Natalie Lloyd

mrs. padfoot

2012-01-29T10:00:00.000-05:00

Listening To: Roads and Rivers by The Head and The Heart
On the Tumblr: why I want to keep chasing snowflakes.

Happy Sunday, friends! I hope you've had a lovely weekend. I hope you had a chance to sleep in, read great books, snuggle with your dog, hang out with your friends and eat lots of waffles. Or maybe that's only my ideal weekend. ;) I don't often post on Sundays, but I'm posting today because of my dad.

My dad is one of approximately 4.5 men who regularly read this blog. And he casually mentioned that he thought retirement might kick in before that last post came to an end. I thought you might need a breather too. So before I write about more books I want to read this year, I'm interrupting your day for a couple of important announcements. I think the last one, in particular, will be very beneficial.

* Blogger has finally enabled threaded comments, which makes it easier for me to respond to individaul comments as you post them. However. To make that work, I had to change the comments back to embedded. So there will no longer be a pop-up window when you click through to leave a comment. Will you give it a try sometime and let me know if this new method works okay? Was the pop-up window easier for you to wrangle with? If you have trouble leaving comments, please let me know! Changing it back is no big deal. I just wanted to try this out and see if it was any better.

(Image: Jason Bell via Vanity Fair)

* As I've mentioned one time or a thousand, I'm totally smitten with those crazy Crawleys on Downton Abbey. I've also managed to hook many of my friends and loved ones (minus The Rogue Accountant ... he's a lost cause at this point). During the average week, I have all sorts of discussions about what might happen on the next episode. And what Thomas and O'Brien are really up to and whether or not Lavinia is really as sweet and innocent as she seems and whether Mary will really go through with marrying that smarmy newspaper man. Lady Violet is still a rockstar. The Dowager Countess has that boom-boom-pow, you know?

However. This week, when talking about Downton Abbey, I made a serious faux pas:

I said: "I wish Mrs. Padfoot would stop pushing Daisy and William together. That's making me nervous!"

And my mom was like, " ... Padfoot?"

And I clapped excitedly and yelled, "Mischief Managed!"

Because it didn't occur to me that I'd misspoken. Whenever I hear Harry Potter words, my Pavolvian response is to scream "Mischief Managed" or "Lumos!" (Or "Avada Kadavra" if I'm in a particularly sassy mood.)

So for a second my mom was looking at me all confused-like. And then she said, "There's no Mrs. Padfoot ..."

"PATMORE! I mean Mrs. Patmore."

Because this is Padfoot:

This is Mrs. Patmore:

There is no Mrs. Padfoot.

Sadly.

Also sad: Padfoot is not on Season 2 of Downton Abbey. But that'd make for an awesome story line, yes?

How's your weekend going?

P.S. - If you live in Oklahoma, I am jealous of you, because snowy owls are swooping through your state! If you get a Hogwarts letter, will you at least send me a chocolate frog?

I like big books and I cannot lie. (part one)

2012-01-25T11:00:00.000-05:00

Listening To: Dreamer by The Tallest Man on Earth
Actual Text from The Rogue Accountant: "I think Sloth from Goonies is in the office next to me."

Good morning beauties and beastlies!

I was up before the sun this morning, writing like my fingers were on fire (as the ever-brilliant Kathi Applet says to do) and I got all ~~delirious~~ crazy confident and thought I'd accumulated some pretty awesome pages. I scrolled back to the top of my document and said, "Okay! Biscuit! Listen to this and tell me what you think!"

I read the passage aloud.

And then I hollered, "Right?!"

And I looked back at my dog and this was her response:

Awesome.

So I decided to take a break and finish write about a few books I'm excited to read in 2012. And then the post got so stinking long ... that I broke it into two posts. (By the way, the fact that I took a break from writing to ... write ... is not lost on me.)

I hope to write about some of my favorite reads in 2011 ... before 2011 is a far distant memory. But I thought it might also be fun to give you a quick list of books I'm psyched to snatch up this year. (And, admittedly, because we're all booknerds up in here, I would love to hear about the books on your wish list so I can add them to mine!) Obviously, this list will grow as the year progresses. This is just a starting point. (These posts will only contains books from the universe of KidLittery.) Think of this as the first layer of my 2012 Booklist. If my booklist was a pie, this would be the foundation. The flaky pastry. Nay, the Oreo crust! (Have I mentioned that I haven't slept much?)

Also, this is a humdinger of a Part One so maybe go get some java and come back.

Also! Please read this very important notice: the novels I'm talking about today are Young Adult novels (my Middle Grade post is coming on Friday). Young Adult novels have more mature content than middle grade. If your parents are very strict about what you read, be sure you read more about these books before you read them. That's my wimpy way of saying: please don't send me mean emails. One of my most favorite things about this blog is that there are so many different (read: wonderful) people who are reading. We live in different corners of the world. There are different faith backgrounds, different nationalities, and manner of college football loyalties represented on here. There is quite a range of ages up in here as well. I love our younger readers dearly. That said, there's no way I can know for certain if a book is okay for you specifically to read. These are books I'm interested in ... but I'm a bonafide grownup. Ish. Sort of. So use your best judgement here and, if these books aren't for you, or if your parents say ix-nay (BTW: I think your parents are awesome, regardless of what they say) simply move on to something else. There are thousands of beautiful stories out there waiting to win you over.

Now! Are you caffeinated? Comfy?

Here goes:

Books I want to Read Like Whoa in 2012

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. It's a fact: I've never met a John Green book I don't like. Looking for Alaska is my favorite but I sometimes wonder if that's simply because it was my intro to John Green. His books have a literary quality that's so accessible, so full of smart humor. And as somebody who (*does a victory dance that much resembles the hokey pokey*) survived her teenage years, and someone who worked with students for many years after that, I think John Green captures the spirit of adolescence so perfectly. He takes the sarcasm and the smart-funny and the hilarity and the heartbreak and the fierce loyalty to friends and the falling in love and the rejection and the boundless, endless, passion teenfolk haven't learned to harness yet (please don't ever harness it) and he throws it into a blender. And it blends into a smoothie of awesome. Or something. I might have overworked that metaphor a bit. *puts blender away* But his books are beautiful.

My only hesitation in reading this book, and you're allowed to make fun of me for this, is that the people in the novel have some serious medical issues ... and one of the issues touches on something very personal. I don't know if I can read the novel without my imagination constantly wandering some place I don't need to let it wander. So I might wait a bit before I read it. But. That doesn't negate the incredibleness of this novel. I have a feeling this one will make you weep, but it will be a good cry. Embrace the tears! Hazel is going to be the best girl in a JG novel so far. I can feel it. (I'm such a fan of the way he writes the girls in his books, aren't you? They're heroes in his stories. They get funny lines and they get to be flawed and smart and cute - but not cute in an "I'm dumb and oblivious ... *giggle-giggle*" way. Even secondary characters aren't props in his books.) The book is out now and I've seen several signed copies in the bookstore. I've even seen pictures of signed copies containing little Yettis! (Which will only make sense if you watch his vlogs.) I hear he messed some of the sigs up, and left a link in those books for an apology clip on YouTube ... how fun would it be to find one of those?! More fun than finding four leaf clovers and Waldos! I gift his books quite often and I'm pretty sure every person I've ever given one to calls, or emails, to tell me how much they're loving it. And how hard they're laughing. Listen to him read the first chapter, and prepare to be wowed. (PS - I lurve that cover.) (PSS - I harbor a not-so-secret hope that Hank Green will also write some YA someday. Vlogbrothers, FTW.) What's your favorite John Green book? (If you've never read John Green's work, but want to, you should scoot on over to Katie's blog. She's a proud/adorable nerdfighter who would could recommend the perfect starter novel. Also, Katie helped create this gorgeous blog. I keep clicking through just to stare at the pretty header.)

The Disenchantments by Nina LaCour. This story has to do with Colby and Bev, two best friends who've made a pact to tour Europe with their band after high school graduation. The plan falls apart when Bev decides to go to college instead, leaving her best friend behind. Now all they have left is one wild, wonderful summer to live out their dream. (Instead of Europe, their backdrop becomes the Pacific Northwest.)

I'm so excited for this read 1.) because I love music, and I love it when authors know how to weave music into a novel. 2.) because it takes place in the Pacific Northwest, where I left my heart (and, incidentally, a brand new Moleskine journal daaaaangiiiiit) over the summer and 3.) - and this is the most important - because Nina LaCour wrote it. I read her first novel Hold Still with no inkling of how she wrote. (I read it because Julie Strauss-Gabel edited it.) (Fact: it is an especially nerdy attribute when you admit to following the work of certain editors. Not just authors. But editors.) My very articulate reaction to Nina's writing was: wow. And wowzers. And whooooa, nelly. Nina's prose blows me away. She is an incredible writer. And I think the most incredible part of it is that she still stays rooted in her character. Sometimes, it seems like very talented authors get tangled in their prose. They lose control of story and all the characters start talking exactly the same way. You savvy? But Nina never loses control of the story. There's some restraint in her writing; and it makes the story even better. Her craft is so technically on point ... but I got so lost in the story that I didn't stop much to appreciate it as much as I should have. Hold Still was one of my surprise favorite novels of 2010. I thought it would be a story about a grieving process, and it is, but it's way more of a healing story, about a girl who finds her way back from a devastating loss with the help of her family, her friends, and the process of creating. That novel was a stunner. (PS - Hold Still also contains illustrations by Mia Nolting, and they compliment the story in such a wonderful way.) (Also, I do sincerely adore The Disenchantments cover. That's how face-covers should be done.)

All These Lives by Sarah Wylie. So, I am slightly biased because Sarah is my friend. But she's also a crazy-talented writer and I'm so excited for her debut that I can't hardly keep from leaping out of my chair, doing a roundhouse kick, and making jazz hands. I'll post the official blurb from Goodreads, because this plot is rather intricate (but not confusing!) and I don't want to mess it up. From Goodreads:

Sixteen-year-old Dani is convinced she has nine lives. As a child she twice walked away from situations where she should have died. But Dani’s twin, Jena, isn’t so lucky. She has cancer and might not even be able to keep her one life. Dani’s father is in denial. Her mother is trying to hold it together and prove everything’s normal. And Jena is wasting away. To cope, Dani sets out to rid herself of all her extra lives. Maybe they’ll be released into the universe and someone who wants to live more than she does will get one. Someone like Jena. But just when Dani finds herself at the breaking point, she’s faced with a startling realization. Maybe she doesn’t have nine lives after all. Maybe she really only ever had one.

You might have seen this read blurbed as a "literary YA My Sister's Keeper". Mmmhmm. It's hot stuff. I'm extra excited because I know this is the first of many, many beautiful books Sarah's going to release out into the wild. (PS - that's another gorgeous example of face done right.) Here's the book. Here's Sarah's twitter.

Cinder by Marissa Meyer. So, a few years ago, I was having a conversation with this girl and she mentioned that she was a total outcast when she was in high school. She then qualified this statement by saying that she was the kind of girl who dyed her hair crazy colors and read obscure poetry.

And I couldn't help but chuckle (later on) because I thought - ah. She was a loner in a cool way. Listening to The White Stripes when they were still unknown. Reading dark poetry and writing even darker poetry and so on and such. Fact: I didn't dye my hair crazy colors in high school. I didn't read Sylvia Plath. I wasn't that cool. I did, however, play ping pong with my friends on Friday nights, anticipate Saturday breakfast with my grandparents all week long, wear lots of plaid shirts and watch Star Wars almost every weekend (in Middle School I watched it almost every day). For reasons I cannot make excuses for, I also parted my bangs down the middle. Like Dwight Schrute. There's no justification for that, but in every high school picture of me I've seen, my eye goes immediately to that horrible center part. It's like a curtain divided to show the vast stage of my forehead. My point is this: I was more of a classical kind of dork. But! I had a sweet bunch of friends and we were all uncool and plaid-ified together, so I was fine.

These days, I do not part my bangs down the middle. But plaid shirts are totally hot right now (score!) and Star Wars is still one of my favorite movies of all time. (Whenever I pass a car on the interstate, I yell, "Punch it Chewy!")

So. When I started reading about droids and a handsome prince and an empire and a girl named Cinder ... in the same book ... my nerdy senses started to tingle. This book excites me so much that it makes me want to part my bangs in the middle and start singing Spice Girls songs. Cinder is a futuristic retelling of Cinderella that makes the geeky, plaid-wearing, Star Wars watching part of my heart do somersaults. Here's the synopsis from GoodReads:

Humans and androids crowd the raucous streets of New Beijing. A deadly plague ravages the population. From space, a ruthless lunar people watch, waiting to make their move. No one knows that Earth’s fate hinges on one girl. . . . Cinder, a gifted mechanic, is a cyborg. She’s a second-class citizen with a mysterious past, reviled by her stepmother and blamed for her stepsister’s illness. But when her life becomes intertwined with the handsome Prince Kai’s, she suddenly finds herself at the center of an intergalactic struggle, and a forbidden attraction. Caught between duty and freedom, loyalty and betrayal, she must uncover secrets about her past in order to protect her world’s future

A futuristic fairy-tale with a gorgeous, half-robotic, mechanic in the lead? I'm into that. (In the immortal words of Posh Spice, it makes me wanna "zigga-zaeg-ah!") The first five chapters are free on Kindle, if you want to try it out.

Same Sun Here by Silas House and Neela Vaswani.

This is another book with an intricate plot that I don't want to mess up with my caffeine-induced description. So I'll let the Amazonians help me out with the details. Meet River and Meena:

Meena and River have a lot in common: fathers forced to work away from home to make ends meet, grandmothers who mean the world to them, and faithful dogs. But Meena is an Indian immigrant girl living in New York City’s Chinatown, while River is a Kentucky coal miner’s son. As Meena’s family studies for citizenship exams and River’s town faces devastating mountaintop removal, this unlikely pair become pen pals, sharing thoughts and, as their camaraderie deepens, discovering common ground in their disparate experiences. With honesty and humor, Meena and River bridge the miles between them, creating a friendship that inspires bravery and defeats cultural misconceptions. Narrated in two voices, each voice distinctly articulated by a separate gifted author, this chronicle of two lives powerfully conveys the great value of being and having a friend and the joys of opening our lives to others who live beneath the same sun.

You know what's crazy? It's already making my heart flutter and I've never even opened it. The book sounds beautiful but, admittedly, the summary isn't what initially what drew me to this novel; I will read this novel because of the combustibly awesome pairing of talent. I love the way Silas House writes. And even though this doesn't factor into the writing; I love his advocacy for my mountains. (I'm especially interested in this story because, obviously, mountain top removal will be a thread in this book, and mountain top removal is a very tragic process, one that devastates communities, that he actively campaigns against.) That won't be the heart of this novel, I don't think. I think the heart of this novel is that two people from very different backgrounds are going to realize how much they have in common (probably way more than the differences that separate them - which is a very profound thing to learn, and I hope I never, ever stop learning it).

