their herculean efforts to admit that I am so tired. One thing I learned this past week, 57 year-old-women and toddlers have a limited shelf life. I think I found mine. I began the week helping the Daughter-in-Law with a very sick Little Two. Little Two is one happy, rambunctious, and gregarious baby, that is, until she gets a virus. This was one of those nasty ones that brings high fever and leaves blisters on mouths and noses and fingers and feet in its wake. Not fun. Little Two's sweet momma was juggling work and household responsibilities with a baby who was crying most of the night, and she was REALLY tired. So I filled in a bit.

On Tuesday afternoon I rushed home, grabbed a shower and scrubbed myself from head to toe because Little One was scheduled to arrive momentarily, and I had strict instructions from The Daughter not to bring any contagion or leftover virus germs anywhere near Little One. I agreed that it was a good plan. I also vacuumed up the dog hair, battened down the hatches, ran out for a quick dinner with a friend, and had The Husband on alert to await the arrival of Little One. She came bouncing in with a suitcase packed to the gills and all manner of toddler paraphernalia including a box of diapers, a diaper bag, a lunch bag, a school bag and instructions for this and that.

Little One wasted no time and immediately began to take control of our lives. We are not people who usually surrender easily, but being a grandparent has wrought great changes in our willpower. We suddenly find ourselves dancing, albeit willingly, to the tune of a two-year-old. We cave in. We roll over and play dead more often than not. You have never seen two older adults (The Husband along with the Mom) fall over themselves to keep a little person happy and satisfied. If Little Miss wants to read books, we read books. If she wants to play her piano, we play the piano. If she wants to dance, we dance. If she wants to color and draw, we color and draw until we are blue in the face. I think you get the idea.

I never realize how slowly I move through life until Little One arrives and revolutionizes my world. I am used to waking up slowly. I like to pray in the mornings while I lie in my bed. That's my conversation time with the Lord. The husband is getting ready for work, and I am quietly talking to God about all manner of things. Praises, requests, and concerns. In retirement, what was once a luxury, has become the norm. I cannot complain. However, I confess I only prayed on the run when Little One stayed with us. There was no time for intercession. I was shooting my arrow prayers at God all the day long. I remembered all too quickly what those years had been like when my own children were underfoot. A contemplative prayer life seemed like some far-off dream.

Little One is gone now. Her GiGi, (who has more stamina than I have) is keeping her until The Daughter and The Son-in-Law get back. I am recuperating. I am thankful for a night of sleep when I am not listening with one ear for a little voice crying out in the dark. I am thankful that I am not getting up to start my day before the sun is up each morning. I am thankful that I am not stumbling around my kitchen trying to pull breakfast together for a hungry toddler before I have had a cup of coffee. I am thankful that I am not sort-of potty training anymore or changing poopy diapers. I am thankful that my prayer life is back on track.

Make no mistake, I am thankful to be the grandmother of precious Little One and precious Little Two. But I am also thankful that they have young mothers to care for them. I have been praying for them a lot more after this week. I am remembering that exhaustion that accompanies so much of parenting, and I am asking the God of all grace to grant them respite, rest, and peace. May He lead them beside the still waters and restore their souls. And I am praying that not just for these two, but for every young mother I know. And maybe some I don't know. I am so very glad that God's got that covered. He is a good and faithful God, is He not? That's why old women (with the exception of Sarah in the Bible), don't bear babies. Thank goodness. That's also why we just get to step in now and then. That's why we can pray, and pray, and pray some more. Can I hear an Amen?!

The Future is Bright

2011-10-13T21:10:00.000-05:00

Little One is definitely a drama queen. No doubt this is intensified by the fact that she is days away from turning two, but aside from that, the girl definitely knows how to play to the audience. She runs a personal meet and greet service. "Hi, I am Eloise," she says to everyone who will willingly make eye contact with her, and that's a lot of folks. She also does the happy dance with happy feet whenever something pleases her (and that is quite often), and communicates her disatisfaction with equal ease and equanimity. The girl also has a sense of style; daily she insists on picking out her own clothes and her own accessories from head to toe. The Daughter had me howling when she told me that Little Miss insisted on wearing her new snow hat with the braids from H&M to school on a day when the temperature hovered near 85. It was the perfect accessory.
Here are a few pics of the girl all dressed up for her trip to see "Disney on Ice." Of course, she loved Minnie and Mickey and has not stopped talking about them nonstop. And I do mean nonstop!

Our other granddaughter, Little Two, is a budding Picasso. She is attracted to strong vibrant colors. The Husband and I are already among her collectors, and we are currently displaying a piece of her art in our home. Her teachers testify to the fact that she loves to finger paint and gets into it so much that they have to strip her down to her diaper on art days. I love it. She brings such intensity to everything she does. She is focused and determined and is not easily deterred. I am also loving the fact that she is learning to say my name and to mimic my standard greeting, a loud Yoo Hoo!

Fearless

2011-10-11T20:24:00.000-05:00

The Daughter's friend and immensely talented photographer, Holly Everett (katherineholly.com/blog), was in Nashvegas last weekend and had a session with The Daughter, Little One, and the Son-in-Law. I have kept my mouth shut about these pictures. They terrify me. But apparently I am the only one that feels this way. Little One, The Son-in-Law and The Daughter think that this is great fun. I am slightly mollified by the fact that the Son-in-Law ran track at Auburn University where he was a decathlete. He has great hand eye coordination and strong arms. I am glad, at least, for that.

Little One is apparently fearless. I don't think that bodes well for the future. I guess that's what prayers of grandmothers are for.

photo taken by the incomparable katherineholly.com

Thanks for the Memories

2011-10-10T21:05:00.000-05:00

One of my North Carolina cousins recently posted some old family pictures on Facebook. If you look at me then and now, you will know just how old some of these pictures are. We are talking 29 years here. So that puts me under 30. Wow, I cannot even remember that far back. The hair cuts are horrendous as are the clothes, but who cares. I look at the pictures, and I am there. There are no mosquitoes or flies and the heat and humidity are not unbearable. That's what memory does for you. It makes everything look hazy and glorious. I probably didn't realize at the time just how glorious it was. But I do now. I hope that counts for something in God's economy.

I think The Husband still has that shirt. I, on the other hand, have no clue what

that get-up is that I am wearing. Oh, and is anyone surprised that I am talking...

with both my mouth and my hands?!

Three of my four children are in this picture. The fourth is missing because he is not yet born.

My dear grandmother is holding The Daughter who is just a couple of months old, my sweet

Momma is the twin on the far right and my two older sons are standing in front of her. Aren't they precious?! My mother's identical twin is to my her left and my beloved North Carolina aunt is holding my nephew. This picture was taken a whopping 29 years ago.

Does anyone remember Underoos? That's what the Oldest Son has on in

this picture. Trust me when I tell you that they were "the thing." The precious boys are now men who are 33 and 32 years old respectively. Raising rambunctious sons who were

sixteen months apart was certainly not a picnic in the park. Then The Daughter came along and I had three children under four. Those days were was a lot about survival.

However, now I am totally reaping the rewards!!!

This picture nearly brought me to tears. I can get maudlin about memories.

Like I said before, you don't remember the itchy bathing suit, the flies or mosquitoes

and the nearly unbearable heat. What I do remember is that this was

how we spent nearly every day of the summer. Out under the pin oak trees, catching

what little breeze was available and shooting the breeze ourselves. Endlessly.

There was always time for conversation, there was always a lap to hold

a baby, and there was always a good book to read and good food to eat.

And the picture below was what we feasted our eyes on day and night.

This view, and the love of family, brought peace like a river to my soul.

It still does.

Betcha I can Make You Smile

2011-10-03T20:08:00.000-05:00

One of my high school friends that I reconnected with during the past year has also become intrigued with the delightful world of Pinterest! If you haven't joined the free club, you need to! I allot myself no more than 15 minutes per day, because it has proven to be addictive. Pinterest is as much fun as looking through a design or idea magazine and a whole lot cheaper! Anyway, my friend Susan has two boards that have made me laugh out loud. One is called Joy and the other, Make Me Giggle. I am posting these pics and throwing down the gauntlet...I just betcha these will make you smile! Here goes a little happy!