On a personal note, I also love that he's such a champion for new and upcoming writers. About a billion years ago, I entered one of my short stories in a swanky contest. After submitting my story, I discovered that Silas House was the judge. And I immediately wished I hadn't entered at all.

Because 1.) he was the judge and every English major at my college (including myself) was enamored by his work. He's a big deal now, especially admired and respected in Southern literary circles, but back then, he was just getting started. And we all went to one of his readings because our professors were all name-dropping him 24/7. Hearing him read back then sort of felt like when you watch some indie band you know is about to go big. And so, a very short time after that, I couldn't believe that HE was reading MY measly story.

Which brings me to 2.) I've always been riddled with self doubt to the point of self sabotage. There's always a major wave of sickness (never confidence) that comes with doing something kinda brave and scary. Especially *gulp* sharing my work with other people. Especially if that work is fiction. The only peace of mind I had about sending my story off was knowing that he wouldn't actually see my name (they removed the names for the judging part). It's not like he would have remembered my name anyway, but it's easier to be anonymous sometimes, isn't it? And yet. Lightning struck twice and pigs flew and etc., and my story won.

It would have been enough just to know that he thought my story was worth a first place nod (I still hold tightly to that experience when I'm traveling the Oregon Trail of Writing Woes). But then! He actually took the time to say hello to me at the conference that I was attending. And he told me how much he enjoyed reading my work and encouraged me to keep writing. I will never, ever forget it. It's not just that I won't forget what he said, but the fact that he took the time to speak to me at all. He's a big deal. I will never, ever be a big deal. But he talked to me like I mattered a little bit and that meant the world to me. My favorite Silas House novel is still Clay's Quilt, which is pretty much a love letter to the modern Appalachia I know, (and love). It's a beautiful story. I'm also smitten with The Coal Tattoo, which includes some of those same characters. I've never read an author who can write music into a scene like he does. (Please excuse these moments I get all big-sisterly. But, younger readers: there are, obviously, some adult themes in his novels for adults, and Appalachian lit, regardless of the author, is usually dark. So those books might not be your thing just yet. Same Sun Here is YA and he has another YA novel called Eli the Good.) Neela Valswami is an accomplished, wonderful writer as well. Their styles combined will collide like a perfect storm. (In her memoir she penned this perfect line: "This place; that place. You have to stand someplace. I pledge allegiance to the in-between.") She also teaches in the MFA program at Spalding. It would be worth every penny just to be able to sit in one of her classes.

If you love reading Young Adult novels (regardless of your age), then I'm sure you know about my friend Sarah's blog. Sarah, The Green Bean Teen Queen, is a savvy librarian and she's crazy-passionate about literature for and about kids and young adults. She frequently posts great reviews of upcoming books (and giveaways). And she also occasionally tries to convince me that I should read more novels in verse, which I have a long-standing bias against, but I'm coming around (more on that Friday).

Any new Young Adult novels on your radar this year? Movies you're excited for? Are you still convinced that Peeta is the right Peeta for the job? Because I'm not. But I promise I'll go into the theater with an open mind. Happy reading!

pink hot chocolate, etc.

2012-01-18T08:00:00.000-05:00

Listening To: After the Storm by Mumford & Sons
Line obsession: "Wolf, /show your face." - from May B. by Caroline Starr Rose

Hey there beauties! I spent last weekend on the road (which makes it sound like I had a gig somewhere) (and I sort of did ... if you count hanging out with a really awesome eight year old a "gig"). Lucky for you, I took some exciting ( well ... "exciting") pics of my adventuring!

This is a perfect Georgia sunset:

This is what I was listening to while that sunset occurred:

I think that's appropriate. Stars are for lullabies and love stories. But I've always thought sunsets are more like rocksongs.

This is pink hot chocolate:

I know the pic makes it look like milk in a mug but it was very pink up close. I found it at World Market and packed it along so that Erin and I could partake of the pink hot cocoa while we watched Say Yes to the Dress. If you're wondering if we could possibly be any more girly, the answer is no.

This is my nephew, Andy, and he's just about ten thousand kinds of adorable:

He's fluent in Star Wars talk. He loves Legos and Nickelodeon and he spends most of his time plotting ways to annoy his sister.

This is Andy's new hamster, Tiny:

Tiny is cute as long as he stays in his condo. At one point, Andy opened the condo to try and pet Tiny and I fluttered my hands, then screamed, then slammed the lid shut and hollered something like, "DON'T UNLEASH THE BEAST!" Because can you imagine if a hamster got loose in your house? I had visions of Tiny scampering across my face while I slept at night. *shivers*

Tiny's hamster condo is hardcore. It contains a plastic igloo, a slide, a wheel that looks like some fancy sci-fi contraption, a food bowl he likes to sit in, and a top hatch which he mostly uses for bathroom purposes. (If it had a big screen TV, it would be every guy's dream apartment.)

Speaking of monsters! This is The Cookie Monster:

And he wasn't on the farm (sadly) but I'm posting that picture to prove a point. I've long believed that we all become more like people we admire and esteem. For most of my life, I've admired The Cookie Monster for his passion, tenacity, and fierce advocacy for baked goods. (You might call him a hoarder. I call him a connoisseur; a carpe diem kind of guy.) Lo and behold, while I was on the farm, I looked down and realized I was proving my theory true:

Crazy!!!!

And this is my favorite cuddle monster, Biscuit, who has been especially snuggly since I got home:

That's the pic she wants on the back of her next album, tentatively titled: Born to Bark at the Neighbors Kids.

This is the look she gave me after I found a stain on the carpet exactly where Kramer's crate was when he visited over Christmas. Biscuit, you'll remember, doesn't particularly like her little doggy cousin. She usually reinforces this notion by re-marking her territory on the carpet whenever Kramer leaves. Which is exactly what she did after he left most recently. So I said, "Biscuit ... what's up with the mess in the floor?" And she was all:

"Uh ... Wasn't me."

And finally, this is Biscuit just being Biscuit:

Which is to say: lovable, cuddly, fuzzy, and just totally awesome. (Did you see the movie Tin-Tin? Did you know that Biscuit and Snowy are the same breed? Which is why I can't see the movie. Because I'll be squealing and clapping excitedly through the whole thing. They'd kick me out for sure.)

<--- Biscuit and I both think you're awesome, by the way.

What's new with you this week? Are you keeping up with Downton Abbey? Did it drive you bananas when Mr. Bates's crazy wife came back and was all, "Bait-seh, you're coming with me!"? Are you a little bit confused by the story lines this time, or is it just me? OH! This factoid won't matter to many of you but, for those of you who remember the BBC version of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe that came out in the 80's ... did you know that the actress who plays Mrs Patmore on Downton also played Mrs Beaver?! You are welcome.

I'd love to hear what's new with you in the comments. Even if it doesn't include Downton Abbey. ;)

Housekeeping Note: I've been mailing out lots of Paperdoll buttons and bookmarks lately. I'm so excited to share those with you! If you're reading Paperdoll with your friends or your church group OR if you're just reading it for yourself and you'd like some bookmarks or buttons, I still have a bunch. Just email me and let me know! You can see what they look like here.

carry on, alexa chung.

2012-01-10T11:10:00.000-05:00

Listening To: Calling You by Jeff Buckley
Also listening to: the falling rain. One of my most favorite sounds.

Alexa Chung's Fall Madewell ad.
The shirt was from the catalog.
Pretty sure the necklace was borrowed from Xenophilius Lovegood.
*jealous*

Someone recently said to me, "I bet you and your friends have really smart conversations."

I didn't know how to respond. Because the question was well-intentioned; it wasn't sarcastic at all. And don't get me wrong; I would certainly classify my friends as smart. And they're not just smart but assertive and easy-going and very funny. And they're all crazy pretty. I'm not just saying that so they'll buy me coffee either - in the words of Derek Zoolander, they're all really, really ridiculously good looking. But I'm also confident that our typical conversations aren't the sort that make people envy our brilliance or even want to eavesdrop. (Even though I'm confident that, if they do eavesdrop, folks will wish they had girlfriends as cool as mine.)

For example.

Recently, while waiting for our movie to start, my bffSarah and I sipped some java at Starbucks and conversed. Smart-like. By which I mean: we were lamenting the loss of our favorite purple puffy chairs. The purple puffy chairs used to be caddy-cornered there in The Buck, situated perfectly for conversing. Whichever one of us got there first would run for the purple puffy chairs and claim them. They were our favorite place to chit-chat and scheme and solve the world's problems. Alas, the purple chairs have been done away with in favor of boring tables. Tables are no good for problem solving. What will the world do with out us fixing its problems?!

Table-talk consisted of Muppets and Ziploc bags and holiday catalogs and other exciting topics. (See what I mean?) For some reason, I started talking about the Madewell Holiday catalog. I don't know why this came up. But I don't really know how 90% of our conversation topics come up, so no biggie.

Full disclosure: I've never actually bought clothes from Madewell. I guess I get the catalog because I've bought accessories there. They have cool pieces at a good price point; stuff that looks just a little more quality than Urban. More like what you hope to find in an old antique/thrift store. Except I never find cool jewelry at antique stores. (I only find gigantic rings with Shriner insignia.)

This year's Madewell Holiday catalog is especially fun for two reasons. 1.) Because it contains the llama sweater:

Which is kind of awesome. (If you have a strange sense of humor, which I most definitely do.) Priced at $90, it's approximately $87.99 more than I would pay for such a piece, but it's still fun. And it made me laugh so I pinned it. (I don't think I understand The Pinterest correctly ...) The llama love sweater is already sold out on Madewell, so don't get your hopes up. *fingers crossed for Alpaca Hoodie in the Spring 2012 ...*

But it wasn't just the llama sweater that made me fistpump the air for The Madewell Holiday catalog. Which brings me to 2.) As you probably know, Madewell has been featuring none other than .... Alexa Chung. And I am an ardent fan of Alexa Chung, but not necessarily because of her style.

Her style is rad, don't get me wrong.

But Alexa Chung holds a special place in my heart because of her stint on, of all places ... The Golden Globes.

Before last year's Golden Globes, I didn't know much about Alexa Chung. I'm mostly pop-culture deficient. I'd never seen her on TV before. She's popular on fashion blogs and the like, so I knew who she was. But I didn't really know what she did besides wear cool clothes and be pretty. (She does television and contributes to British Vogue, in case you too live under a rock.) However. She forever endeared herself to me when she did fashion commentary on the pre-show/red carpet.

Her commentary is awesome. Behold:

"And your shiny shoes. Is that for any particular reason?"

Her interviews were exceptional. Like an ongoing (very funny) SNL skit. The shiny-shoes question was my favorite, because that's like a question I'd ask. It still makes me laugh.

I especially like that she makes it just awkward enough for whoever she's interviewing that it's fun for me to watch. ("You're presenting for best foreign film. Who do you hope wins?" *crickets*) For the record, I think she was purposely being a little bit cheeky about the whole thing. And I can't blame her.

I guess, when it comes to commentary on clothes ... there's only so much you can say at an event like that. Tim Gunn would have had much to say, and said it all elegantly, of course. But mostly, when you've got two minutes to talk to actors about "who" they're wearing (when, let's face it, Rachel Zoe and Brad probably picked the clothes and texted to remind the celebs "who" it was) ... there's really not much interviewing to be done. Might as well talk about shiny shoes, I guess. So kudos to her for having fun with it.

("Who do you hope to bump into on the red carpet?"
"I don't know who's here? Clare Danes. I hope she wins."
*nods* "Thank you very much for talking to me. Cheers."
... that whole exchange is so absurdly funny to me.)

So anyway. Awards season is approaching and I'm getting excited. First, I'm excited because Dad and I always wager Dairy Queen Blizzards over who correctly picks the most winners (Oscars, not Golden Globes). We're very fancy that way. But I also get excited because I start to hope that maybe, just maybe, Alexa Chung will do red carpet reporting again. Bring on the shiny shoes! *fingers crossed*

I said all this to Sarah. And then I think I got back to talking about the Muppets. About how Kermit and Miss Piggy were really inspirational, because YES, they've have had their ups and downs, and yes they come from different corners of Old McDonald's farm, but if they can make it, anybody can make it! Here's to the frog and pig! Cheers! ...

... And that's the kind of smart conversations I have with my friends. It's truly amazing that they keep hanging out with me.

Inspired by Alexa Chung, here's my question to you: which celebrity would you be most excited to run into on a red carpet? I would pick Kate DiCamillo or JK Rowling but they probably don't hang out on red carpets that aren't for their movies. If we're talking about movie-star celebrities ... I guess I'd go with Dolly Parton, Carol Burnette, or Tina Fey. Or John Schneider, the original Bo Duke. Obviously. Also, Taye Digs. If I ran into Taye Digs, even if the "run in" was a slight shoulder brush in a gas station as we passed each other in the candy aisle ... I'd brag about it every day for the rest of my life. See you in the comments!

regarding downton abbey.

2012-01-06T20:00:00.000-05:00

Listening To: Sugar Cane by Missy Higgans
This: is rocking my heart in a wonderful way.

Happy Twenty/Twelve, beauties and beastlies! :) I hope this week has been a sweet one for you. I know I should probably try to make this first post of the year inspiring or pretty or riveting. I should make this post matter.

But I'd rather make this post about Downton Abbey.

via weheartit; pretty sure this was originally in a British newspaper

Are you into Downton Abbey? Because I'm so hooked.

via Vogue Magazine, Jason Bell photograher

Obsessively, crazily, bespeckled-eyes-glued-to-the-telly hooked.

And I'm doing my part to hook other people. That's the beauty of Downton Abbey, in case you aren't watching it yet. Part of the joy in watching this program is ~~driving your friends crazy until they watch it too~~ passing the joy on to as many people as you possibly can. Even if you don't think Downton Abbey's your thing ... with the corsets, the period drama, and so on ... you should try it.

Because in the immortal words of Indigo Montoya from The Princess Bride: "I do not think him is what you think him is."

This show is probably not what you think. Or it may be everything you think. Regardless, you might be very surprised by how weirdly compelling it is.

Important Note: Some mature content. Would probably be PG-13 if it was a movie. I'm not policing what you watch or read - but we have some (awesome) younger readers on here. If this show had been on when I was in Middle School, I would have preferred Saved by the Bell reruns.

Please let me count the ways I love Downton Abbey:

1. The characters on this show are exceptionally written. I figured with a cast this big, I wouldn't care about individual stories. But I care about every single storyline on this show. I care so much that it's hard to even pick favorites. But if I had to pick ... like, if someone was going to take away my coffee unless I picked ... these are the Crawleys (and maid!) I'd vote for:

Lady Violet. As if there's any other choice. Dame Maggie could star as a tap-dancing tree and she'd still be the scene stealer. I have this theory that her presence elevates the performance on any set she's on. Maybe the cast is good before she gets to work. But I bet when Dame Maggie shows up, and she brings it, and then they have to bring it x100 just to try and elevate to her level of awesome. But that's just my theory. (Just some leftover love for Professor McGonagall, maybe.) In this show, she's Lady Violet - conniving and uppercrust and (often unintentionally) funny, too. And surprisingly tender-hearted. Even in her upper crustiness, you can't dislike her. It's impossible to dislike her. She's a wicked-wonderful gem of a character.

"Put that in your pipe and smoke it." - Lady Violet

via weheartit

Sybil (far left). The Crawley girls are all great characters and I could get bloggy about each of them. (Mary has a very Jane Austen quality about her, right? Kinda prideful? Mostly prejudiced? ;-) But Sybil is the kind of girl I'm likely to root for in any book. Or movie. Or ... real life situation. She's got this wide-eyed approach to life - very innocent, maybe a little naive. She still sees the world, and all the people in it, as a very complex and wonderful thing. (Even the scary parts of the world seem wonderful.) But she's not just a day-dreamer. She's very world conscious, interested in politics and women's rights and current events. Mary and Edith, the older Crawleys, shoulder a bit more responsibility, and regret, and they're usually trying to one-up each other, or out-jealous each other (and it's so fun to watch). But Sybil has managed to stay clear of all that. Maybe because she's the youngest? I think she's one of the coolest teen characters I've seen on TV in a very long time. And I think Sybil's character will refine into something even more gritty in Season 2. She's getting older. The world's going to war. I'm interested to see how she processes it all. I also think she's going to make some big mistakes this season. I hope so. I'll like her even more if she does.

Anna. The neato burrito thing about Downton Abbey is that you see the inner workings of rich society family who owns the house and, also, the inner workings of their staff (a bevy of maids and butlers who take care of them). I like the staff. I adore William. I like Daisy, too. But Anna! Anna's big job is serving as maid to the girls - and, in my not so humble opinion, she's the quiet hero of Downton Abbey so far. She's sweet and kind and loyal. She's not necessarily inclined, not so far, to up her status (like lots of staffers at Downton), but she's fierce about what she loves. And who she loves. I think that's my favorite thing about her; that she's sweet and driven. Sweet and driven aren't traits commonly paired together. I wish they were more often though. People don't have to be aggressive in order to be assertive and confident. Anna's a very modern woman, even though I don't think she'd classify herself as such.

via googleimages

Yes, I realize I'm talking about the characters like they're real. Just roll with it for today, please.

Also, these two:

Are the most dastardly villains on television since Murky and Lurky tried to suck all the color out of the world.

2. I love the clothes. I know it's girly point to add to this conversation, but ... I'm pretty sure it's just girls reading the post at this point :). So, full confession: I pause the DVD just so I can freak out a little bit over what the girls are wearing.

found on weheartit

There's a show that came on several years ago that people (women my age, especially) were always freaking out over, mostly because of the threads. And I never felt cool because 1.) I never figured out why the show was so compelling and edgy and 2.) I didn't particularly see what was so cool about the clothes. Maybe it was the constant Manolo Blahnik references. I might be the only girl in the world who doesn't give a french toast about expensive high heels. (I prefer Converse to Manolos. For the sake of poetry, I also prefer Rolos to Manolos.) (Tangent: I also can't understand the cuteness factor of high heels with the built in platforms. You know what I'm talking about? I know they're hot and fashionable and everybody else gets their intrinsic style factor ... but I think they look kinda costume-ish. Like something you'd see at a pop-up Halloween store in a bag labeled "Sexy Minnie Mouse". But I'm not fashion forward.) Alas. *turns in cool girl card*

via weheartit

I wouldn't want to wear the clothes on Downton Abbey, because those gorgeous dresses would look most wretched on my body type,* but I'm nuts over the costuming on this show. These silhouettes are so gorgeous, aren't they? I've never liked big puffy ballgowns as much as graceful silhouettes, like these. Sometimes the clothes on the girls are elegant, feminine and flowy. I like that. But my favorite is when they pair a dress with a very structured jacket. Mary wore this sick (sick = awesome) black jacket for the fox hunt. She was looking all elegant, edgy, House of McQueen; fitted black coat, long black skirt, black top hat and a whisper of a black veil. And she was riding her horse in stride with all the boys ... it was too much cool for one TV screen.

via

I haven't squealed this hard over clothes since Project Runway. I cannot even imagine how wretched a corset must be, but the dresses make the characters look like moving paintings. Whoever does costuming on Downton deserves ten thousand tons of ice cream. Or some fancy award. They'd probably prefer the fancy award. I'd prefer the ice cream.

3. I love the time skip. Downtown Abbey's Season 2 will start with some significant time skippage between the episodes. I think that's a pretty cool jump to make. I've succeeded in not reading anything about Season 2 (which is already airing for you lucky Englanders). But I'm seeing lots of pictures. And they're making me very excited ....

weheartit

4. I love the way this house functions a funky little microcosm of society; a small (but accurate) infrastructure of people who are trying to survive in a rapidly mad-madder world. I get that there's a town outside the gabled walls of the house; and a world beyond the tiny town ... but the house is a society in itself. Downton is big, so teeming with life and gossip and change, that it pretty much has its own hierarchy and governing system (for the family and the staff). And it's interesting to see who falls into place, who bucks against the system. Who plots and schemes. Who falls in love ...

My favorite line from the show so far is this:"She doesn't wish to keep it secret. She wishes to keep it private. There's a difference."

That quote doesn't reference what you might think, if you aren't watching the show yet. But it still sums up everything I love about Downton Abbey - the difference between what stays secret and what stays private. The pressure to fall in love (and the motive for falling in love). The snapshot of a society that was about to shift in a major way (the life you were born into vs. the life you make for yourself). The strange frazzled ties that bind families, friends, and co-workers (do we unite over what we love or what, and who, we hate?). There are lots of secrets in the house but, in the end, everybody kind of knows everybody's business, too.

via weheartit

Mostly, I love the show because it's darn fun to watch.

You can watch all of Season 1 on PBS (I watched it all on Netflix for free ... not sure if that's still an option?) (And then I got Season 1 for Christmas and I'm watching it again don't judge me.)

And here's a peak at Season 2:

I'll be DVR'ing that this weekend. As if I won't be planted on the couch, with my dog, watching the show as it airs ... (Biscuit loves it too. Especially when they go on fox hunts. She barks at the TV and wiggles her tail so fast it's a blur.)

(And for the record - my parents are also into it. Like I said, weirdly compelling.)

So ... are you a Downton Abbey watcher, too? I'd love to hear what you like about it! And if you want, maybe we could come back to this post after Sunday's episode and talk it up? Thanks for indulging me this week! I promise not to pester you with television talk too often. This blog will return to regular programming next time.

* Sometimes, when people talk about period dramas like this one, or Pride and Prejudice, they lament about how they were born in the wrong century. But I have no doubt I was born in the right century. First off, I like showers and indoor plumbing. Second, I like to wear jeans. Third, I'm guessing glasses at the strength I wear them weren't so cute back then. These days, glasses are hipster but back then, I'm guessing they were more spinster, you savvy? There are also hygiene issues I'm not sure people take into account when they wish they could live in ye olden days. But most of all, I'm confident I wouldn't have been a cool girl at the regency dance with the Crawleys. I probably would have been a maid dumping out chamber pots or something. So I'm quite happy in my own century.

just enough dark to see.

2011-12-29T15:35:00.000-05:00

Listening To: You and I by Ingrid Michaelson
I read: Mark Batterson's The Circle Maker and highlighted, underlined, and put little ♥'s on every single page. The book rocked my soul and my whole concept of prayer. Incredible. Would be an amazing first read of 2012. Full gushy review coming soon.
This: is beautiful. Did anybody not cry when they watched it?

image via

Every year around Christmas, Dad and I drive to the top of Lookout Mountain and walk through Rock City's Enchanted Garden of Lights. The whole experience is fun and festive and, I'll admit it, tee-totally touristy. But I think people should geek out and get touristy more often, especially when it comes to the cities they live in.

I once heard someone (snarkily) say that tourists are easy to spot because they're always looking up. And I remember thinking, and I still wonder ... what's so bad about always looking up?

I hate the idea of walking around like some uninspired drone all the time. I've lived in my city for a few years now and I still look up at the buildings. I still take pictures of them. And I still freak out when I drive over the hill at night and see my city's lights. My town looks so sweet then, all snuggled up into the mountains, shining and blinking like clusters of stars have fallen asleep in the valley.

We weren't headed for the valley though. We were headed for the hill top.

Dad and I drove up and around the curvy-tall mountain, all the way to city of Lookout Mountain (which, incidentally, has always looked a little bit like The Grinch's Mountain to me). Lookout Mountain is a gorgeous, whimsical town; criss-crossed by streets with names like Red Riding Trail and Pied Piper. Fairyland Elementary is their school. How amazing is that? Lookout Mountain is home to crazy mansions and sweet cottages. And cute cafes, trails, and parks and a ton of Civil War history. (And a college that looks like Hogwarts.) (And a gas station that won't let you use the restroom even if you buy gas there. Not that I'm still bitter.) (Also - so not buying gas there ever again.) (*gives the Shell Station the stink eye*)

And it's the home of Rock City. I've been to Rock City several times, but my favorite time to go is Christmastime, for The Enchanted Garden of Lights.

As you may already know, the Enchanted Garden of Lights is pretty darn fun. You get to walk through all sorts of caves and caverns, all lit-up for Christmas. It's gorgeous and a little bit spooky and kind of cheesy and so, so, so fun. Rock City is a rare blend of natural beauty and manmade-dorkdom. I'm a fan of both aspects. We walked through Fairytale Caverns and looked through the storybook windows. We read nursery rhymes carved into stone. (The nursery rhyme people are delightfully creepy up close.)

We walked down into a cave and found a wishing well, where little lights sparkled up the stone walls like fairies:

I made a wish. A B I G wish. Tis the season. (It's always the wishing season ;)

We walked through Goblin's Underpass. We stopped to watch a timed-light manger scene. We pointed out gnomes (fake ones) (... I think) sitting on rocks and swings. We stopped for hot cocoa and split a chocolate chip cookie and took pictures of a cliff-facing turned into a snowman (pic forthcoming).

Christmas music played constantly (gnomes like surround sound). And the lights were always shining; around us and above us. One of my favorite displays is the simplest: a wire-bird made of tiny, white lights.

But my most favorite part of the whole tour was the star-part.

Before the tour started, while we were driving up the mountain, we rounded the final curve and I saw the big, iconic star that's fastened to the cliffs of Lover's Leap at Christmastime:

And I pointed and yelled, "Look!"(As if we hadn't seen that star a billion times before.)

My dad pointed higher and said, "Look."

And I looked up just in time to see a falling star burn a fire-path across the sky.

A falling star.

A real star.

And it was every bit as magical and wild and wonderful as falling stars are rumored to be. They're a scream and a sparkle, those star-things. Suddenly the world seemed very merry and bright and full of hope. I couldn't stop smiling. I'm smiling now just thinking about it.

I've always been a skyfreak. Stars and sunsets, in particular, make my heart pound like crazy. Stars make me a little bit melodramatic, obviously. And that particular falling star got me in a thinking way.

I thought about how it's kind of funny that I was so busy freaking out over a fake star that I almost missed a real one. And I thought about how typical that is of me, how sometimes I get so fixated on one thing - one dream, one goal, one flaw, one chance to prove myself -- that it consumes my vision. And I forget there might be something better, even more wonderful, even more rare and beautiful just past what I can see.

I've been thinking star thoughts ever since that night.

Every December,
when I climb up the mountain,
and I stand on the edge,
I see miles of stars.

I see the sleeping stars down in the valley.
I see the wire-star that somebody fastened against the rock.
I see the timed-light star that buzzes like a bug light over the manger scene.

I see real stars, the night-kind that reach for each other across the ceiling of the sky.

But that night,
Because somebody reminded me to look past a star made of wire and light,
I saw one perfect wish burn a mad-dance down the December darkness.

And I remembered what I love about this season,
the advent, the epiphany, the new year, the new of it all:
it's this desire I have not just to live-out the day I'm in,
but to have enough vision and imagination to look past it too.

I think even the most dreamy dreamers need that reminder:
there is more happening here than what you see.

It's not that you're overlooking the day you're given.
It's that you have the perspective to see past it,
to know this is one page in an amazing story.

I've been reading so much lately about vision and imagination and prayer (and how they're all linked together). And I've been thinking about how I need to cast my vision further out than I do.

Sometimes, I need to look past this day I'm in, especially if it's breaking my heart, and know better days are coming.

Sometimes, I need to look past my flaws and choose to see something that is sometimes, surprisingly, kinda cute. (Snakeskin jeggings and all!)

I want to look past my fear and find enough courage to do the thing I love.
Even if it seems crazy.
Especially if it seems crazy.

I want to look for the good in a situation.
I want to keep choosing to see the good in people. To find the best and brag on it.

I want to choose beauty.
Choose goodness.
Choose to do some good,
choose action over apathy.

I want to set my sights a little higher.
Get a little bit riskier.

I don't want to limit my perspective to only what I can see.

When we got to the top of the mountain, to the very edge where the city lights and stars roll into one long canvas of night and light, I thought about everything I'm standing on the edge of right now.

And I thought about how easy it has been in the past (and no doubt will be in the future) to convince myself the climb will never be worth it. But sometimes the climb is worth it. Sometimes all it takes a slight change in perspective, just one brave glance past the obvious, and I see that the view isn't just good from here. The view is starry from here. One of my most favorite song lyrics of-all-time-and-always comes from Cindy Morgan. She sings, "Heartaches we go through are often blessings in disguise." It's a good reminder for a new day. I believe there's so much truth in those words, even though sometimes it's year before I see it.

I'm starting to see it. Some of it.

By day, you can see everything from the edge of the mountain: cities and six other states and farms and battlefields and woods. But almost none of that is visible at night. All you can see at night is the promise of something good: the tip of a far-off mountain in the moonlight, the lights from the city, dark patches of fields. Miles and miles of stars. You only see the promise of what's in front of you; a vision that's not realized just yet. But will be.