Source: rachelarnaud.unblog.fr via Susan Kennedy on Pinterest

Source: facebook.com via Susan Kennedy on Pinterest

Source: bayanjargal.com via Susan Kennedy on Pinterest

Source: google.com via Susan Kennedy on Pinterest

Source: imgfave.com via Susan Kennedy on Pinterest

Source: femailcreations.com via Susan Kennedy on Pinterest

The Changing Face of Little Two

2011-10-03T08:31:00.001-05:00

Little Two is almost eleven months and her delightful personality is rapidly emerging. She is curious, interested in everything going on around her, and is keenly observant. She loves to greet everyone who comes in the door, and they have dubbed her the class president at her day school. However, she can also be stubborn and every once in a while she breaks out in a roar, but she is still largely a happy baby and her smiles and chuckles are some of the best in the world (spoken by a true grandmother, of course). Her parents had a wedding to go to on Saturday night, so Little Two came to spend some time with us. It was pure delight. The only problem is that after her meal and bottle she was plum tuckered out and nearly went to sleep in Pappy's lap. Alas, she could not even make it to seven o'clock. Our time with her seemed all too short. Here's a look at this precious little gem of a granddaughter. Don't you just want to hug her and kiss her?! Trust me, we do just that!

It is Good To Remember

2011-09-30T20:57:00.001-05:00

One of the most oft quoted words in the Bible is the word "remember." It brought to mind this post which I beg to share with you once again...may you never forget how great the love the Father has for the sons and daughters of God...

How Could I Forget Thee

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child

she has borne? Though she may forget you, I will not forget thee. See, I have

engraved you on the palms of my hand." Isaiah 49:15-16

No mother would ever forget her child, for once conceived, a mother's children are hers forever. Yet the Lord makes it clear that His love for us exceeds that of a mother for her child. How can it be? And yet, He tells us again that no man can fathom the depth and heighth and breadth of the magnificent love He holds in His being for each of us. It is a love that defies description. A love that extends beyond all measure. It runs so deep that it forever scarred the hands of the One who gave Himself up for us. Even Isaiah who gave us these beautiful words could not have imagined the terrible price it would cost Christ to "engrave" us on the palm of His hand.
Every mother alive would shudder to think of those selfsame nails piercing the hands of any of her children, yet that is precisely what happened to the Only Begotten Son of God. And it was love that compelled Him to go to that cross. Love for for you and for me.
I began this Mother's Day by being thankful for my own Momma and her many sacrifices of love that have enabled me to become the woman I am today. It was she who rejoiced with me over the impending arrival of each little one; it was she who came at every birth and tenderly taught me how to love and care for my babes; and it was she who has supported and championed me at every turn of my life as a mother. I owe her so much.
My heart is also filled to overflowing as I consider the treasure of the three sons and one daughter who have afforded me the priceless treasure of being a mother. There are no words to express the joy I hold in my heart for them.
Yet it is to the Lord Himself that I owe the greatest debt and the one debt that can never ever be repaid. For it is He who has given me and those I love life and breath and everything else. They and I are engraved on the palm of His hands. Those beautiful nail-scarred hands. It is simply too much to comprehend.

A Few Funnies

2011-09-29T15:20:00.000-05:00

Last weekend while in Atlanta a man asked me if I was a television star. I was afraid he thought I was Phyllis Diller. He was also with his wife so I knew it could not be the worst pick-up line ever. And besides, who picks up 60-year-old women anyway.

I do not wear my glasses in the shower. It is why in a hotel bathroom, I thought I grabbed the shampoo but it was the body lotion. Both were the same color. I figured it out when it sat like a blob on my head. No worries. I reached out and grabbed the right bottle.

The Husband does not wear his glasses in the shower either. He got the shampoo right, but mixed up the conditioner with the body lotion. He wondered later why his hair was so greasy. But it did hide the gray. Maybe he's onto something here.

I walked into a store the other day with Little One. A nice young woman looked at me and said, "I love the dress that your little ???? (I could see her mentally working out the math) has on. "Granddaughter," I quickly supplied. She smiled and said, "Thanks, you really never know these days."
Then I laughed to myself. She was thinking about in-vitro babies, I was thinking about those children who were once known as "change of life" babies. Not that I had one. A change of life baby, that is. 'Cause I am a certified pro with the other.

The dog is the only person I now allow in the bathroom when I am taking a bath. He watches me with great curiosity. I understand.

My young male physical therapist told me that I was really funny for an older woman. Do you think I should be insulted? I just laughed. And then I told him I might punch him when he wasn't looking. I meant it.

My dermatologist asked me if I wanted some "filler" for my smile lines. I told her nicely, "No thank you." She offered me a good price. I still said, "No thank you." When she asked once more later on I started in on my lecture about aging gracefully. She tried to raise her eyebrow at me, but she had used too much Botox. I think I made a point, when I pulled up my eyebrow for her to demonstrate what it is supposed to look like. She didn't ask any more.

I am getting gray hairs around my temples. This makes me a genetic anomaly in my family. My mother is eight-two and isn't yet gray. I am not getting any filler or Botox, but I don't have any qualms whatsoever about coloring my hair. Did you know that you could buy hair crayons? In the meantime, I may give the old Crayolas a try.

Source: whatonearthcatalog.com via Sajil on Pinterest

Have fun, do good things and don't forget to smile, really smile along the way. Oh, and laugh out loud more than every once in a while. It helps.

Book Rescuer

2011-09-27T17:30:00.000-05:00

Becoming a book rescuer has turned out to be one of the most pleasurable side benefits of my current financial venture. When I opened my booth in the antique mall and began attending garage sales and estate sales in search of the elusive bargain that could be refurbished or repurposed or polished for resale, I had little idea that books would feature so prominently in my scheme of things. Antiques at a bargain price might be relatively hard to come by, but books are not. Fortunately, I have come across several bona fide treasures. Some were in the "free to a good home" stack, others cost me 50 cents or perhaps a dollar, and I certainly don't think I have paid more than two or three dollars for any of the gems I have mined.
Here are a few of my treasures that I hope will find a good home in someone else's house where, if given the opportunity, they will be sure to be appreciated by yet another generation of readers.
When We Were Very Young by A.A. Milne. The particular copy that I have was published in 1945 and was the 236th printing of the book, a sure sign that this little volume was much beloved from the day that it first appeared in 1924. If you look at the cover very carefully, you can spot a slightly pudgy bear that looks just like...you guessed...none other that our treasured Pooh. There he is in all his primal glory, long before the folks at Disney transformed him into an animated success. I venture to say that Pooh's charm began when he was but a figment in the heart and mind of one very gifted A.A. Milne. I certainly appreciate Mr. Disney's role in providing seemingly endless entertainment for children, however I am confident that children and adults alike loved Christopher Robin and Pooh when much of their story was simply left to the wonder and the power of imagination.

It appears that I am drawn to children's books with strong illustrations. I stumbled across a relatively rare Little Golden Book from 1948, The New Baby, illustrated by Eloise Wilkin, another noted artist and illustrator. Here is a copy of the artwork adorning the title page of the book along with pictures of the babies who grace the delightful end papers. It is also interesting to see how much has changed in families as they welcome new babies into the home in this day and time as compared to 1948!

I have always loved the artist, Tasha Tudor, and was thrilled to note when I picked up a fine red linen bound copy of the timeworn classic Little Women, that she had been the illustrator. Her whimsical drawings bring new life to this much beloved story. This particular volume has proven to be quite scarce, and it appears I have uncovered a true find. I am fortunate that this book looks as though it has barely been read and is in pristine condition. The next young reader may not readily appreciate the tender beauty of Tudor's illustrations, but like most readers before her, she is sure to ponder which of the March sisters she might be most like: Meg, Amy, Beth, or Jo. Me? I am a Jo girl through and through!

Last, but not least, I happened upon a delightful copy of Robert Louise Stevenson's, A Child's Garden of Verses, illustrated by Eulalie.

The characterizations immediately brought a smile to my face. I understand now why Eulalie's work is highly prized and why her name has endured. The poem below is another one that my dear grandmother, Lou Lou (see the post Standing in Awe) taught us as children. My sisters and cousins and I can still recite it from memory. Unfortunately, I am not quite sure that I can really part with this book; it just might have to find a spot in my personal collection where I can share the joy with Little One and Little Two!

Definitely Not A Sucker

2011-09-26T16:29:00.000-05:00

I'll take supporter over sucker any day. By implication, a sucker is someone who is easily deceived or taken advantage of in situations from which others benefit. No doubt, I have been a sucker. But not this time around. I gladly buy the following products or services because doing so constitutes a form of support I readily endorse. So here are a few of my favorites. Love 'em or don't bother. It's your choice. Just know that I am not a sucker...I like what I get for my money along with the mission behind the product!

If you can't find a store that carries Tom's in your area, you can buy them
online: www.toms.com. They give you a flag, a sticker and a shoe storage bag when you
buy your Tom's. It's like going to the dentist and getting a prize when you leave!

I do love the premise behind Tom's (you buy a pair and they give away a pair to a child in need), and if you don't have a pair of these ultra-comfortable shoes, you need to march right out and get some. They remind me of the espadrilles I wore in the seventies. Some folks think that they are ugly. I personally believe that they constitute a form of retro-utilitarian-chic. Besides, I am too old to buy shoes that don't feel good on my feet. Been there and done that. No Jimmy Choos for me. I'll admit that Tom's are a bit pricey for the construction at $50 plus, but put them on your feet, and they soon feel like the bedroom slippers you used to scrounge around in during the high school years. 'Cept now you are cool. If you see me around town, chances are that I'll be sporting my new black plaid Toms with a touch of red. Of course they go great with my mom, no, make that "grandmother" jeans!

These two women, Gwen and Suzanne, are unbelievably passionate about adoption, and if you have never heard of the organization, 147 Million Orphans, you can read all about their calling here: www.147millionorphans.com. They sell super soft t-shirts and great clutches and tote bags and so much more on their website. And everything is for this fabulous cause: helping orphans. I personally know one of the women (Gwen Oatsvall) who is behind this movement which started with a little seed that has quickly grown into a giant oak tree. Her personal testimony and ministry of love are amazing, and I am honored to count her and her husband, Scott, as my friends. I gladly support anything that Gwen and Suzanne put their hand to...I respect the vision that God has called them to that much. And besides, who doesn't love that great little clutch?!

Who wouldn't want to help a woman in Africa create a sustainable business by buying one of her handmade scarves. And they are lovely, to boot! Take a look at the vision behind the non-profit fashionABLE here: http://livefashionable.com/. You can start your Christmas shopping now and give a gift that is not only practical, but also carries with it a specific purpose and fulfillment of vision. Each scarf also comes with a handwritten note from the woman who made it and includes her name.

So why not give something this year that has a purpose and meaning? Trust me when I say that it will take gift-giving to a new level to know that you are blessing someone with your purchase (and not just the recipient of your gift!) And besides, all of the above purchases are guaranteed to warm your heart, as well! It's totally a win-win!

Time for Some Comfort Food

2011-09-23T08:58:00.000-05:00

Comfort food. We know what it is and how it tastes. When we are hurting or sad or just need a touch of home, we reach for it. Your comfort food might not be my comfort food, but both of our comfort foods have a common denominator: they are designed to make us feel better. One of these selfsame foods in our family is a very humble baked spaghetti. It is not difficult to make, and you will certainly will not find this recipe gracing the pages of any gourmet magazine, but that's not the intention. This is not elevated cuisine. It's not meant to impress. In the the South we call it down-home food. It takes you back to your roots or brings a touch of familarity and comfort to your palate.
My momma introduced our clan to baked spaghetti, and I have been making it for my family on a regular basis and taking it to people who have had surgery or a death in the family or welcomed a new baby or just moved into the neighborhood. It never fails to elicit the same response. Nice. Delicious. Welcome. Familiar. Family friendly. If that's not the essence of comfort food, I don't know what is.
Here goes this super easy dish:
1 sweet onion, finely chopped
2 Tbsp butter
3 cloves of garlic (finely chopped)
1.5 pounds of lean ground beef
salt and pepper to taste
(basil and oregano may also be added according to taste)
2 jars of chunky Ragu or similar tomato sauce (you can make your own if you prefer)
1 small can tomato paste
1 small can chopped black olives
2 Tbsp brown sugar
1 pound vermicelli
4 cups grated sharp cheddar cheese
(mushrooms are an optional addition)

In a large pan, saute the chopped onion until almost translucent; add garlic and continue sauteing for a minute or two. Add ground beef. Brown the beef thoroughly and drain off any excess fat. Salt and pepper to taste; add additional herbs if desired. After draining, add 2 jars of Ragu Chunky tomato sauce and the small can of tomato paste. Add up to 2-3 Tbsp of brown sugar and the small can of chopped black olives. Simmer while preparing pasta. Cook 1 pound of vermicelli al dente and drain well. In a large deep dish (the deeper the better) layer tiny amount of sauce to coat the bottom of the dish, then 1/2 of the pasta followed by 1/2 of the sauce and then 1/2 of the cheese. Repeat: pasta, sauce, cheese. May be frozen at this point or refrigerated for up to one day until ready to cook. Cook at 350 degrees for 45 minutes or until golden and bubbly. Deliver and wait for the phone call. A effusive thank you and a recipe request are a given with this dish. Easy. Delicious. Classic comfort food.

image courtesy of Dexie Wharton

P. S. In our house, we eat this dish in "spaghetti sandwiches": white or whole wheat bread slathered with the ingredients of the casserole! No need for french bread in our home! Simply add a salad or fresh fruit and voila, you will have a happy family!

Ahhh....

Standing in Awe

2011-09-18T21:31:00.000-05:00

Source: jpgmag.com via Kathy on Pinterest

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Source: tumblr.com via Kathy on Pinterest

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Source: dancemagickdance.tumblr.com via Robyn on Pinterest

I am the beneficiary of many timeless and enduring gifts from my beloved grandmother, Lou Lou, not the least of which is a deep appreciation for poetry. As grandchildren we learned of the beauty and power of rhyme at her knee as she taught us poems she had committed to memory. The lovely images above call to mind one of her all-time favorites, Joyce Kilmer's Trees. When I recited this work at her funeral, I looked out in the audience to see my sisters, cousins, and other family members whispering the words with me. She had taught us every one.

I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,	5
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.	10

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Lou Lou, this one's for you...

A Love Gift

2011-09-16T08:27:00.000-05:00

The Husband gave me a wonderful gift for our anniversary. He took me to see Yo-Yo Ma. Live and in person. As the evening approached, I was so giddy I was like a child in a candy store. It was everything I had thought it would be. Arguably the best cellist in the world, Yo-Yo Ma brings my favorite instrument to life, and he does it with passion, exuberance and a joy that is contagious. So after convincing The Husband that, for me, seeing Yo-Yo Ma was the equivalent of the Masters, the Final Four and the Super Bowl all rolled into one-- an analogy he completely understood, off we went. Since he would rather be at a football game or a rock concert, I know that this was a true gift of love. Here's to Yo-Yo Ma and a magical evening I will never forget.

A Celebration of Life

2011-09-13T21:27:00.000-05:00

I've only ever lived my adult life in the South so I cannot comment on other parts of the country, but I know that down here when something happens of a difficult nature, the women head to the kitchen. I don't know if cooking helps to relieve stress or to soothe a troubled or grieving heart, but from the looks of my kitchen it would appear so.
A dear friend of mine is burying her beloved daddy today. She lost her mother to cancer when she was a young woman just a little over twenty so she and her dad have always been exceptionally close. He later remarried an especially lovely lady from Nashville and in the course of their thirty-eight year marriage her children and grandchildren have become his. So what was once a small family (my friend and her brother) has become a much larger family through the joining of the two families.
So on the one hand, it's a good thing the cooks got busy. Just two days ago, I sent out word about the funeral plans and the fact that a few of us would be serving a light lunch to the family between the funeral service here in Nashville and the burial in a small town about an hour South of us.
Apparently women in the South don't understand the meaning of the word "light lunch." My refrigerator looks like a sagging hippopotamus. Crammed into this standard 1980's two-door side-by-side model (I am still waiting on my stainless steel upgrade) are the following: One giant bowl of homemade chicken salad, thirty-five pimento cheese sandwiches, 2 pounds of barbecue; baked beans, spinach dip, tortilla roll up sandwiches, 2 bowls of fruit, enough chicken tenders to feed a small army of children, one large Caesar salad, a bowl of pasta salad, 2 dozen deviled eggs, 2 gallons of fruit tea, and a large ham. Not to be outdone, the kitchen table is laden with four cakes, two pans of brownies, a loaf of poppy seed bread, 3 dozen homemade rolls, buns, assorted breads, tortilla chips, potato chips, and just about any other kind of chip known to man. Oh, and under the table I have stacked up the bottled water, the soft drinks, and the bottled juices that friends also brought over.
Like I said, this is supposed to be a light lunch. And I still have to get it all in my car and take it over to the house where the family will gather. I think I better get started now. It will probably take me the better part of an hour, but, oh no, I forgot that first I need to clean out my car. At least my refrigerator will look cleaned out when this is over.
Don't you think this is one reason the Lord says, "It is better to go to a house of mourning that a house of rejoicing?" At least in the South, it is. You never come away hungry, that's for sure! You cry, you laugh, you remember, and you eat. It's a perfect way to celebrate the life of a loved one whom you know is dancing in heaven today!