And that's how I'm ending my year: with my feet firmly planted on the rock. With hope in my heart. With stars in my eyes.

Happy New Year, Beauties! Thanks for being so encouraging and smart and funny and genuine. I adore you people. So does Biscuit. If you were here, Biscuit would totally pounce on you and sniff your ears. Which is her way of saying that you're awesome (I've considered trying this out when I meet people ... seems more creative than a handshake). I can't wait to see what shenanigans we'll get into in 2012.

Till then, I hope your weekend is super fun - full of ~~sparkling grape juice and pizza snacks~~ culinary wonders. And full of falling stars.

Do you have any big hopes for 2012? Any plans you're looking forward to? Do you make resolutions? Or set new goals? I'd love to hear about them!

all things merry and bright.

2011-12-26T10:30:00.000-05:00

Listening To: Us Against the World by Coldplay

Happy Monday, Party Animals! I thought I'd wield some photojournalism savvy and send some fun pictures your way, along with the usual holiday love and cheer. (I'd also send you some Chattz if I could, because I've been hitting the stuff pretty hard, because it is so delicious, but alas. That could get pricey. Do try it though, if you're ever in the area!) I have a Christmas Tale of Terror ~~involving a duck attack~~, but I'll save it for next week. Let the anticipation build, etc.

So here goes:

First, let's discuss my family's Christmas tree. It's a fine and fluffy tree, circled with starry-white lights and perfect for picture taking. Fake trees know how to strike a pretty pose:

Note the lovely gifts underneath the tree:

Also note this gift, which was not so lovely, which I affectionately call, "Best Wrapping Job EVER."

Last week, after we talked about ornaments we loved, my brother texted and told me that I needed to remind you of the "best" ornament on our family's tree, the one he purchased and put on the tree himself. The one my mother ~~tries to "accidentally" drop and break or hide in the back of the tree~~ proudly displays each year:

That would be a Santa Claus holding a shamrock and a pipe. My brother is all class.

Speaking of The Rogue Accountant:

Here he is hanging out with my dog. They look to be conspiring in this photo:

And here we are with Chase's dog, Kramer. I love that the camera flash always catches Kramer's eyes. Makes him look like an adorably fuzzy little psycho:

Doesn't he look like a little Ewok?! (Kramer. Not my brother.) Too adorable.

Biscuit was mostly thrilled and snuggly and tail-waggy about Christmas:

But. She's kinda territorial and she doesn't like anybody else playing with her toys ... or sharing her family ... or trying to eat leftover snacks out of her beard (what girl does?). Kramer's love language is licking. So Kramer loves chew on Biscuit's beard and Biscuit isn't down with that. So they don't get along. At all. Biscuit mostly eyes Kramer like she wants to brawl so we kept them apart except for a few, very short, well-chaperoned visits. We had to takes pics with them separately, due to ongoing shenanigans. I wish I knew how to convince the dogs to like each other ... but I don't. Any tips?

Let's talk gifts. Nothing says "merry and bright" like this gift, which my nephew asked for:

Which appears to be a large, scary Lego man holding a flaming robot-head. Tis the season!

I didn't get a flaming lego head for Christmas (not yet, at least). But my family makes me promise to buy absolutely no books after November 1. Books are what I hope for and books are usually what I get. Behold this year's stash:

So much squealing went down. (I was the one squealing. My peeps don't squeal so much.) I've pretty much declared the next week BookFest 2011 so I can devour some of them. Or all of them. Whichever comes first. (I also got Beth Moore's new study, "James" ... but that one isn't pictured because I had already opened it and started working on it.) Have you read any of these? (I can't wait to email my friend Ruth and talk about Dyan Cannon's Dear Cary ... because I have a feeling she'll squeal with me over that one.)

Now. Do you see the Mindy Kaling book? That's the only book that I'd dropped a hint about. And by "dropped a hint", I mean: my brother called and said, "What do you want me to get you for Christmas?", and I said, "Mindy Kaling's book!" and he was all, "Cool." So I thought I might get it.

But then, this week, The Rogue Accountant got all cocky started saying stuff like, "Not to brag, or anything, but the thing I got you for Christmas this year? Is the best thing I've ever given you. EVER."

And then he smiled in this quasi-evil way that made me wonder if he was giving me a slug farm or a sculpture made of spam cans. If you have a brother, you know this feeling of impending dread.

Before I tell you exactly what my brother's gift entailed, you need to know these things:

1.) This was an off year for me. Usually, I have this savvy about gift giving. Most years, I know the perfect gifts to give. Other than my ability to start kitchen fires with nothing but chopsticks and a sweet potato, I'm kind of known for my gift-giving-prowess. But this year? NADA. Everything about this year was off for me. My world got a little bit crazy (in a good way) and I didn't give this area the time and attention I usually do. I didn't put the creative time and energy into my gifts, not like the masses have come to expect. I warned the fam early on that this year was an off year. The gifts I gave were cool, just not up to par with what I usually do. Even Santa has off years, I've tried to convince myself. But alas. I have lots of Christmas guilt this year.

So.

2.) I gave my brother the following: I took one of my favorite pictures from our summer trip to Oregon, and I sent it off to the picture elves, and the photo came back as a big print. And I framed it. The pic is really cool: a beautiful shot of Multnomah Falls surrounded in fog. I also gave him a pack of Tully's Coffee and, and this is the especially funny part, I gave him a block of Tillamook Cheddar Cheese. It was like a Pacific Northwest prize pack and I was pretty proud of myself. Plus I thought it'd be funny to give him a block of smoked cheddar with a bow on top. And it was.

And then I opened my brother's gift to me, which was Mindy Kaling's book.

I freaked out, because Mindy Kaling is funny and smart and awesome. And I'd wanted her book so bad for so long.

And then my brother said, "There's a bookmark in there."

And he flashed that quasi-evil grin again, the one that made me wonder if he'd scattered dead bug confetti between the pages or something.

I was surprised to discover that my brother had tucked a receipt into the Mindy Kaling book.

A receipt for the purchase of two tickets to see, oh, just some little indie band ...

For Christmas? I gave my brother a block of smoked cheddar.

And he got us tickets to see Coldplay!!!!!!!

*headDESK*

After lots of screaming, this slight juxtaposition became apparent to me. And I got very quiet and looked at the tickets. Then looked at my brother. Then looked at the tickets. Then I buried my head in my hands and said, "I gave you smoked cheddar."

To reiterate. My brother gave me this:

And I gave him this:

*sigh*

I've been a Coldplay fan since high school which has been, gah, over 10 years. (I know many of you were *gulp* born in the 90's ... but if you were in high school in the 90's, you might remember the first NOW CD? That's when I first heard Coldplay! Heh. :) And I've always wanted to see them live but tickets have been a little too pricey every time they've been close. And they sell out quick and all that jazz. So I'd kind of assumed Coldplay Live wasn't in my future.

Would you think me especially dorky if I told you I cried, just a little bitty bit when I realized what my "bookmark" was?

I have the sweetest bro ever. Seriously.

But it's not just the Coldplay *dances a happy jig* part that makes me happy. I'm most excited that I get to see them with my brother. Like most sibs, we have a bunch in common. We can talk in movie quotes. We have the same weird sense of humor. We're both ambitious and we love dogs and we have that shared language all families have; the kind made up of the funny, inside jokes nobody else will ever get. But Chase also gets the music-part of my heart. He gets the visceral reaction I have to music, because he has it too. He knows what it's like to tuck a memory into a song. He knows why I listen to certain songs during certain seasons, why I write lyrics on index cards and on my mirror and sometimes, randomly, on the back of my hand so I can keep them close. I'm forever spellbound by the stories songs tell. Music makes me feel wild and safe. But the best part is that music makes me feel. Whether my heart is pounding in fear or anticipation, I've got a song that I can steady against it. That all probably sounds goofy, but I'm sure you get it too. Music is a gift that I'm endlessly grateful for.

And that's a roundabout way of saying that I can't wait to see Coldplay live. I've set so many of my memories to their songs that I wonder if the concert's going to feel like reading an old diary.

Is it July yet?! ;-)

One last gift. And this is so very girly, so please scroll if you don't like to discuss clothes. My parents gave me too much sweet stuff, even though I told them not to get me anything. (Because, not to be corny etc., but I feel like the fact that I get to be around them so much is pretty much the best gift ever.) One of the gifts they gave me was this jacket:

Pardon the dressing room pic. That's the pic I sent to my mom and sister a dozen times and said, "... Maybe?" (To which they both replied, YES!!!) I kept going back to the store, and trying it on, but I never bought it because 1.) I'm cheap and 2.) because it's a weirdly wonderful blend of trends: military style + ruffles + a bold, brassy zipper and I think ... is this too much trend for me to work?

Even when I opened the present, and flipped out and said, "... but are you sure I can wear this ..." My mom was like, "YES. Duh. Yes. Of course you can wear it." And, truly, if I had no qualms about wearing snakeskin jeggings (more on those later), you'd think a well-structured jacket would kind of be a no brainer. I dig it.

I hope you had the sweetest weekend ever. I hope you were surrounded by people you love. I hope you laughed until your face hurt. I hope you ate loads of Oreos. Or bacon. Or both.

Merry (... day after ...) Christmas, friends! I would love to hear how your weekend went. Did you get any new books? Start some new traditions? Travel somewhere amazing?

buttered confetti.

2011-12-21T13:30:00.000-05:00

Listening To: Christmas Lights by Coldplay
Happy, Happy Hanukkah: to those of you celebrating The Festival of Lights!

via moviefone

Christmas movies?

Did someone mention Christmas movies?!

Because I like Christmas movies for serious. And The Rogue Accountant and I watch a lotta them on Christmas Day (except he doesn't watch the uber-chicky ones with me ...). (And, yes, I realize that some of these aren't technically Christmas movies. I just get in the mood for them once winter rolls around, savvy?) Sadly, I'm not so cool and hipsterific when it comes to my favorite wintertime flicks. I wish I could say I gravitated toward old, gorgeous, classic films. Vintage stuff.

... But I mostly gravitate toward the quirk. Actually, I gravitate toward the movies that I loved when I was little.

My month (and the rest of my week) has pretty much consisted of all this (All This + Oreos) ...

(All images found on Google Images.)

I saved Mark Darcy for last.

Only Colin Firth could rock a Rudolph sweater so wonderfully, yes? But it's not just the festive sweater that I like about that movie. The chemistry between Bridget and Mark ... *shivers*. It makes me want to throw my microwave popcorn up into the air. Like buttered-confetti. (... ?)

(Note: Bridget Jones has some language and making-outage and etc., so if you're a younger reader, check the ratings and reviews and so on. My parents 100% wouldn't have let me watch it back in middle school. I wouldn't have been into it anyway though.)

I like many things about that particular film. But I'm not gonna lie ... I watch the entire movie anticipating The Line.

Bridget Jones' Diary contains one of my most favorite movie lines ever. My most favorite movie line is the one that's unspoken at the very end of Splendor in the Grass (don't YouTube the ending just to see it ... you have to watch the movie all the way through to feel the impact of the unsaid line). (Trivia: My second favorite movie line is in The Count of Monte Cristo.)

But I love a line in Bridget Jones too. Actually, it's not just The Line that I like so much. It's the delivery of The Line (which makes all the difference, I guess). I remember the first time I watched this movie, how I was laughing through so many scenes. And then, suddenly, (around the 1:40 mark in the clip down below) Mark D. says what he says. He says The Line. And I felt like I'd been punched in the heart. Like suddenly I went from being all giggly over this scene to being a little bit floored by it.

Because, not to get all melodramatic or anything, but I think what he says right then ... pretty much sums up the love every body's hoping for. Not just the romantic kind of love even, but the absolute best kind of love that exists: the transparent kind. The kind that comes after you see somebody freak out, do something stupid, make a huge mistake, be a jerk. He's talking about the kind of love that comes when the pretty falls away, when the vices aren't quirky and cute anymore. He's talking about the true love that's still there, even when you see the truest kind of true, the most scuffed up, most ripped up, most ridiculously, monstrously unflattering part of a person's heart ... and you still decide you're going to love them. It's the kind of love that doesn't alter when it alteration finds, is how Will Shakespeare says it. Mark Darcy says the same thing, pretty much. Except he says it in a simpler, more straight-forward way. And he doesn't say it timidly. There's nothing shy about the way he says it, which is possibly what makes my heart flutter so hard every time I watch it.

I think that very simple line is rather perfect.

Just as you are.

Rock on, Mark Darcy. I raise my mug of Swiss Miss Calcium Enriched Hot Cocoa to you. And to turkey curry buffets.

PS - Some of my favorite Christmas movies are so obscure I can't even find screenshots. Like A Snow White Christmas. And Santa and the Three Bears. And The Town Santa Forgot. Anybody know those? I have all those movies on the same VHS along with some rocking 80's commercials. The commercials are exceptional.

PS2 - Anybody recognize the fourth screenshot? That movie is amazing for so many reasons, including the villain:

Sigh. Christmas specials just aren't what they used to be.

What are your favorite Christmas movies? If you're feeling festive, I would love to hear your favorite Christmas movie quotes too! :)

there's an eiffel tower on my tree.

2011-12-14T14:27:00.002-05:00

Listening To: Wonderful World by Eva Cassidy
Watching: The New Girl. I love every episode more than the one before.

When you get to be a wise old sage like me, getting fun mail in the mailbox (and not just student loan payments) can be a very exciting treat. When I get Christmas cards or notes or, heck, even Sephora catalogs with my name on them, I do a little dance down the driveway like so:

But today? Today was severely amazing because I got a sweet note from Kristin, who runs Sew Technicolor (a very whimsical blog and Etsy shop). And inside Kristin's sweet note was an ornament she made:

Of The Eiffel Tower! And. And! She added a line from the post that I wrote about The Eiffel Tower earlier this year, when I said I like that particular structure because it looks "like steel and lace."

I thought my heart might thump right out of my chest. The ornament now has a prime spot on my Christmas tree, so that I can point it out to everybody who walks in the door. After Christmas, it's going on my wall of inspiration. Right beside my picture of Dolly Parton. Thank you so much Kristin!!! I am floored. I can't believe I get to display your art on my tree!

You people are the sweetest. And that's a fact.

I've been writing a big long book post that I'm hoping to share tomorrow (about some reads I'm looking forward to in 2012). But right now, I'm typing in front of the Christmas tree and thinking about all these ornaments. Most of the ornaments on my tree have a sweet story behind them. There are a few stories that I'd love to type up and share before the holidays are over (we gift ornaments pretty often in my fam, because that makes for a sweet memory when you put it on the tree each year...).