A Time to Laugh...

2011-09-12T19:46:00.001-05:00

It's a good day to laugh, but then again, it's always a good day to laugh. Sometimes if you don't laugh, you might have to cry or scream. It's not one of those days (and we've all had 'em), but it is one of those days when I feel the need to lighten up the cyberworld with a little levity. Plus I think most of these kids are gonna kill their Mothers when they grow up. I don't blame them one bit. But I am definitely smiling today.

Source: images.search.yahoo.com via Rhonda on Pinterest

What was my mother thinking? M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E???

Source: etsy.com via Rhonda on Pinterest

Source: costumecraze.com via Robin on Pinterest

I actually think my parents find this pose attractive

Source: t2.gstatic.com via Kelly on Pinterest

Guilty as charged...

Source: but-honestly-em.blogspot.com via JoJo on Pinterest

I can't wait for the day when I can pick my OWN outfits...

Source: google.com via Lauren on Pinterest

Mom, you forgot the product...

Source: etsy.com via Elisabeth on Pinterest

I mean a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do...

Source: fotosister.deviantart.com via Anne on Pinterest

If I close my eyes I can pretend they didn't put this thing on my head...

Source: etsy.com via Sharon on Pinterest

Baby on the right: "My expression says it all..."

Source: google.com via Amber on Pinterest

"Hmmmm, do you feel better now?"

Source: blogs.99wmyx.com via Amy on Pinterest

"I caught you...you are smiling...I just know it."

Thank You

2011-09-10T22:27:00.000-05:00

I didn't know them personally. I didn't know their names, where they lived, or what they enjoyed doing in their spare time. I don't know if they had families or best friends or a dog who ran to greet them at the end of a long day. I don't know who wept yesterday or who weeps today once again to mourn their loss. But I know that scores upon scores of real men and women entered those buildings that were burning on September 11 and many of them knew without a doubt even then that the odds were against them.

Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures and times like these empower seemingly ordinary men and women to undertake the extraordinarily heroic. It is a documented phenomenon that occurs on battlefields. Who of us knew the battlefield would come to the Twin Towers in New York City, America's own backyard on a beautiful fall day in early September ten years ago? Who knew that what was heretofore unfathomable would become a terrible reality and one that haunts us to this day.
The scripture teaches us that "greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his brother." There are many observations, many lessons, and many stories that have emerged from this latest day of infamy to burn itself into the psyche of America. Yet none strikes deeper than the story of the first responders who climbed up and up and up into those buildings that would all too quickly become their tombs, their final resting place.
There are no words to touch this. Words just aren't enough to soothe a loss so great in the face of an even greater horror that imploded and reverberated around us. So I pray for the men, women, and children these heroes left behind. I pray that the grief these families will feel on this ten-year anniversary of 9/11 will not overwhelm any of them to the point of despair. I will pray for healing tears and a healing touch and for the healing for a wound that seems beyond the scope of most of us to understand, much less comprehend. But I will not forget. I will not forget.
So one woman in a house in Tennessee hundred of miles from where the sacrifices of many were made will get out of her bed and get down on her knees to say thank you for the lives of those who gave their all that day. Your sacrifice gives us hope and we honor you.

photos from flicker.com

Coming Full Circle

2011-09-07T20:11:00.000-05:00

I am not a native of Nashville. I consider myself a Florida girl through and through even though I was actually born in Louisiana. However, because I grew up in a small town, I appreciate the cycle of continuity that accompanies a small-town lifestyle. Generations attend the same church. People live next door to each other in houses that have been passed down and children of children end up playing side by side much as their parents did. There are drawbacks of living in a small town, but the blessings are many.
Nashville, on the other hand is far from a small town. We are well over a million and a half if you count what they call the "bedroom communities", i.e., the suburban communities where people who work in the downtown area drive home to sleep at night. Nashville is a city on the cusp of change. But despite its rapid growth and big-city amenities, I am comforted that some things don't seem to change much...or at least, one very important thing.
I picked up Little One from her first day of Preschool/Mother's Day Out at St. B's today. Twenty-five years ago, I was parking in the same parking lot and walking down the same stairs to pick The Daughter up. Today it was her daughter. I turned around, and in the blink of an eye I am now the grandmother and not the mother. I got a big gulp in my throat when I rounded the corner and saw the classrooms lining the hallway. The Director of the PreSchool is the same lovely lady whom I am honored to count as a friend. I even knew several of the young mothers (one is a much loved former student of mine). I imagine that Little One will sing some of the same praise songs, learn the same scriptures, and celebrate the Holy Days in much the same way. I also have little doubt that she will be surrounded by the love and faithfulness of God in her time at St. B's, just as her mother was.

However, all of this continuity is more than just a coincidental blessing. It is, for me, the living fulfillment of scripture. In Psalm 78 we are exhorted:
We will not hide them from their descendants;
   we will tell the next generation
the praiseworthy deeds of the LORD,
   his power, and the wonders he has done.
⁵ He decreed statutes for Jacob
   and established the law in Israel,
which he commanded our ancestors
   to teach their children,
⁶ so the next generation would know them,
   even the children yet to be born,
   and they in turn would tell their children.
⁷ Then they would put their trust in God...

This is what I will keep in mind as I pray for Little One and for her precious teachers in this Christ-centered place. I am forever grateful to St. B's for the love, the mercy, and the truth of the Gospel that were lived out before The Daughter when she was but a little girl. And I rejoice that Little One will likewise be the recipient of that selfsame love, mercy and truth.

I am honored to see the faithfulness of God as it is coming full circle in my life. With the help, guidance, and tutelage of many, The Husband and I made it a priority that all of our children, including The Daughter, were taught the marvelous deeds of the Lord, and now I am getting to see what the scripture refers to as children yet to the born, the next generation, including our precious Little One, being steeped in the same life-giving Truth.

To God be the Glory, great things He hath done...

Here are some pictures of Little One today!

At home, all ready to go. I love my lunchbox! Can you tell?!

Ready, Set, Go! I am playing in the gym at St. B's before school starts!

Sitting on the same steps where The Daughter once sat!
Little One and her mommy look so much alike!

Labor Day!

2011-09-05T12:41:00.001-05:00

The Daughter-in-Law and Son have come down with the throw-up bug. Could there be anything worse than having a throw-up bug on a holiday while you also have to take care of a baby who doesn't understand that her parents are sick? No worries. Nonna and Pappy have jumped on our horses and ridden to the rescue.
In spite of the fact that we feel very sorry for the parents, we are having the best little play-date imaginable with one very adorable Little Two. She is now officially cruising so we have been watching her navigate and pull up on various pieces of furniture in the family room. She is still at the cautious stage, but I doubt that will last for long. She has also wasted a lot of energy trying to corner our Cavalier, Wilson, but so far he is only playing mouse to her cat which makes her laugh all the more.
Thankfully, we have successfully worn her out and she is now down and out for the count. Don't tell anyone, but Pappy and Nonna are about to be down and out for the count, as well!

Here is Miss Cuteness herself!

'Tis the Season of Compromise

2011-09-03T20:40:00.000-05:00

The season officially opened on Thursday evening. For all of you neophytes, I am talking about the College Football Season. I don't know about where you live, but it has become a cult of sorts in my neck of the woods. This in no small part is due to the fact that I have lived the past thirty years in a largely male dominated household. One very athletic husband. Three very athletic sons. One very athletic daughter. One about-as-far-as-you-can-get-from-an athlete mother. No one told me that my fall schedule would revolve around football games. My husband played baseball in college so I can understand his obsession with baseball, baseball parks, and of course, the World Series. It is, after all, America's pastime. But football? I should have known.

In our early married lives we could have easily qualified for food stamps. I was finishing school and The Husband was earning minimum wage in a family company. We barely had two nickels to rub together. We owned one car and we kept it parked most of the time. He took the bus to work (because we could not afford the parking downtown), and I walked to the neighborhood grocery store. I brought my groceries home in one of those little metal carts you see the elderly toting around. I was so not cool. I guess we were energy efficient even then; our carbon footprint was practically minuscule. We spent virtually no money because we didn't have any to spend. But we somehow managed to have football season tickets every year to the Vanderbilt football games. Even then we had our priorities straight.

We sent two of our sons to the school that won the National Championship last year, so of course
The Husband and one of the sons just had to go to the game...

Things haven't changed much. The husband still has season tickets, but I decided to bow out after watching my beloved Commodores make it to just three bowl games in forty years. On hot humid days when the temperature at kick-off is right at 100 degrees, I prefer my air-conditioning. Turns out The Husband does, too. So here we sit on the inaugural College Game Day of the 2011-2012 season. We watched last year's National Championship Team, Auburn, pull out a last minute win to keep from totally embarrassing themselves. We are now flipping channels between the LSU vs Oregon game and our Commodores who actually might win their opening game. Life is good. I have adjusted to the fact that fall in my household is a season of compromise. We go to movies on Sunday afternoons instead of Saturday nights. We hang out on Saturday night with other couples who like to watch football. The men stay glued to the set and the wives talk. It's the way things go in the South. But The Husband knows that this wife is making these sacrifices with something specific in mind....it's called Ireland. And it's calling our name. The two of us will hopefully be heading there sometime after football season is over. The Husband has learned the art of compromise. It makes for a good marriage and some very nice trips. So while we sit together in the family room, he is watching the games and I am conducting a little research on, you guessed it, the Emerald Isle.

All photos from Flicker.com

Prayer and the Nature of a Friendship

2011-09-02T08:43:00.000-05:00

Source: etsy.com via Kathy on Pinterest

I am praying for a friend today.

We have been friends a long time.

Thirty-three years to be exact.

That's a lot of water over and under the bridge and so many memories.

She has been there through it all.

We raised our babies together.

We cried together. Laughed together and even screamed together.

We saw our daughters get married and my sons, too.

Now we are playing with granddaughters.

We buried a best friend. That was really really hard.

In the course of our friendship, I have been a great friend, a terrible friend, and a so-so friend.

I wish that weren't true, but it is.

I love my friend deeply, but I don't always tell her so. I am rectifying that today.

I love you, Boo and always will.

The good news is that since we both love Jesus we will "always" be friends!

Source: internetcafedevotions.com via Kathy on Pinterest

I am also very thankful that His grace is enough. For friendship. For life. Forever.

Source: etsy.com via Kathy on Pinterest

The Librarian's Daughter

2011-09-01T21:09:00.000-05:00

From the time that I was a little girl, I have been captivated by words. Thus as a child it was only natural that I devoured books the way that some children devour sweets. I can thank my mother, a highly regarded librarian or media specialist as she likes to be called, for this life-long love affair of mine. Her influence upon me in this regard has been both pervasive and enduring. I am descended from a long line of bibliophiles. My grandmother, Louise Brooks Rushing, was a much revered English teacher and her mother, my great-grandmother, was a founder of the original Study Club in her hometown. The home my great-grandmother grew up in later became the location for the city library of Opp, Alabama. So...reading books and collecting books are in my genes.
However, even I have had to admit...I have enough books. There are books in nearly every room in my house. We collect bookshelves around here the same way that some people collect china. I even had books piled up under my bed for a while. About six months ago I decided it was time to begin purging. After giving lots of books away to Goodwill, I found myself becoming acquainted once again with our local McKay's bookstore. You take your old books to McKay's, trade them in, and they will either give you cash or store credit. I tried the money route, but you only get about half or less of what you would get if you take store credit. It's a racket. They sucker you back in every time. So, I am taking back my old books and getting store credit so I can...you guessed it, buy more books. Something is wrong with this picture.
Fast forward to my antique mall booth. Since I was getting seriously side-tracked in my recovery plan for my addiction, I knew I had to take drastic measures. Gasp. I am now willing to share some of my antique and well-loved vintage books with discriminating buyers. Don't worry, I am not getting rid of anything that I really treasure, but I am offering some lovely books for you fellow bibliophiles. Here's a look at some of the goodies I recently added to my booth at the Harpeth Antique Mall!

This Big Golden Book of Poetry is highly sought after for its lovely and whimsical illustrations by Gertrude Elliott. Since the 1969 edition is very difficult to find this copy has a hefty price tag, but I have been assured that the right buyer will snap it up.

Add caption

I don't remember this particular book, but lots of people seem to love it, which is why it is in high demand. This 1967 edition has sweet illustrations by Marjorie Cooper. Trust me when I say that this is a steal (it's in excellent condition)!

This is a little Scholastic 1967 paperback copy of Jack and the Beanstalk with hilarious illustrations.

Apparently the humble Little Golden Book is hot in vintage book circles. And who doesn't love a little Peter Pan? I have a good selection of vintage Golden Books available. Come browse through to find your favorite!

I am not about to foist my opinions on the Crusades on you; I am simply offering this 1942 edition of Harold Lamb's The Crusades: Iron Men and Saints.

This is an older edition of Huckleberry Finn from 1965 that has delightful inside cover illustrations

And this is by no means all that I have! There's a copy of The Ides of March (First Edition) by Thornton Wilder, a beautiful copy of the Waverly Novels (Volume 8) by Sir Walter Scott with original engravings intact and much, much more! Stop by to see the rest. You won't be sorry!

Do Yourself A Favor and Click the Button

2011-08-31T19:26:00.000-05:00

I don't usually forward you from my little corner of the blog world to another, but I am making an exception this time. I hope you will trust me on this, because a blessing awaits you. You will also need to allow yourself some time. Probably about 10 minutes if you read quickly, but I would recommend adding a bit more so that you can soak it all in. So find a quiet corner and get yourself ready.
This is a God story. A big God story. And I want you to share in the wonder of it all. So double-click on the link below, sit back and give my friend Lindsey your ear.

And They Say God Doesn't do Miracles, This Might Just Change Your Mind

This is the banner for Lindsay's blog: Lifelivedfully.com

2011-08-30T21:01:00.000-05:00

I am thoroughly enjoying my new financial venture. After years of weighing the pros and cons, I have finally opened a booth in an antique mall. To stock my space, I have cleaned out closets and gotten rid of an odd assortment of things that have gathered dust and taken up space far too long in my own home. Some are even thirty-seven year old wedding presents that have never been used. Despite my inclination to hold onto things that were gifts once given with the best of intentions, I finally decided that if I haven't used the thing a single time in thirty-seven years, odds are that I won't be using it anytime soon. And since no one gave me a cane or a walker, I am safe in putting these items up for sale.
I have also begun to venture outside my own four walls and search further afield for items to sell. Some days I feel like a pirate with a treasure map that is nothing but a deadend. And other days I find the booty almost immediately. This entire process has definitely been a learning curve. I have been hot, sweaty and bothered plenty of times, but I think I am still having fun. The Husband is convinced that I have gone off my rocker. He might be right.
Oddly enough I feel a little like a storm chaser. Except that instead of storms, I am chasing the elusive bargain. And not just any ole bargain, but a bargain that will sell! I am finding it's a little like gambling. Art Linkletter said that "People say the darndest things..." I would add that "They buy the darndest things, too..." Seriously, there doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to what people will buy.
I recently purchased about 15 vintage handkerchiefs from the 1940's to put in my booth. I got very excited about them, but when I showed them to the sweet ladies at the front desk, they didn't share my excitement. They simply shrugged their shoulders and told me what they thought I should ask for them. I guess vintage handkerchiefs are pretty run of the mill in the antique business. But they are not run of the mill to me. Searching for validation, I spent some time on my favorite website, Pinterest, and of course, found all sorts of fun things that you could do with vintage handkerchiefs. I got so inspired that I am even having to argue with myself to leave them in the booth. So I am doing the next best thing, I am passing along some of that inspiration to you.
First up is a lovely pillow made from a vintage handkerchief. I have one that looks almost exactly like this for sale in my booth!

Source: primrosedesign.blogspot.com via Kathy on Pinterest

Next up is this divine quilt. I am fascinated by it. I don't think I have quite enough handkerchiefs available to complete it, so you will have to find another source in addition to mine, if you are going to make this!