I'd love to know if you have a favorite ornament on your tree. Or a favorite decoration you put out each year. Is there something you display around the holidays that holds an extra special meaning for you? Do you like to make ornaments? Do you ever shop for quirky ones to give as gifts?

In other news, I'm wearing snakeskin jeggings to the Christmas service this week. Because pants that work for church and Bon Jovi concerts circa 1987? That's a wardrobe staple! (But seriously - the print is very subtle. They can look surprisingly dressy. I know you don't believe me, but I can prove to you that they're fun.) (#shacklemyheart!)

I'll catch you fine people down in the comments. ;-)

question marks and messy middles.

2011-12-08T10:10:00.000-05:00

Listening To: Shake it Out by Florence + The Machine
Line Obsession: I'm keeping watch from my particular dark, with my question marks and anxieties and messy middles, praying for eyes to see what is the already, and faith to wait for the not yet." - Sara Zarr

I've stumbled upon an abundance of good readery (...?) this week and thought I'd pass the links along. If you're feeling bloggy, here's where to jump:

* Sara Zarr shares a gorgeous essay about Advent on Image. Sara's writing always undoes me a little bit. I adore her fiction but I also harbor a deep-down-hope that she'll write a collection of essays someday. Her non-fiction is wonderful. (Not all writers can transition between fiction and non-fiction so seamlessly.) My favorite quote: "I'm keeping watch from my particular dark, with my question marks and anxieties and messy middles, praying for eyes to see what is the already, and faith to wait for the not yet."

* Lindsee posted some lovely thoughts over on Living Proof. She's writing about the Taylor Swift song "Fifteen." And she says there's much truth in this lyric: "When you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you ... you're gonna believe them." But she says the reverse is also true: "When you're fifteen ... and nobody tells you they love you, you're gonna believe it..." Fact: Never hearing "I love you" can break a girl's heart just as much, if not way more, than getting dumped. This is true for any girl, whether she's 15 or 95. Lindsee's post will encourage you regardless of the age-thang. If you work in student ministry (or hope to), I think her post is a must read. It's a great reminder to keep affirming the beauty of the women we know - reminding them that they're talented and cool and wanted and pretty-darn-wonderful.

* The Nefarious Jenny B. Jones posted a great link about Edinburg's delightfully notorious (and anonymous) Phantom Sculptor. I'm pretty sure I've forwarded the story to everybody I know. Stories like this make the world seem so magical, don't they? That's what libraries do. (Pretty much every cool link comes from Jenny B. Jones. I'm not cool on my own.)

* Once is about to hit Broadway. Must. Get. To NYC.

* Here's an essay (possibly an excerpt from a speech?) from my Writer Hero Kate DiCamillo. She writes about Wonderbread and marshmellow fluff and dancing and comfort. And how all of that is pretty much the reason she writes. If you love to write too, you'll be so inspired.

* I like everything about this song:

* And I like these pictures:

This next one is from dad's birthday dinner. The Rogue Accountant was trying to block the gigantic ~~spotlight~~ light shining above our table, because we're both so pale, and the light was coming at such an angle, that we seriously looked like The Phantoms of the Pizza Place.

And this last one ... is a picture of my secret shoes. You cannot mention the secret shoes to my friend Hannah. Because Hannah hates shoes like this and so I've never confessed to her that I own a pair. They're definitely ugly. But they're ugly in an adorable way, right?

RIGHT?!

(... maybe don't answer the question.)

(PS: Hannah reads my blog. So she's totally going to find out about the secret shoes.)

Care to share a fun link down in the comments? Also, after reading Sara Zarr's advent essay, I would love to hear about how (or if) you mark Advent in a special way. Hope you're having a happy week!

songbirds and cowboy boots.

2011-12-01T16:26:00.001-05:00

Listening To: Bird Song by The Wailin Jennys.

There is creative power in our language. Put a little extra thought into naming the stuff you're responsible for. It might make more difference than you think." - Steven Furtick

I'm a habitual right-clicker. I'm forever saving pictures that inspire me. Great photographs make my imagination spin like crazy. I love iconic images of people (musicians, in particular) and images of flowers and dresses and faces. I like cities. I like sunsets. I adore pictures of woods covered in fog or old barns, the kind that lean at a tilt like they're about to take a nap.

Great expressions are the best - smiles surrounded by deep wrinkles, eyes shining with joy. I like process pictures - people cooking, people dancing, people daydreaming. My sister gave me a book called Slow Life in a Tuscan Town that is beautiful, beautiful because it has all of those things. (It's only $20 on Amazon right now and would be an amazing gift for someone who loves to read about Italy - it's a thick, high-quality hardcover.) A couple of years ago, The Rogue Accountant gave me National Geograhic's LOVE, which makes me shiver to think about because I love the photographs so much. (That one is also marked down on the NG site right now - it's a keeper.) (I seriously don't get a kickback from mentioning these books. I just like them a bunch.) I've got my eye on this book but I'm waiting. Trying to wait ... trying so hard to wait ...

Pictures tell good stories. They make me want to write better stories too.

I did a bunch of that this week; the writing thing.

I wrote and wrote and wrote.

And I write.

And that's exactly how I like it.

And I keep going back to this cluster of pictures that I've been saving. My 6th grade English teacher used to give us cards with bizarre black and white pictures and ask us to write a story about the picture. She would be proud because I still do this constantly - think up stories for the pictures I see. And I group pictures together too, because something, and I don't know what, tickles my imagination and links the images together and makes me wonder.

I this is a beautiful story, don't you?

Photo from flicker/solene MeSt*

Maybe none of that is a story that needs to be written. Maybe the pics were just jumper cables for my clunker of an imagination while I spin out something new. Maybe they just clustered together to remind me to wander around a little bit this week; get lost in a daydream or two.

Look the world in the face.

Keep a pen in your hand. Keep a song in your heart.

Turn your face to the sun.

Drink in the mystery.

Then put on your cowboy boots and save the universe.

That sort of thing.

The Wailin' Jennys have been crooning while I write this week. I do adore those Wailin' Jennys.

"I'd like to be those flowers,

open to everything."

Happy weekending to you gorgeous people. Hope you make something beautiful.

What's got you inspired lately?

* The first pictures were found via Cup of Jo. I love her blog. She says they're French wedding dresses! So pretty. Found the cowboy boots on weheartit on tumblr.

with gratitude.

2011-11-28T07:00:00.000-05:00

Listening To: The Day of Small Things by Alli Rogers
Perfectly Gorgeous Description: "Professor Cake was a hunched old man with a voice as knotted as his knuckles." - from Jonathan Auxier's Peter Nimble and His Fantastic Eyes

"All this noise, and all that sound.
All those places I got found." - Coldplay

Color me grateful for a long weekend,
for crunchy leaves
and sunrise skies
and crumbly pie crusts.

For the wild and crazy women in my family who love to cook,
because they love to love.
And cooking is one of the ways they love.

Cooking is not the way I love.
But they're okay with that.
They tell me all I ever need to bring is myself.
And my appetite.
Score.
(But I took a caramel cake anyway.
Because caramel cake = fudgey deliciousness.)

This weekend was cranberries and pretty china,
hot coffee and spiced cider,
and sweet potato casserole
covered with brown sugar and Georgia pecans.
Which I pronounce puh-con.
But my brother pronounces pee-can.
(My way sounds prettier.)

We all held hands and whispered grace,
prayers of thanks and and hope and health.
We whispered Christmas words.
We told vacation stories.
We talked about the people we love
(and miss).
We listened as much as we talked.
We laughed until our faces hurt.

I'm grateful for late night board games.
Cowboy hats and stormtrooper helmets were not a requirement:

But they definitely make opponents take you more seriously.
Or something.

I'm grateful for bedtime stories,
and Home Alone,
and how we've watched that movie so many times
that we mostly have it memorized.
(We laugh anyway.)

I'm grateful for a house full of comfy couches,
and soft blankets,
and fluffy pillows,
places perfect for hiding away,
to read,
or dream,
or sleep.
Or just pretend to be sleeping.

I'm grateful for sweet farm dogs,

For a long walk in the woods,

For a longer walk around the lake,

when the twilight clouds broke apart,

somewhere high-up above me.

Pretty winter crackle-clouds.

When the sky gets scattered over the water like that,

the whole world looks silver and bright.

One brave wishing star winked down at me.

Just one star. And all it did was shine.

But I thought about how maybe that's all it takes some times,

just a little incentive to shine.

Just a little flicker of courage.
No more hiding out.
No more lazy fear.

Maybe the moment I shine is the moment I decide to,
when I stop clinging to the reasons that I can't,

And decide instead that I am going to do

what I love to do,

clouds or no clouds.

Even if nobody sees. Even if nobody notices.

But some times they do notice.

I wondered as I walked.
The world felt so full of hope and expectation and good things.

These are good days.

I'm grateful for good-bye pancakes

crunchy on the edges,
cakey in the middle

sweet, but sad too.

Because whether it's a "good bye"

or a "see ya later,"

leaving is still leaving.

And leaving always sucks.

But I'm still so thankful.

Because love doesn't lessen when it's stretched across a thousand miles.

Love doesn't break when I drop it.

Love keeps reaching,
and threading,
and bending,
and anchoring,
and connecting me to the people I love.
Even if we haven't seen each other in ages.
Even when we can't see each other at all.

Home is most certainly where my heart is.
So color me grateful;
pick a color that's silver-grey like the sky,
pick a color that's caramel or cranberry,
something comforting and sweet.
Pick a sunrise color for me.

And use it to paint all the places I've left my heart.
They're all home to me.

I love to think that,
no matter where I wander,
I'm really just headed home again.

I'm still jet-lagged (in a good way!) from this weekend. And I am very grateful that calories consumed over Thanksgiving holidays do not count. Carbs, FTW! Did you have a good weekend? Read any fun books? Did you see Hugo? Or The Muppets? I would love to hear the best part of your Thanksgiving! (Please feel free to link YouTube clips of anything awesome I might have missed in the parade ...)

classy gobblers.

2011-11-23T13:48:00.001-05:00

Listening To: The sound of silence. The actual sound ... not the song. (But the song is awesome too.) (Maybe I'll listen to the song ...)

Drinking: Diet Dr. Pepper. Because it is a sweet and fizzy form of happiness.

(image from weheartit.com)

Happy Thanksgiving Beauties & Beastlies! If you haven't been to your local grocery store today, you really should go. Because I just dropped by my local Publix and it was insanity. My grocery store? Was totally dystopian. Hundreds of people racing around and lunging for pre-made pie crusts and talking on their bluetooths (which is awesome because it made it seem like they were talking to themselves). (Is the plural of "bluetooth" ... blueteeth?) It reminded me of a gameshow I watched back in Middle School called Supermarket Sweep. (Press Your Luck was my other favorite gameshow.) (Very, very often, when I'm trying to make something work, I holler: "No wammies! No wammies! No wammies! STOP!) In Supermarket Sweet, contestants raced around a grocery store trying to fill their carts up with the most expensive haul.

It was riveting, obviously.

(Also, most likely, it was an extreme couponer's worst nightmare.)

In my eleven year old mind, I had a foolproof plan for winning Supermarket Sweep. The turkeys and hams were the most expensive things, so I figured I'd fill the first bu-cart with those first and then run back and get a new cart. After my meat expedition, I'd go for the fancy cheeses, the inflatable bonus things and a bag of coffee. The coffee was time consuming; lots of people wasted time there at the beginning. But it made a big difference. Is it pathetic that I remember this? I also remember key details from episodes of Saved by the Bell and The Mickey Mouse Club. ( Television was formative to my adolescence. (Don't even get me started on Dawson's Creek.)

Anyway! Publix was Supermarket Sweep on steroids. I stood in line behind bu-carts overflowing with Butterballs, booze and hams.

I was purchasing sushi, cake mix and Vanity Fair. Party.

I was also thinking about you savvy types, of course, and how I couldn't wait to get home and give a book away.

So after consulting the random number generator (ie: calling a friend and saying, "Pick a number between 1 and 21), the winner is ....

Allyson! And this is the sweet comment Allyson left:

Almost a year ago my grandpa was in the hospital, and it wasn't looking good. In fact, it wasn't looking like he had very long at all. We really realized this on Dec. 16. Dec. 17 was my birthday, and I had a great day with friends planned. The evening of the 16th my prayer was simple, but selfish. "Please don't let grandpa die on my birthday." Dec. 17th came and went, and it was on my favorite birthdays. That night, Dec. 18th my Grandpa passed away in the wee morning hours. God and my Grandpa waited for me. Even if it was a selfish prayer.

I don't know if I've mentioned this, but I got seriously teary (in a good way) reading all these comments. Thanks for sharing such sweet (and such personal) memories on that post. I loved what you had to say so much that I re-read them all with my mom. She loved them too (of course) and she said she'd throw in another copy of the book. (!!) (My guess is that it will be a copy she purchases but if you get the book I signed to Mom and Dad then you can just rip the first page out ... ; ) So I consulted the Random Number Generator again and the winner is:

Kendall! This was Kendall's comment:

As for grandparents: One of my grandmas passed away this past winter. It was one of the first deaths I've had to deal with, and it was hard. Thanksgiving this year is going to be strange without her... She always made the best chocolate cookies and always decorated the house for every holiday. It will be hard, but I'm glad I have the rest of my family. I'm thankful for the memories, and for my other set of grandparents who are still around. They send me newspaper cutouts and postcards and books in the mail and I love getting those little things that let me know they're thinking of me. :) Grandparents are great.

If both of you could email me at nat.lloyd (at) yahoo.com and let me know your mailing addresses, that would be super! I hope you love the book :) (And, though this is probably obvious, I'll be on the farm for a few days. But I'll mail your books as soon as I'm back in the mountains.)

Thank you all so much for entering. I'll giveaway another copy next month for Christmas. I might even let The Rogue Accountant add something to the giveaway pile (he tried to do this once before and it was a cheeseburger magnet so I .... conveniently left it out).

Also. After I posted the giveaway last week, I received a few emails from folks who are reading Paperdoll with some friends or as part of a study, asking if I might consider sending them some bookmarks and buttons.

And my answer was: Uh, YEAH!

I have no idea why I never considered mentioning that on here. Once again, you people have proven that you are a zillion times smarter than me.

So, if you're reading the book with a group, and you want some bookmarks and buttons to solidify the pink, then email me and I'll mail you some swag (no cost to you). And if you're just reading it on your own, but you want a bookmark (and/or a button), then you are certainly welcome to email as well.