Source: None via Kathy on Pinterest

And this idea would allow you to use your little treasures again and again!

photo from The Mother Huddle blog

I also have some lovely pieces of milk glass in my booth. If you are planning a party, take a look at what you could do with some humble milk glass.

picture from Eddie Ross

inspiration board from Every Last Detail blog

The next time you are in Franklin, come and see me at the Harpeth Antique Mall. I am Booth B-1 (Feather Your Nest!) If I am not there, I am probably at the Goodwill or shopping in one of my secret haunts that I cannot divulge because you just might get there first!

The New Neighbors

2011-08-29T20:20:00.000-05:00

I'm no rootin' tootin' cowgirl (don't own a gun), but I sure can scream like a banshee.I guess it's a good thing. If you are in the neighborhood and hear blood curdling screams emanating from our home, there's a good reason. And Scout's honor, it has absolutely nothing to do with The Husband. Let me explain. Heretofore, we have led a relatively pleasant life in suburbia -- our home sits on slightly over an acre of land in an older subdivision that was once part of a larger farm. I fell in love with this house twenty-five years ago primarily because of the mature trees that beautifully frame the front of the house. The broad, flat, expansive backyard was a paradise just waiting for our children. It was perfectly designed for just about any type of game you could think of, from football to baseball to softball to relay races to golf, and most days I just sent the kids outside to play and never thought twice about it. Those were the days. Sigh.
Time has marched on. Our children are now bona fide adults, and even the neighbors' kids are mostly grown and going their own way. So it's none too exciting around here. In fact it is so quiet that a few new neighbors have taken up residence nearby. They are large dog-like creatures that howl and yip and yell at night to their hearts' content. Coyotes. Yep. But no worries. I can be at peace with nature, and I can handle a coyote or two. I have seen them in the neighborhood before. Once there was one walking down the middle of the street about dusk. But five coyotes? And all at once? That's a pack and that's another matter altogether. It's just a few too many coyotes. It's scary. Besides, we have a small fenced-in enclosure in the back yard where our Cavalier spaniel runs around to his heart's content. But after this weekend, not so much. Five coyotes came out in broad daylight and sauntered around in our backyard just like they owned it. They stared at my son and me as we sat on the porch. I waved my arms. They stared back. I stood up and waved some more. They ignored me and went about their own business. Even when the son and I stood up and started making noise. It was eerie. I was scared. The coyotes obviously were not fazed one little bit. I went to bed wondering if coyotes can jump a three foot fence.
The next day the husband was riding on his John Deere riding lawn mower that he likes to pretend is a tractor when the pack of coyotes decided to pay him a visit. They moved into the yard about 10 yards from where he was methodically going back and forth, back and forth. (That's what you do when you cut a big lawn.) The Husband saw the coyotes and hollered. They moved back out of sight into the tree line. He thought he had set them straight. Then they came back. All five of them. At that point The Husband decided it was time to get out of Dodge. He moved away from their territory. I guess he decided to forego mowing the back of the lot until next week or the week after that. He obviously made about as serious an impression on the coyotes as the son and I had. And to think, The Husband had the benefit of that shiny green and black tractor. I guess the coyotes have never heard of John Deere.
I called the police. I know. I know. But I did call the non-emergency number. Later that day they sent a patrol officer out to talk to The Husband and me. Then just like overgrown boys, the officer and my husband decided to go on a coyote-hunting expedition. The officer went first with The Husband following behind. But before the officer went into the tree line, he put on his gloves and took out his gun. I guess they were both worried about a possible encounter with five full-grown coyotes. The coyotes must have been taking a nap somewhere else because they were no where to be found.
The policeman left me the number of the Wildlife Commission. I called and talked to a really nice guy named Tony. Tony is the one who recommended that I scream like a banshee. He also told me to wave my arms, grab a pot and pan and a metal spoon and bang the *&^% out of it at the same time that I was advancing and screaming. I have the screaming part down. I can also beat those pots and pans like nobody's business, but I don't know about the advancing part. I might be The Mom and have more than a few years under my belt, but I am also a CHICKEN. And the last time I checked, coyotes like to eat CHICKENS. So I will scream, I will wave, I will beat the pot with the spoon, but I will stay behind the fence, and I will, under no circumstances, advance into the coyotes' territory. In fact, I just gave the coyotes the deed to the upper back yard. They can have it. Did I mention that they can also jump a three foot fence? I am still thinking about that one. I somehow don't think the neighborhood association will go for barb-wire rolls on top of my fence...

Menacing look from the coyote on the left

photo courtesy of flicker.com

2011-08-27T21:24:00.000-05:00

It's The Husband's birthday. It always comes at the same time every year (smile) and usually falls during the last blistering gasp of summer, but wonder of wonders, yesterday we woke up to cooler temperatures. I am thankful. At least we won't be sweating to death on the porch tonight as we gather for dinner to celebrate and bless this good man.
While there are many things I like and love about the man I married thirty-seven years ago, these are my top ten tonight.

1. His loyalty and integrity are paramount.

2. He is totally committed to me and to our family.

3. His faith in the Lord has grown by leaps and bounds during the course of our lives together.

4. If he has your back, he has your back.

5. He is willing and open to change.

6. He stands by, up, and for what he believes.

7. He works hard and has learned to play hard, too!

8. He has an adventurous spirit.

9. Stability and strength are hallmarks of his character.

10. He is always seeking the opportunity to encourage, minister to, and bless others.

I am glad that we still have fun together!

Happy Birthday! I love you!

Finding the Fabulous on Etsy

2011-08-26T17:54:00.000-05:00

If you are a girl who likes to have the one of a kind, then look no further than this artist who screens and prints her own linen. She can work with you to design your fabric, then she will construct the pillows, tea towels, napkins, coasters, or wall hangings or give you the option of purchasing the fabric itself so that you can recover your chairs or have your curtains made. The possibilities are literally endless!

http://www.etsy.com/listing/46124259/medieval-rose-linen-pillow?ref=tre-628805441-3

I wish I were smart enough to come up with some of these things. I love the sleek look of the stainless steel and think that this would save The Husband from asking me nearly every day, "Now, where did you put the mail?"

http://www.etsy.com/listing/73904615/soda-retro-modern-mail-letter-holder

My dear grandmother, Lou Lou, had a train case from the 40's that looked a lot like this. It went with her wherever she went. It was the perfect size for all of her toiletries, jewelry, make-up, and a change of underclothes. I think I want to bring the train case back; it's time has come...again!

http://www.etsy.com/listing/79496544/vintage-train-case-royal-traveller-warm?ref=sr_gallery_4&ga_search_submit=&ga_search_query=Vintage+train+case&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_ship_to=US&ga_page=1&ga_language_carousel=no&ga_search_type=all&ga_facet=

Who ever knew that old fans could be so chic? Or old cameras? Or your grandfather's binoculars? Or your great-grandmother's opera glasses? I really don't need an excuse to keep anything else, but again, all I can say is WHO KNEW? I guess my grandmother was right when she said, "Don't throw that away...someone will want it one day." The problem was she said that about EVERYTHING!

http://www.etsy.com/listing/77855938/vintage-1930s-gilbert-fan?ref=tre-630461122-2

Hope you will be inspired to do your own happy hunting on Etsy.com.

No Words Necessary

2011-08-23T18:47:00.000-05:00

Sigh.