Every year around Christmas, I get at least a few emails from sweet moms or friends who are asking if they can buy personalized copies of the book to give as gifts. Once I verify that this is, in fact, not my mother emailing just to make me feel better, I always get back to them pronto. I don't sell my books right now; because that takes lots of set up and I'm not smart enough to figure out how to do it. But! The best solution I've found so far is to send a bookplate that they can stick inside their copy of the book. If that interests you, holler. (Amazon usually sells "like new" copies of the book for crazy cheap.)

And finally:

- Jenny B. Jones wrote about her author-friend, Sandi. From Jen's post, you can click through to an auction that will help Sandi as she battles cancer. All the money raised will be donated to her treatment. There are lots of writer-specific packages there (free critiques from authors, books, conferences, etc).

- In a completely unserious note, here's my GoogleTurkey. He's a fancy gobbler.

- If you're following me on tumblr, you'll note I keep accidentally posting to the wrong site. It's a learning process ...

- Finally, here's a link to my favorite song for this particular holiday. Actually, that's one of my favorite songs for everyday.

I am so very grateful for you. Thanks for encouraging me and making me laugh and making this blog such a sweet place to hang out. I'm so blessed to be part of this community. You're the coolest.

I hope your tomorrow is a lot like this:

What are your Thanksgiving plans? Do you cook or bake? Football or the parade (or both)? (For the record: I do not like to cook or bake but I like to eat.) Any special traditions you have? Regardless of how you celebrate, I hope you have a wonderful weekend!

in which we discuss haymitch's wig, huggle's tragic end, and mug cake.

2011-11-20T11:30:00.000-05:00

Listening To: Sylvia's Mother by Dr. Hook
Line Obsession: "And after, when we went outside to look at her finished lantern from the road, I said I liked the way her light shone through the face that flickered in the dark." - Katrina Vanderberg

(@ Harrison Bay. I never met a sunset there I didn't like ...)

Happy Sunday to you! I've been saving up some fun links to share and I thought this might be the proper day for them. I hope you've had a gloriously lazy weekend - a kick-back, fleece PJ's, Bon Iver in the background, dog to snuggle, daydreaming, hot cocoa (the Swiss Miss kind with the crackly marshmallows) kind of weekend. I've had some serious (fun!) work keeping me busy this weekend ... but, luckily, I've been able to partake in all of the above, too. (I think fleece pajamas are my muse.)

Some fun links:

* Just a reminder that I'm giving away a copy of Paperdoll. If you're interested, you can leave a comment on Thursdays post . If you haven't read the comments yet, I highly recommend it. Some stories make me smile and other break my heart. There's so much honesty there. I love this little blog community dearly.

* Here's a fun recipe from Babble for Nutella Mug Cake. Fact: The cake is made in a mug. It is cooked in the microwave! And it contains Nutella. And, therefore, it contains all my hopes and dreams. (If you like Nutella, you need to scoot onto Pinterset, pronto. Because there are lots of kindred spirits over there. People seriously love The Nutella. Viva le hazelnut!) Anybody tried this? Is it as delicious as it sounds?

* Speaking of Pinterest, this is one of my favorite recent funny finds. Because this is, essentially, how every text I send comes out:

* These are actual snippets of conversations with The Rogue Accountant this week:

Convo A

He said: Are you ordering The Beach Roll or the Honada Roll?

I said: Probably Beach. Because the other has crabstick and not crab.

He said: ... So?

I said: Is crabstick, like, dark meat?

He informed me that crabstick is, in fact, not dark meat. Because crab is not turkey. He told me these things while laughing at me, not with me.

Convo B

He texted: A guy told me he knows where the actual Huggle from Labyrinth is. Does that mean anything to you?

I texted: !!!!!!

Him: I guess so. It's in Scottsboro, Alabama. At an unclaimed baggage location.
I texted: ...? I'm so perplexed. I don't know what that means but a roadtrip is clearly in order.

Can someone confirm that Huggle ended up as unclaimed baggage?! That's worse than The Bog of Eternal Stench. (Oh, how I adore Sir Didymus. "My noble steed!")

The Rogue Accountant never makes it very far in Labyrinth before he gets bored but it's one of the great classics of my childhood. My hope is that, some fine day, someone will do a remake and cast Brandon Flowers as the Goblin King.

Except, if Brandon Flowers was the Goblin King ... who would ever want to leave the Goblin Castle, knowwhatI'msayin?

* Loved J.R. Martinez's Twitter response after being named one of People's Sexiest Men Alive: "I've learned being sexy is more than what meets the eye. It's deeper than a skin graft~honored to be an example of beauty outside the usual. Confidence the sexiest thing anyone can have. Be cool with your body, mind, & personality. By doing that it will shine thru."

That is hot. I wish I could see more messages like that on all the "inspirational" "motivational" "work-out" boards on Pinterest. I agree that confidence really is the sexiest thing about a person. (And I affirm People Magazine in their choice; he's a crazy-handsome guy. Also thought it was cool to see Joel McHale on the list. A good sense of humor is, in my feeble opinion, the next sexiest thing a person can flaunt.)

* I rarely get to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade anymore, because I'm usually traveling on Thanksgiving Day. But watching it with my Dad used to be one of my favorite holiday traditions. I still think the whole ordeal is so fun and magical. If you love the parade too, or if you have some wild and fabulous kids in your house who love it, then I 100% recommend Melissa Sweet's Balloons Over Broadway. The illustrations are whimsical and wonderful and bright and the story is so cool. (This story would lend itself so well to film.) I think children's books are among the most accessible (and affordable) pieces of art that people can collect. Melissa's book is proof. I bet it would make watching the parade even sweeter. (I get that I could just DVR the thing, but it's not quite the same.) (Also. Though it has nothing to do with Thanksgiving, another of my recent favorite discoveries is Jennifer Fosberry's My Name is Not Isabella. I adore it.)

Pete Hamill wrote a lovely review for Balloons Over Broadway in the NYT. His first line: "Every children’s book should be infused with emotion, starting with a sense of wonder."

The actual reviews in his piece are excellent, but I'm even more smitten with the way he describes his own love story with books. Such a sweet read.

* In other bookish news, I've seen The Hunger Games trailer a few times now. My initial thoughts: 1.) Wow. Sooooo excited for this movie! 2.) Woody Harrelson's wig ... is unique. (I pictured Hugh Laurie as Haymitch. Is that weird?) 3.) Jennifer Lawrence will be an incredible Katniss. This week, I tumblr'd her quote from Vanity Fair: " ... there’s nothing cool about [Katniss]. It’s not like she looks around the arena and goes, Yeah, I got this. I think she looks around helplessly, and thinks, I made a promise to my sister that I would survive; now I have to kill in order to do so.”

Not only did her interview make me more eager to see the film, but it actually made me like Katniss more. I never really pictured Katniss the way J. Lawrence described her (so ... vulnerable?), but I like picturing her that way.) 4.) Sadly, I'm still not sure how I feel about this Peeta. I do like that actor, but something's not working for me.

I kind of wonder if I'm meh over Peeta because, way deep down, I think Katniss would be better off with Gale. But maybe their chemistry will blow me away once I watch the movie. What'd you think?

* I'm wild about this picture (via Vogue):

One of my major personality flaws, besides the fact that I don't like pumpkin flavored treats, or card games, or banana flavored Runts (but I like the pink ones!), is that I'm not really into weddings. I love the sacredness of weddings. I love the sweetness of falling in love. I am wild about commitment. But I'm not enamored by wedding froof. Specifically: I think wedding dresses mostly all look the same. (I'm not all bah-humbug over weddings; they're sweet and fun. I just don't go crazy over bridal stuff like lots of folks I know.) Still ... I think this dress is stunning, wedding or otherwise. It is very editorial (as Nina Garcia would say). So modern but still so traditional. This is definitely my favorite dress of the year. (Followed closely by Sophia Coppola's wedding dress.) Ralph Lauren? Just went and threw down with Sarah Burton. I think this dress does a better job than you-know-who's dress when it comes to striking a balance between something classic with something very iconic. I like.

* I decided to get a little festive for the holidays and paint my nails sparkly. I wanted to go crazy sparkly. I wanted the equivalent of a disco ball on my fingertips. I wanted to be able to point and, upon the pointing, see my nails shimmer so spark-ily (yes, that's totally a word.) that people immediately felt compelled to react like this:

So I went to my local Ulta to purchase the new Muppet (!) shade "Rainbow Connection." And it was sold out. So I guess my whole city, except me, has disco tips. Which is just sad. But I picked a shimmery OPI color called Lucer-tainly Look Marvelous. It is very cool; funky and metallic. It's on trend and classy. But it doesn't verge on tacky ... which is kind of what I was hoping for. Maybe next time.

* My mom introduced me to a 70's (?) song by Dr. Hook called Sylvia's Mother. I'm officially crazy about this guy's voice. And I love the lyrics. Thought I'd share the link here, in case you wanted to love them too.

* This is Biscuit, snoozing after a long day of playing, cuddling, eating treats and just generally being awesome:

*This is how the wind styled my hair on Saturday afternoon:

Fancy.

And this is my favorite recent sunset. There's a lake near my house with some easy, twisty trails and pretty views. This was taken from a swing. (I love that they didn't put a bench in this spot; but a swing, the kind that belongs on a front porch. That's fitting.) The wind was crazy; made the water look like chipped silver. The wind was loud too, and cold, and the sky was wild. A little girl ran along the shore while her mom took pictures. The girl wore a puffy jacket and she kept flinging her arms up toward the sky, like she was trying to propel herself into the clouds.

Exactly, I thought.

Happy Weekending, beauties (& beastlies). Let me know what's new with you!

sweet seventeenth {a very timely book giveaway}.

2011-11-17T08:00:00.000-05:00

Listening To: Drive All Night by needtobreathe
Line Obsession: "There was nothing ordinary about that mirror. And if you were the perceptive sort -- which of course you are -- you would have known it immediately. But if you weren't, you might look in the mirror and think I did not know that mole was so enormous or Why is my face festering? Or My goodness, I had no idea I was so evil looking. For the mirror took beautiful things and made them ugly, and it took ugly things and made them hideous. It was the most marvelous mischief indeed." - from Breadcrumbs by Anne Ursu (Walden Pond Press, 2011, p.70)

Anniversaries are such strange little time-keepers. They mark wonderful moments - birthdays and special "firsts" and holidays and weddings. They mark the saddest days too: the good-bye days. The seventeenth holds a very particular good-bye memory for me.

On the morning of November 17th, 2004. I woke up to the most gorgeous sunrise I have ever seen. My old house was surrounded by dense woods, so the sunrise was usually visible through the trees. I forgot to close my shades the night before, so the sunrise had crept into my room too, so bright against the backs of my eyelids. Brighter against the window when I blinked awake (When I woke up, it looked like someone had spilled sunlight over the glass). Even my quilt looked like it was stitched out of sunbeams. It was a glory-day sunrise.

The outside world looked glittery under frost. The air against my window was icy: the kind that burns your lungs when you breathe in deep. The kind that holds all your words in banners of breath, way-high-up in the air. That was a strange morning; bone-cold, but comforting too. I remember my first thoughts very distinctly:

This is the most beautiful sunrise I've ever seen. And then:

She's gone.

I can't explain how I knew, but I did. Or my heart knew, I guess. My heart knew she was gone as soon as I opened my eyes. Within a few more breaths, the phone rang, confirming what I already knew to be true.

She was gone.

But this sunrise ...

November 17th will always mark a good-bye day. And a glory-day, too.

My grandmother passed away seven years ago today. So even though November brings me much happiness in the form of Starbucks holiday drinks, knee boots, and red leaves ... the seventeenth is always a bittersweet day. Sweet because there are so many billions of amazing memories I have with her. Sad because, of course, I miss her crazy-bad. This day will always feel like scratching a scab off my heart. I'm sure you know exactly what that's like. You've probably experienced a loss that cut much deeper than mine.

There's a short section in Paperdoll that I wrote about my granny, and I thought it might be sweet to share it with you today.

And I thought giving away a copy of the book might be a fun way to celebrate all the ways she poured into my life.

I think this is a good season for a giveaway. I know lots of you super-sweet college peeps are entering the season of Finals and Projects and Papers and Various Other Forms of Stink. It is a proven fact that ripping open a small box containing a pink book (and various other pink oddities ...) makes finals time far more exciting. (We'll do another giveaway next month, too! 'Tis the season for pink.)

Fun Note: This passage that you are reading will look just slightly different when you read it in Paperdoll. I'm using my original piece here, but this essay (as it was in the beginning) was edited when it got all bookified (another paragraph was threaded into it and some of it was moved around ... still the same piece though). (Same room; just a different furniture arrangement. You savvy?)

If you are interested in winning a copy of Paperdoll, I'll tell you how at the end of this post.

Thanks for reading : )

... from Chapter 10, Paper Violets:

I thought of her today when I walked into the grocery store because I saw a bouquet of the reddest roses I have ever seen. They were a true, vibrant, unforgettable red, like the perfect shade of lipstick. Like a little red dress that hugs your curves but doesn't make you look fat. The petals felt like velvet paper, and when I touched them, I remembered the last conversation I had with her before she passed away.

I sat on the edge of her hospital bed holding a bunch of paper flowers; tangible proof of a season in my life underscored by confusion, frustration and panic attacks. I told a friend of mine that I was fairly certain I was going crazy. She told me I should take up painting. Painters can get away with crazy, she said. So late at night, when I couldn't sleep, I listened to James Taylor and smashed together pinks, reds, yellows, and blues on a paper plate. Then I loaded that paint onto a brush and watched it bloom into flowers on a canvas, on paper, on plastic cups, and on Mason Jars. I painted anything I could hold.

I took a fistful of paper flowers with me when I visited her. I thought I might as well show Granny my new hobby, because she'd always adored my artsy endeavors.

But when I actually spilled my paper flowers out of my pocket and onto her hospital bed, I felt like a flower-painting moron. Granny assured me they were lovely.

She traced her finger around the paper petals while she asked me how I was doing.

"Great." I lied.

And I kept on lying. I told her that I was so happy and so excited about my future and that I was brimming with great stories and beautiful words. None of that was true, of course. I was painting flowers at 2AM and having strange, breathless moments when I was around crowds of people. I was afraid of shadows and of being alone. Sometimes I cried through my prayers. Sometimes I didn't pray at all. The job I'd dreamed about didn't happen, and the guy did not work out, and I couldn't write anything. It was as if all the words in the world had shriveled up and blown out of my imagination.

And I knew I was about to lose her. I was having an awful time wrapping my my mind around goodbye.

I stopped talking. My lip trembled. "Things aren't working out like I thought they would," I managed to whisper. I felt selfish as soon as the words left my mouth. That moment of clarity was a gift; I knew it could be our last conversation and I'd gone and ruined it, talking about my stupid problems.

But Granny didn't mind.

She reached over and rested her hand over mine and smiled at me. When my eyes locked on hers, I didn't see any fear, only the confidence and grace I'd come to know so well.

"Everything works out for you," she said. Her voice was authoritative and steady. "You're going to have to trust God in this. Keep moving ahead. He's always taken good care of you. He will always take good care of you. Hang on tight and watch and see."

I rested my hand over hers. Her hand had wrinkles and bumps, but her skin felt as soft as rose petals, dozens and dozens of them. I thought about all the flowers and babies she'd held in her lifetime, about the dough she'd kneaded and the green beans she'd snapped and the hands she'd held in fierce, unrefined prayers that rattled the skies. Granny had never been content watching life go by; she took hold of her days. She'd wrung out every minute of her life.

I thought about how strange the two of us looked then. I was supposed to be young and idealistic with my whole life ahead of me. I was supposed to be confident. Excited. In my prime. But I was only terrified. Gran was just inches away from eternity. She should have been scared, but she looked so peaceful in that moment, so confident that the God who carried her this far would carry her home.

"Love you," was all I whispered back, as a single, cold tear rushed down my face.

"Love you more," she said as she squeezed my hand tightly in hers.

That was our last conversation, the last stolen moment of mental alertness she ever shared with me. I'm grateful this part of our story together ended with "I love you," with her hand in mine and paper flowers scattered on the sheet between us. Life is dying, too, and, in that, truly living. I can't let the fear of a broken heart keep me from living. I can't let the fear of rejection keep me from living. I can't let FEAR keep me from living every moment to its fullest; until the day I dance - or walk - or limp - that last glorious mile home.

... I want to come to that end, and that beginning, and remember the richness of life I held in my lifetime. I want to have all my memories scattered around me like paper flowers in my lap. I want to have a thousand pictures running through my mind of the people I love and the people who loved me. And I want to hold all that love like confetti in my hands and toss it in the air when I cross the finish line home. (♥)

--------

Still with me? :)

Gran was a gift; and I'm grateful that I got to spend so much time with her. I wrote about the end-part of her life today, but I need to write about some more fun memories I have. Because if you're picturing a sweet little mild-mannered Granny ... you have the wrong mental picture. Gran was a force. She was extremely smart and loud and fun. She loved poetry (when I was little, and asked her to tell me stories, she would quote "Anabel Lee" from memory). She loved soft-serve vanilla ice cream. She loved Jesus. She loved The Young and the Restless.

She would have loved this blog. She would have thought you people were the cutest things ever. : ) And I'm positive you would have thought she was the coolest. Her personality was more enigmatic than any other person I've ever encountered. People came alive when she was around; they smiled when she smiled, laughed when she laughed, became more confident when she was close to them. Hers was a special brand of magic.

Gran didn't get to read Paperdoll; but I 'm quite certain she would have bought, and distributed, copies to every person she'd ever met. Like, I can so easily picture her at her weekly doctor's appointment passing a copy around the waiting room. Gran was PR before PR was cool.

I've been thinking so much lately about how she would love the new writing too, even though it is very different from what I've done before.

Maybe ironically (... or maybe not ironically at all), this seventeenth marks a really sweet time as far as my writing is concerned. My heart is full (and cautiously hopeful) and, today, I really am excited. I don't paint flowers at midnight anymore; but I'm usually up that late, planning. Hoping. Writing. (James Taylor still helps me out ;) These stories are blooming things, and I know Gran would go wild over them. She would savor every word. She would smile proudly and say, simply: "It's about *darn* time." I wish I could tell her that she was right all along. But I have a feeling she knows.

This November 17th, I'm grateful for people I love, for stories to tell, for music, and for the glory-day sunrise that whispered a beginning to me seven years ago when I was surrounded by endings.

If you'd like to win a copy of Paperdoll, simply scoot on down to the comments and tell me something you love about your grandparent(s) (or someone who has been like a grandparent to you - someone a bit older who has mentored along, maybe?). Maybe share something they taught you or share a favorite memory. Maybe you've never even met your grandparents; but there's a picture you've seen or a story you've heard that made an impact on you. I'm excited to read what you have to say! :) (And I hope you'll share even if you've already read Paperdoll. Just let me know if you don't want your name tossed in the entry.)

Next Wednesday at 8AM (... ish), I'll use the random number generator to pick a winner.

In addition to a copy of Paperdoll, I'm also sending a bookmark (they're fancy and new). This is The Rogue Accountant illustrating the joy-inducing capabilities of the bookmarks:

And! Some super-stinking cute buttons:

I ordered the buttons and bookmarks for an event that I spoke at; just some fun free-stuffs for the girls who attended. But the buttons didn't get there in time (dagnabit!). So I've enjoyed finding creative uses for them. (My dad wears one on his cap. How fun is he?) By which I mean: mostly, I've had fun sneaking through my friends' houses and sticking buttons on their jackets, bags, backpacks, hats, scarves and shoes, and etc. I can hardly wait to start attaching them to Christmas trees. ; )

I'll most likely throw in another pink surprise too. It might be pink M&M's. Or it might be a pink statue of a wiener dog. You'll just have to take your chances.

I hope you're surrounded by new beginnings and good memories; that this seventeenth is the sweetest for you. Take hold of this day.

where to find the day-blind stars.

2011-11-09T14:30:00.000-05:00

Listening To: Charlie Brown by Coldplay

Actual conversation with my brother:

Him: I just challenged Adam to the all you can eat shrimp thing at The Red Lobster. I won! I ate 106.

Me: That is disgusting.

Him: Disgusting = Majestic.

Hello beauties (& beastlies)! I just finished all the laundry I accumulated from spending a week on my sister's farm (pictured above). In regards to the laundry, I shall most eloquently say: dang. I haven't discovered loads of things I'm good at. But accumulating laundry? I could medal in that sport.

For those of you who are new to this blog (hello to you! :), my sister's farm is a rather magical place, hidden way-down-deep in Georgia. To get there, you drive forever through a maze of tall pine trees. Then you keep on driving down a long dirt road. First you see glimpses of it - past the fence, through the tangle of woods, across the water ... and then finally you're there.

And you realize there is exactly where your heart needed to be. Everybody deserves a place like that. A place that's even more special because you can't be there all the time.

The farm is a sweet, peaceful, wacky little oasis. It's still a small farm, full of orchards still growing and various feathered-critters roaming free. These birds are called guineas and they're evil:

They're like punk-rock chickens, or something. I'm told they eat ticks. They have mohawks and they have a weird waddle-walk. They move like General Dooku in Star Wars (the Star Wars that stunk). I'm convinced the guineas are forever plotting to takeover the farm. A few years ago, I was sitting at the table, eating a Pop-tart, and I felt like I was being watched (paranoid? bah!). And I glanced up and - I kid you not - the guineas were both peeping in the window, watching me eat. There's not much service on the farm for cell phones and the like, and everybody else is convinced it's because we're in the middle of nowhere. But I think the guineas are responsible. But enough about the freak-birds.

I'm particularly smitten with the water and the woods. Like, I could start a fan club for Georgia pine trees.* I like them because they're tall and skinny and because they get moody in storms. They rustle in the rain. They sing down pretty howl-sounds when the wind rocks through the branches. (They're emo trees, maybe? ; ). I like how the trees shatter the sunrise-light and stir up the fog. Woods are pretty and scary; full of shadows and secrets. I'm kind of obsessed with them.

Of course, I'm most obsessed with the people who live on the farm. They're the sweetest. And they make me feel like the Queen of the World when I visit. They even, and this is major, had my most favorite coffee in the world in the coffee maker! (If you're a coffee fiend, The Fresh Market makes two coffee flavors I'm partial too - Hazelnut and Chocolate Cherry Kiss. If you try those flavors, and add a smidge of this, it's like Starbucks at your house.) (Okay - not Starbucks exactly. But a very worthy poor-writer's substitute.) All I had to do every morning was push a button and wham! Coffee! And they had my favorite creamer in the fridge. And yummy-smelling candles and flowers and lots of chocolate. It was seriously like resort-ville.

I'm in a bittersweet mood today, mostly because I'm missing them. I might talk a bit more about the bitter at the end of this post, but first I'd like to talk about the sweet. Because there was so much sweetness.

This is how my farm week went down:

I spent lots of time walking beside the lake:

I've taken so many pictures of this exact spot. I don't know why I keep taking them. I guess I'm always trying to find a way to bring it back with me? (That web of shadows on the ground? Love.) Sometimes while I'm there, or when I get home and look back through my pictures, I remember my favorite lines of a Wendell Berry poem:

I come into the peace of wild things
... I feel above me the day-blind stars.

Those lines don't come in tandem in his poem, but they're my favorites. They're ones I keep tucked deep down in my heart for long walks by the lake and treks the woods. The first line is how I feel when I'm on the farm, surrounded by "the peace of wild things" (and, uh, wild people). And the second line is how I feel when I get home. Even on clear nights, it isn't dark enough here to see as many stars as I see when I'm on the farm. Just knowing that they're still up there somewhere makes me happy though. I think I'm at my best when I let the wild places get inside me a little bit. I need to get lost more often.

Tangent: Before you think I'm super classy, dropping the hawt-poetry and what not, I need to make a confession. This week, while walking down the dog food aisle at Publix, I caught myself mumbling these stanzas by that great poet Adam Levine:

I got the moves like Jagger.
I got the mooooves like Jagger.

So ... yeah.

I also spent lots of time with two of my most favorite people ever, pictured here:

You'll recognize The Rogue Accountant on the far right. My niece, Erin, and my nephew, Andy, are the other two cuties in this picture. This pic is from the luau at our hotel during Harry Potter Weekend. Venting: I packed a ridiculously cute (pink!) Rachel Roy dress that I thrifted (!) with the intention of wearing to the luau. But then Tropical Storm Belletrix came and I mostly stayed shivery so I had to wear the only long-sleeve shirt I packed. Which was thermal. Long sleeve thermal. The lumberjack luau? I'm bringing it back!

Andy's luau ensemble rocked so much harder than mine. He is wearing: 1.) a lei, positioned vertically across his chest like Chewbacca wears his weapon-sash thing in Star Wars. 2.) an eye-black fake-tattoo, like football players sport. And 3.) his wand from Olivander's (which was under the table) ('cause you gotta be careful with the wands!). I know I'm biased and all, but Andy is so cute that I have to remind myself not to frequently squeal about him. He gets embarrassed easily; so I restrain myself. Mostly. When I do occasionally slip up and freak out over him and tell him how adorable he is, he mostly just rolls his eyes.

Andy gave me a bat ring from his trick-or-treat stash:

In 7 year-old boy-speak, I'm fairly certain receiving a bat ring means I'm a little bit awesome.

Andy and I also did some serious reading. We read chapters from Son of Neptune, How to Train Your Dragon, and Hugo Cabret. I love adventure books. I love how those particular books are about very different kinds of adventures. Hugo Cabret pulls at my heart; makes me sad and makes me cheer and makes me want to make something beautiful. Percy Jackson makes me want to read, read, read and just finish the darn thing because ohmygosh what's gonna happen next?! And Hiccup is one of my favorite little heroes ever. If you haven't read How to Train Your Dragon, you totally should. It is such a short read but it is hilarious and you will love Hiccup.

Of course, Erin and I got into some shenanigans as well. We shopped (that's a given). She made sloppy joes that tasted not-so-sloppy and more like gourmet Italian sandwiches. (Her cooking savvy? It most definitely did NOT come from me.)

And we might have taken Gibby (The Turbo-Golf Cart) on a drive through the woods on Halloween night. (I think the correct terminology is that Gibby is a "mule" but if I wrote that we rode the mule through the woods on Halloween night ... it might conjure up a weird mental image, yes? A funny one. But maybe not the right one ...) It was spooky and fun.

I also took lots of pictures of the piano:

This is one of my favorite hymns:

And I snapped a picture of, what I believe to be, the most amazing birdhouse ever:

I took pictures of the glowy-eyed pumpkins:

And I took pictures of the silly faces we made. I'm showing you mine:

Because several years ago, a well-intentioned young man told me that my eyes looked like "big blue bowling balls." I'm fairly certain he meant this as a compliment, because that's how I decided to take it, but I'm not so sure. Anyway. When I saw this picture? I thought ... he might be onto something.

The sun shined down on me when I drove home. I drank lots of coffee and I downloaded Mylo Xyoto, which did a way better job of keeping me awake than the coffee. (I've listened to the whole album 3 times now and I really, really like it.) (Seriously, "Us Against the World" ... might edge out "The Scientist." Maybe.)

The week was so sweet that, on the ride home, I kept thinking this:

When the sun's shining down on me,
When the world's all as it should be.

The world was all as it should be and I loved it so much. I'd spent so much time taking in blue sky and stars and sunlight that I could feel it all; and I was with my family too. Love is better than starry skies and changing leaves; but to have so much of all three, in a week, was pretty rad. And then the very next morning, I got a sad phone call.

When I'm found in the desert place.
When I walk through the wilderness.

On Saturday, after I left the farm, Andy broke his leg (while on a camping trip with some of his little church buddies). Broken bones are always traumatic, but they're especially complicated in my fam. Andy had surgery a few days ago to have a rod inserted into the bone (which, despite sucking right now, will be great for healing long-term). He's in a lot of pain and he's super frustrated, so if you could say a little prayer for him today, that would mean the world to me (and, as always, if I can pray for you, let me know in the comments or shoot me an email). Andy is the bravest kid ever; totally lion-hearted. He's such a little hero. I almost didn't mention this on here at all, because I certainly don't want it to seem like I think my family has endured some horrible tragedy. I know so many of you are making your way through harder circumstances. I'm sure you know it feels to be in love with the world one minute and so angry you wanna scream the next. There are very few peaceful transitions into change. I'm so grateful Andy will continue feeling better and better. He has great doctors. An awesome church. Fun friends. I'm biased, I know - but I also think he has the coolest family ever surrounding him and cheering him on. There's so much to be grateful for today.

This whole week was a reminder for me that the world is really beautiful, and really brittle too, and that there is so much that I can't hold or control. But I get to love and be loved. That's the sweetest part.