Ode to a Vacuum Cleaner

2011-08-22T14:12:00.000-05:00

No, I am not being paid to say this. Even though I wish I were. However, I am not savvy enough to figure out how to get people to pay me to say the truth about the products or the things I really use. I always wonder about those celebrity endorsements, don't you? But I guess if someone was paying me the big bucks to tote around a Louis Vuitton bag, I guess I could force myself to do it. Otherwise, Louis V. and I will not be making one another's acquaintance any time soon.
Back to the subject at hand. Vacuum cleaners. This post was inspired by a comment I made on a another blog. Does that mean that I am out of blog material? Probably. Except for the fact that I have serious opinions about vacuum cleaners. If you have a home or an apartment, you know what I am talking about. Forget the more pedestrian broom and mop, we are talking about one of those appliances you usually have a love-hate relationship with...the lowly vacuum cleaner.
Since I am probably the oldest blogger on the planet, I have had the pleasure of living through several inventions of the vacuum cleaner. You name it, I have probably used it. I grew up with an Electrolux, but gimme a break, seriously, who can afford it?! Besides, they are too labor intensive. You are exhausted by the time you get it all out of the closet and select the correct attachment. And it has so many attachments that it almost warrants its own closet, which it was fortunate to have at my mother's house. (That would be an impossibility at my house, by the way.) When I was kid, I was totally fascinated by the automatic cord return, but with the hefty Electrolux pricetag, it's a fascination I can live without. And the Kirby, forget that one. It's like the Humvee of vacuum cleaners. TOO HEAVY. I am assuming you will eventually want your children to vacuum and the Kirby is like lifting weights. They are going to whine and cry and you will end up doing it 'cause the Kirby is a monster to handle.
I have also used something called the self-propelled Hoover (vastly overrated) because you still have to push it and truth be told, I was attracted to a vaccuum that said self-propelled because I basically wanted it to do the work for me. What a pipedream!
Then lo and behold, the bagless vacuums became the rage. So I bought a bagless Hoover Wind Tunnel at a garage sale, and it still works most of the time. However, it has been demoted from duty and has been relegated to life in the playroom which is where old vacuums go to die in my house. My biggest issue with the bagless Hoover is that I don't want to actually look at how much dog hair I live with---and the see-through viewing window makes this something you simply cannot avoid. Am I the only one who finds that there is absolutely nothing attractive about all those dust bunnies and their dog hair friends spinning around in the front of your vacuum cleaner for all to see. It's totally gross. This is precisely why trash receptacles are opaque. Who really wants to see the detritus of life? And then, to boot, you have to clean it out yourself. Yuk. Double yuk. I cannot believe how successfully the vacuum cleaner industry has transferred the role of trash disposal to us. And we didn't even whine about it. They convinced us that the bags are too dirty, and so emptying your own cannister is somehow not? What suckers we are. Besides if you are any sort of germaphobe, in addition to a hazmat suit, you would want to wear gloves and a mask, use a heavy disinfectant, and take a shower every time you undertake this task.
Now we move on to a discussion of the New Kid on the Block: The Dyson. I call it the King of Hype. My daughter-in-law has a Dyson, but I just can't get my head around spending that much for something that keeps changing it's design concept every year. I think going with tried and true has some validity when it comes to buying an appliance that could (note, I say could) be used at my house every single day. So...drum roll. If you are looking for something that will never disappoint you or leave you out in the cold (or neck deep in the dog hair), you need to look no further than an ORECK. I have owned two Orecks and am still having an intense love affair with this little lightweight and carry it anywhere with only one hand gem of a vacuum cleaner. And if you think I actually might know what I am talking about, then march your little fanny right out and buy yourself an Oreck. The folks at Oreck also run really good sales a couple of times a year, so if you are not in desperate straits, call and find out when these are.
Here's my bona fide endorsement: I owned a refurbished Oreck for 12 years that needed servicing a grand total of 2 times, and that was because it ingested something that should have never been on the floor to begin with. When my adult children heard that I was thinking about getting a new Oreck, they actually argued over who might be able to walk away with the old one (which probably could have qualified as an antique at that point.) But it still worked. I got some money for Christmas so I upgraded to the model that has the setting for wood floors, and I use it everywhere, even in my kitchen. I am still in love with it. It is light, compact, and totally dependable. I am telling you, these things never die. And the best part is that if you have to take your Oreck in to be serviced, the Oreck dealership will give you loaner model. That's because they understand that people who drive Orecks (they are like little cars) are totally addicted to them. So Oreck it is. Don't adulterate yourself and look at anything else. There is a reason that hotel housekeepers love these suckers. One they are indestructible, and two, they are worth every penny you pay for them. That's my two cents, for what it's worth! And like I said, I wasn't paid a dime! Too bad.

Headed to the Beach...and in the Meantime

2011-08-19T22:29:00.000-05:00

I will be in no man's land for a few days, and I am looking forward to it. No temptation to link to Pinterest or to follow all of my favorite blogs. Just The Husband, me, the sun, the sand and the surf. It doesn't get much better. Besides, this will be waiting for me when I get back home to Nashvegas!

Some Little Two love!

Little One on her way via wagon to brunch at Madonnas!

A Fond Farewell to Summer

2011-08-19T08:03:00.000-05:00

In the summer we do casual dining. It's a sometimes crazy mix. This week my Bible Study girls came over for a pot-luck salad supper. We ate on the porch, and I set the table. A couple of the girls laughed at the incongruity of the table setting, but hey, it worked for me.
These are the elements I combined:

A somewhat faded or shabby chic blue and white vintage tablecloth

I had starched the heck out of as I tend to find that starch will always disguise a multitude of sins!

Square white plastic plates from a party supply store

that were designed to be DISCARDED during clean up! Yay!

Blue linen napkins

Please notice that the blues don't quite match the tablecloth, and I prefer it this way!

Stainless steel silverware right out of the kitchen drawer

Sterling silver goblets

Yep, you read that right!

My rationale: who doesn't love the coldest water imaginable on a hot summer day?

And the best way to get that is to drink it out of a silver goblet!

Besides, silver goblets also add that timeless touch to any table.

Wooden flower holders from Urban Outfitters

Short candlestick votives: Two dollars apiece from Harpeth Antique Mall

See for yourself that it all worked together!

But next to the girls themselves, the best part of the gathering was the delicious food. Here is a glimpse of some of our culinary delights!

Caprese salad with red Beefsteak and golden Roma tomatoes

That ole Southern standby: deviled eggs

Bread? You always have to have bread!
Hence the homemade pizza!

Here's my plate before I took the first bite!
Now, isn't that gorgeous!

Hope you are enjoying these last few weeks of summer!

Reflections on The Help

2011-08-18T08:33:00.000-05:00

Watching The Help was an emotional roller coaster for me. I thought I was prepared because I had read the book, but I wasn't. I talked a good game beforehand, but when I got in there it all hit me: waves of horror, disgust, and deep sadness washed over me, juxtaposed against interludes of hilarity and joy, coupled with vibrant comic relief. Like I said, it was a roller coaster. I shed big hot tears a few times during the movie and when it ended I wanted to get off by myself, in a private corner and have a good old fashioned heaving, gulping sort of cry. But, I hadn't gone to the movie alone. I was with a group of women: black, white, and multi-racial, who had come together to see the movie from a wide variety of backgrounds and perspectives. Some were friends and some were strangers. I was an emotional mess, but I fought the urge to run away and cry as I joined the others on the front lawn of the theatre for a lengthy conversation.
Originally our group had planned to go out to a restaurant, but the small-town streets of Franklin roll up about 10:00 on a weeknight, so we nonchalantly sat down on the grass close to where our cars were parked.
I don't really want to talk about all that was said on that front lawn. It was an intimate moment afforded six women in a unique setting at a unique time. Some of the words that were spoken that night made me weep later. Others have given me pause and made me take another deep hard look at myself. I don't want to be prejudiced. I don't want to be a racist. I want to value each human being I encounter and count them as a valid image bearer of the Living God. But in truth I often fail miserably.
The good that has come out of this process of introspection is I have come to a painful place of self-revelation, one that deals with my own propensity to label or categorize others. Take a deep breath. Here goes. When I pass judgment on a person, I am usually either assuming a position of superiority or I am coming from a place of fear. It sounds so simple. But the truth is never simple when it is ours. I am appalled that I have been so blind. Arrogance or fear. No in-between. Just those two extremes. I have tried to think of a single exception of a case where I judged another and wasn't guilty of one of those two, but in truth I cannot come up with any. Not a single one. That's a pretty good litmus test in my book that I might be on to something.
If I am brutally honest, that means that I have more in common with too many of the white folks in The Help. They are afraid of the diseases the black people might carry, but they let them kiss, love and raise their children, entrusting them to impart important values along the way, "You are kind, you are beautiful, you are important."
Oh, in this New Millenium I might not object to the black person or the Hispanic or the Muslim, but I often castigate and condemn those whose political or moral views differ vastly from my own. And they are usually white people who look just like me. I just hate their politics or their attitudes or their ideas. I somehow think that I am morally superior to them. I am the enlightened one. They are...well they are to be pitied above all else for their ignorance and the error of their ways. Just how arrogant can one get? I am not looking too good here, am I?
And we haven't even broached the subject of fear. That's when I really find myself backed into a corner.
I get afraid when the homeless man comes up to me in the parking lot of the gas station and surprises me when I am bending over picking up something from my back seat. I am terrified. I am vulnerable. I want him to get away from me. He sees the fear in my eyes and says, "Lady, I aint' gonna hurt you." But I am not so sure. I think to myself, "You can never be sure about the homeless." And there I am with my prejudice sticking out of me like a sore thumb. I have seen it when I least expect it. It is not pretty. Fear breeds ugliness. It also breeds more fear. And I need the cure.
There was a lot of truth exposed in "The Help." As first I was disconcerted with the idea of yet another do-gooder white girl from the right side of the tracks riding in on her white horse to help the oppressed black maids find their voice. But Skeeter was only the bridge to the real story. The real story is about the black maids and the white trash white woman who individually and collectively are able to make their lives and their struggles so real and so personal that we ache. We ache deeply. And we walk out of that movie offended by the injustice of life then and really wanting life NOW to be different. It's what makes the movie, The Help, not just a movie, but a message and a transcendent one at that. Abileen and Minnie and Celia and Skeeter force me to look, not at those around me, but at myself.
That is where change can and must always begin. I talked earlier about the cure. For me the cure is the redemption of Christ: that He would take a wretch like me and change me from within. That he would take my heart of stone and replace it with a heart of flesh. That He would take away my spirit of fear and give me a Spirit, His Spirit...that is one of power and love and sound mind. Fear and arrogance are the antithesis of Jesus. He is the Repairer of the Breach, the Redeemer and the Reconciler. And His greatest commandment is that we love one another. No exceptions. None indeed. Not one.

photo courtesy of The Help.com

A Rare and Precious Gift

2011-08-16T10:02:00.001-05:00

It is a rare and precious gift to be able to share the core of your faith with someone you love deeply and then watch as they unfold like a flower under the blessing of God's love. I will never forget that night many years ago that my Baby Sister called me. I could not tell who she was. The pain and the tears she had already shed made that familiar voice unrecognizable. I immediately knew that something was wrong. I won't share the circumstances here because it was a deeply hurtful time for her, but let's just say that one sister had the incredible privilege of leading the other sister into the throne room of heaven where both knelt as one received the Grace and the Mercy that God so freely bestows.
She was a different person from that night forward. The change in her life was palpable and real. And no, the pain of her circumstances did not vanish, but she had come to the fount of every blessing, and there she found the strength to life each day while ever growing in her wisdom and understanding of the Lord. I admire this sister. As a young woman she faced adversity head on, and she did not run away. She kept pressing in to the Lord and He kept pressing back, as He ever so faithfully conformed her to His image.

She's the Munchkin on the right!

This time she's in the middle and yours truly is on the right!

She and our Momma huggin' each other!

She is beautiful to me. When I look at her I see God's glory all over her. I see healing and redemption. I see freedom of forgiveness and the joy of broken bondage. No, she is not perfect, but she is as surely as the day is born, God's precious child. Oh and by the way, this is the day that she was born! Happy, Happy Birthday, precious Baby Sister! Never doubt that you are a rare, precious and very beautiful gift to God and to all who know you!

That's the Baby Sister sharing a bowl of yogurt with Little One!
Happy Birthday, Sister of Mine!

The Place of Dreams

2011-08-13T20:40:00.000-05:00

It's something that you cannot hold in your hands. On any given day it can be blue, green, clear or dark gray. It can be smooth or choppy. It is not always good for drinking, but it sure is good for playing. It's that stuff that covers two thirds of our earth that has magical properties in the mind and heart of a child. It might be some other body of water to someone else, but to me it is the water known as Cinco Bayou.
I spent my summers as a baby and then a girl cavorting in the calm, gentle waters of the kid-friendly Cinco Bayou outside Fort Walton Beach, Florida. My cousins and I were literally in that delightful bay from sun-up to sundown every single day. We swam in the rain, we swam in the sun and in the evening we took a bar of soap and a towel and bathed ourselves clean in the bay. Our lives revolved around the water. We spent so much time in the water that I often wondered if my fingers and toes would be permanently shriveled.

In the early morning and late afternoon we fished from the dock using cane poles, red and white bobbins and lead weights and fish hooks we had threaded and tied ourselves. Our bait consisted of spit-rolled bread balls that we ever so carefully squished on our hooks until the first fish was caught. Then that poor guy was immediately headed for the chopping block. (We even fought over who got to use the eyes because they glittered in the water and attracted the most fish!) If we were lucky enough to have left over fish heads, they became the bait for the crab traps where we tried our best to capture the delicious but elusive blue crab (we had little idea what a delicacy blue crab would become.) Sadly, we also tortured poor hermit crabs by lining them up on the sand and making them crawl ever so slowly back to the water's edge, only to have to do it again. And again.

We cousins filled our days playing endless games that never seemed to grow old: underwater beauty parlor, underwater tea party and the game, catch-the-ball-off-the-dock-in-the-air-before-you-hit-the-water. We held garbled underwater conversations, practiced holding our breath as long as we could, turned underwater somersaults until our ears hurt, and practiced underwater ballet positions. A highlight of the summer would come when we would entice our grandmother into swimming with us all the way to the other side of the bay. Our beloved Uncle Dunk worked for the Alabama Department of Transportation, and he provided us with the rare treat of very large inflated tires that must have come off of some very large trucks. We tied ply-wood to the top of the tires, filled Coke bottles full of sand and dived for buried treasure just like the Bridges family on the television show, Sea Hunt. Other years we went poling down the mighty Mississippi (really the shallows of Cinco Bayou) just like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. Never mind that we were five girl cousins, we were in truth just about anything and everything we wanted to be. My cousin Babs and I even had all of the younger cousins who visited each summer convinced that we were girls by day and porpoises by night. We accomplished this largely due to the fact that we both lied convincingly (not a great trait as I learned in later life) and could imitate almost perfectly the sounds that the television porpoise Flipper made.
Cinco Bayou and its environs afforded each of us cousins the fairy tale of a childhood. I could be whatever I dreamed I could be. And dream we all did. To this day when I find myself beside that particular body of water, I feel the stir of memories and the whisper of the magic within my soul. And then this middle-aged woman is suddenly a child filled with the joy of possibility all over again.

The Help

2011-08-11T17:11:00.000-05:00

I am going to see the movie adaptation of Kathryn Stockett's novel, The Help, tonight with some old friends and some new friends. Some of the women I will meet tonight for the first time. We are going to the movie together and then go out afterwards to have some sweet iced tea or some wine or maybe something even stronger. We will talk about the movie. I don't think it will be a light conversation. We are women who can do light conversation (okay, tell me, is there a woman out there who cannot chit-chat, 'cause I sure haven't met her yet), but we mostly do real conversation. I am glad. Because tonight we will be dealing with a very weighty subject, one that we Southerners like to tiptoe around: the topic of race.

It should be an interesting evening. One that I am likely to remember for a long time. The women who are going all claim sisterhood in Christ and we are all wives and mothers, to boot, but we certainly come from a wide variety of backgrounds and traditions. Some of the women are African American and some are white. It is hard for me to fathom that 50 years ago it would not have been possible for us to attend the movie together and then go out to a restaurant afterward.
I guess that's one reason why we sometimes still tiptoe around the topic of race.
I am the Grande Dame of the group. The others are babies. Not really, but they are, by and large, younger than I am. I guess that's why The Help is especially poignant to me, because I have a personal understanding of the context of the book. Not something of which I am especially proud. It is both part of my own personal history and the culture of my upbringing.
I have lived long enough that I can remember when the Civil Rights Act was signed. I also remember all of these other embarrassing and now reprehensible things like seeing water fountains labelled colored and white and the fact that black people in my hometown were at one time not comfortable eating at certain restaurants or being seen socially with whites. While there were appropriate venues for interactions: weddings and funerals, one could not escape the fact that in the sixties and early seventies there were definite barriers between the races that existed throughout much of the South. There were even race riots in my high school when the all-black and the all-white high schools were combined into one. I remember that and more. In fact, there are plenty of things about this era that I would love to forget.
I am thankful that times have changed. No, that is an understatement. I am grateful to God for living long enough to see the dividing walls come down. But I have a stinking feeling that there is still rubble that remains under many of those walls. There is undergrowth that needs cleaning out and tearing away.
I guess that's one reason why these women and I will go out tonight and not play it safe. We will lay the cards on the table. All of them. We will look at the good and the bad. And we will be thankful that we each know the one true Repairer of the Breach, the Reconciler, and the Redeemer...even Jesus Himself! All you sisters, can I hear an Amen?!