I'll end this post with a happy note. I wrote this in my journal while I was on the farm, trying to avoid the freak-birds:

The crows are screaming on the fence post and the wind is stuck in the tree tops. I’m taking long, deep breaths while I watch the lake water glide and shine and shimmer on by me. There is so much about this place I love: the people (obviously) and the woods and the lake. Today I read Ezekiel (the beginning part before it gets super-creepy) and listened to John Prine, and they both use some pretty wild imagery when they write. So now my imagination is full of fire-chariots and wings that beat so loudly they sound like ocean waves. I’m thinking of a song lyric too. It looped through my mind while I looped the lake: ” … looking for that sacred core that burns inside of me.” I love places like this, that are wild and sacred. When I find both those things together, I find a peace that's hard to describe.

Is there a place you love to go to when you need to clear your mind and steady your heart? I would love to hear about it in the comments!

* Talk about a fan club for pine trees makes me think of The Lorax, which is my favorite Dr. Suess book. I saw the preview for the movie before Puss in Boots ... and I'm torn. Part of me thinks that, indeed, The Lorax is adorable. But part of me thinks he's a little bit creepy. But that's the point, maybe? Was he kind of that way all along? How are you feeling about The Lorax on the big screen?) (By which I mean: Danny Devito = ... The Lorax?)

like caramel.

2011-10-28T08:00:00.000-04:00

Listening To: 20 Years by The Civil Wars
Line Obsession: "... Music is never perfect. It has flaws, it has character. It has to start rough. Especially when that's what you feel." - from There You'll Find Me by Jenny B. Jones

On Monday night, I cranked up The Civil Wars and drove over the river and through the woods to Hannah's house.

The drive was pretty sweet. Actually, the drive was pretty perfect.

Even though I'm a mountain girl through and through, and even though I've seen these mountains for thousands of days, I still sometimes get weirdly emotional when I drive through them in the fall.

I love them in Spring, because yellow flowers bloom sweet and starry on the hillsides and cloud-shadows take their sweet time wandering across the fields.

I love the mountains in Winter because snow tucks them in tight. I like the way tree shadows bloom against snow. Sometimes the shadows look like flowers and sometimes they look like skeletons.

I love the mountains in summer ... mostly just because I love them. Summer is my absolute least favorite season ever but love knows no bounds, know what I mean? Summer does bring fireflies and warm winds and wildflowers. (Also, it brings mosquitoes and sweat.)

But Fall. Fall is the season that does me in. My mountains go wild in the fall. The trees turn yellow-red and rusty-gold, like they're trying to mirror the sunset. Like, they know they don't have much time left, so they're going to show-off big before they go.

The wind howls through the trees but they don't break, they dance instead. The branches make pretty click-clack sounds when they shake their tambourine leaves. They trees flicker bright against the stormclouds, brightest against the blue sky.

I love it when confetti-yellow leaves blow across my windshield.

And when they swirl down ticker-tape-style to the dark pavement while I'm walking Biscuit. And when they flutter in the rain.

And when they finally let go of the branches; when they're finally done as dirt, I like to watch how they fall. Just when I think they're goners, the leaves catch a last-minute ride on the wind. And the wind spins them down to the lake. They touch down on the water, peaceful-easy. Gentle as a kiss. That's when they slide across the surface and write a better beginning.

Change doesn't always have to be painful. Change can be pretty too.

The drive was gorgeous. I should have just left it at that, I guess. :)

I took the Civl Wars with me. (... I took their music with me. I didn't actually have Paul and Joy in the car. But I bet they'd be fun on road trips!) I also took a Caramel Cake which, despite some adversity early on (including a power outage which may, or may not, have prompted a call to my power company in which I hollered, "Yes, I understand the power is out everywhere. But I have to make a cake before tonight and I am not finished and can you just pipe like an hour's worth of power to my oven?!"), I managed to complete. And the cake managed to be freaking delicious. My sister taught me how to make this particular Caramel Cake. I think, subconsciously, this is why I was so excited about making it for my friends. I like to make it for people I love, because I think about my sister whenever I make it.

I also think/pray/hope my endeavor doesn't lend itself to pyrotechnics. I'm not so good with kitchens and the like.

The base of the cake is white cake mix, plus a few extra ingredients stirred in. Nothing fancy. The cake-part is not the star of this recipe, even if it does smell amazing while it bakes. My whole house smelled like warm vanilla.

The star of this dessert is not the cake. The headliner is the caramel frosting. That's the part that will make your taste buds shout hallelujiah. I'll link you to the caramel frosting recipe at the end of this post, because it is so easy and seasonal. It would be amazing on so many things. (It's a great Thanksgiving day dessert, especially if someone you love is not down with The Pumpkin.) (By which I mean: I make this on Thanksgiving mostly for myself. I'm very family-oriented that way.)

I also think caramel frosting would rock on a chocolate cake but if you're not hardcore with the sweets, that probably sounds to intense (Or maybe a banana flavored cake? Something with apples? Or, just ... on a spoon by itself? The possibilites are truly endless.)

If you like clean lines on your baked goods, you work a little faster than I did with the icing, smoothing the sides until the cake looks like it's surrounded by thin caramel ribbons. That would be pretty. But "pretty" is never an adjective I associate with my baking adventures. This time I "accidentally" let the icing set up too fast so I had to make a second batch. To cover the sides. And stuff. So it looked a bit more abstract. I like for the icing looks as fudgy-delicious as it actually is.

It doesn't need to look perfect to have a wow-factor to it. Trust.

(Those roses came out of the back yard! In October!)

So I took the cake to Hannah's house. From there, we drove to see Roya. Roya made Persian food; red chicken and potatoes and rice with saffron. I wish I'd taken a picture because the color combinations were so pretty. The food was delicious. She knows how to wrangle with some unique spices. The rice with saffron is a particular favorite of mine; there's a brightness to saffron, isn't there? Not just the color but the flavor. We ate lots of that and then we dined on Caramel Cake and watched Little Bill. (Roya's little girl, Addison, got to pick the TV show.) (Did you know that Little Bill calls his great granny "Alice the Great"? I think that's the coolest thing!)

While I drove home I thought about how much I'd experienced that day, even though it was, by all standards, a fairly normal day. It was full of spice and sweetness though. Every sense got stirred up. It was a day made for jeans and hoodies and Caramel Cake. And good novels and story-songs and cuddle time with my dog. And long dinners and funny conversation with people I love so, so much. It was a day for dancing leaves and falling stars.

A day when roses that have no business blooming this time of year decided to bloom anyway.

Change doesn't always have to be painful. Change can be pretty too. Sometimes change makes me feel numb and sad and bland. But sometimes it's as sweet as caramel. Sometimes new beginnings make my soul shout hallelujah.

Care to share your favorite part of Fall (so far)? I would love to hear it! Happy Weekending :)

* When I went on vacation this summer, I became a little better acquainted with tumblr. I liked it a bunch so I'm giving it a try again. My tumblr will not be the same format as this blog; I'll be posting mostly pictures and quotes and whatever makes me smile. Think of it like a very-mini inspiration board. It is a work in progress. You can find it here, if you're interested.

* Here's the recipe for the caramel icing I made (scroll to end of the page). A couple of tips: 1.) I actually think this cake tastes better the second day than it does the first. So it's a good go-to if you wanna make something in advance. 2.) The caramel frosting is a stove-top thang, so it starts off soft but hardens to a fudgy consistency very, very fast. If you can, keep the cake you are frosting beside the stove. You can put the frosting back on low-heat and stir it until it gets soft again.

steel and stars.

2011-10-26T08:30:00.000-04:00

Listening To: Us Against the World by Coldplay
Line Obsession: "It snowed right before Jack stopped talking to Hazel, fluffy white flakes big enough to show their crystal architecture, like perfect geometric poems." - from Breadcrumbs by Anne Ursu

My brother, whom I affectionately refer to as The Rogue Accountant (because that is how I once heard him affectionately refer to himself) recently moved into a new apartment.

My brother's old apartment mostly contained the following: a couch, an X-Box, a TV the size of an IMAX, and a small statue of a monkey wearing a straw hat and playing a bongo drum. It was a manpartment, to a fault.

The new apartment is very different. The new apartment is very, very cool. The walls are peaceful, neutral colors. They're filled with framed gig posters, a big black & white poster of the tunnel view from Yosemite (a poster of a picture he took!), and a map full of stick pins of places he's visited. The guitar on the stand gets played. The records get listened to. The freezer gets frequently opened for popsicles (especially when I visit). I think the most gorgeous spaces are the ones you fill up with stuff you love: pictures, records, books, music. In that regard, I suppose the monkey-statue-apartment was cool, too. But the new digs look so classy. His dog loves it. He loves it. And I think it's awesome.

Thus, we decided to roadtrip it down to Ikea so Chase could scope out some new furniture. Shenanigans ensued.

Fact: I never know exactly what I'll find in my brother's car. Once, I found a piece of fruit, packs of honey mustard sauce, and a fake mustache (all together on the dashboard). This weekend, I discovered ...

A glossy 8X10 of Vince Gill:

Obviously.

And I simply said, " ... Why?"

And he said, "That was only $2! Can you believe it? I have big plans for that picture. Be careful with it."

I have big plans for that picture. Words like this strike fear in my heart.

But I digress. We drove to the ATL and Chase made extra-doubly-sure that his doors were locked so that nobody would break in and steal his glossy Vince Gill 8x10. (In case you're curious, the Vince picture has since been framed and placed anonymously on a co-workers desk.)

And then we strolled into Ikea, which has always reminded me of a busy airport (with more places to sit). It was Swedish and swanky and Chase quickly filled up a buggy-cart with fun stuffs for his new apartment. (In the south we call them "buggies" but I know you up-north-types call them carts. I vote we call them "bu-carts." Yes?)

Chase was especially stoked because, as you know, when you fill up a bu-cart at Ikea, you get to take it down the escalator/conveyor belt made specifically for bu-carts. It's like the big city version of skiing. This was a very exciting event for us:

I was so excited about this, in fact, that I was very sad when we reached the end.

And that sadness helped me realize that I should probably get out more.

After that, we went to Chipotle. My favorite thing at Chipotle is the hot salsa. What I order at Chipotle doesn't matter so much; the food is merely a vehicle for the hot salsa. I could drink that stuff with a straw.

While devouring The Salsa of Dreams, I said, "Chase. Do you see how many very stylish people are in this Chipotle? This is an uncommon conglomeration of steeze."

He said, " ... Uh huh." And never looked up from his burrito bowl. This response is typically intended to convey the following sentiment: please stop thinking out loud.

Salsa makes me contemplative though. So I continued, "Why do places like Chipotle draw in such a crazy-cool crowd? I feel like we're sitting in an Urban Outfitters ad. Is it the salsa, you think? And does it make you feel kind of good that we made it in?! I'll bet, if you don't look cool enough, there's a trap door on the sidewalk that opens and swallows you up before you walk inside. No salsa for scrubs. You savvy?"

*PLOP* *That's the sound of salsa hitting my shirt.*

"It's cause we're cool. That's why we got in." I scraped the salsa blob off my shirt with a chip, and ate it. "It was probably my dark nail polish. Or maybe my thermal shirt. All the cool kids are wearing them. Get it? The cool kids? 'Cause it's thermal?"

I think I heard him sigh but he just kept concentrating on his rice.

If we'd taken in the glossy 8x10 of Vince Gill? They probably would have given us free chips.

We hit up Trader Joe's after that. Chase bought Pumpkin Bread Mix, candy and cheap wine. ("Ah," my brother held up the bottle like it was a trophy, "vintage Charles Shaw! 2010!") This particular wine is commonly referred to as "Two Buck Chuck" and it tastes the way Windex smells. Chase likes to buy it as a housewarming gift for his friends. He's sweet that way. The cashier looked at the bread mix, the candy, and the wine and said, "That's dinner!"

(The first time we went to Trader Joe's, Chase said he wanted Two-Buck-Chuck, and I thought he meant chuck, like, ground chuck. Like hamburger meat. And I was majorly confused.)

I bought a box of Trader Joe's Truffle Brownie Mix, just in case my caramel cake came out tasting like a caramel-covered ash tray. (It came out tasting like fudgey awesomeness, in case you're interested.)

We drove home just as the sun sank down into the far-away mountains. The sky looked backlit and beautiful. We ate peanut butter cups and listened to Foster the People, David Mayfield, Paulo Nutini, old school DC Talk, Colin Meloy, The Newsboys and Burlap to Cashmere.

Eventually, I'll stop posting that song on here. Maybe.

When I got home, I wrote about all the lights I saw while we were driving. I wrote about the Atlanta skyline and how it sparkles at night, like it's made of steel and stars. I wrote about planes blinking above me. I wrote about headlights and taillights. (Am I coming or going? Isn't it weird how you can travel a thousand miles even though you're sitting still?)

I wrote about the only star in the sky that night; the one made for lullabies, prime for wishing, bold enough to stare down the city. Bright enough to burn a hole in the night and remind me: that it's okay to watch and wait and hope. To dream a little bigger. To whisper another wish. Stars so get so lonely if you don't wish on them.

Do you have a favorite "decoration" in your room/apartment/house boat? A cool piece of art? A guitar you love to play? A book series you keep close because it means so much to you? An old quilt? A statue of a monkey playing a bongo drum? I won't judge. ; )

cake day.

2011-10-24T15:16:00.000-04:00

Listening To: Don't Forget to Write by Burlap to Cashmere
Lyric Obsession: "I am at ease/ the ocean's near/ the sun is sinking. The moon is tame, the fever's gone and I feel fine ..."

Photo Credit

Hey beauties (& beastlies). I owe you a proper post, and I have some fun ones coming. There's some giveaway action and also a post about something rather ... unusual that I found in my brother's car. I'm also writing about dangerous books and why I love them so much. I wanted to post that one in time for Banned Books Week, but it wasn't ready yet. Many of these-here-blog-posts are written every bit as quickly as they seem, but I let other posts simmer for a while before I share them. In the kitchen of metaphors, my blog is a ginormous stove and my posts are all boiling and bubbling and catching fire. Some are ready before others. Some = Flambe!

Speaking of kitchen fires.

Did I mention I'm making dessert for a get-together tonight? Cooking isn't my savvy, but I sometimes like to bake. Sometimes. I like the exactness of baking, which is a bizarre realization I've come to. (Note: I like the exactness of baking when it works. I hate it when I follow the directions to a fault and I end up with flopsy-crapsy-cake-stuff.) That's not to say my baking adventures ever go well, but, lucky for you, they usually do make for some fun blog entries. So I'll be sure and show you pictures of my ~~catastrophe~~ creation. I'm making a caramel cake for tonight; because it's seasonal (and not pumpkin) and the icing is amazing (it cools to a fudgy consistency) and the color is so pretty. Caramel cake tastes kinda special but it's actually not hard to make. Not usually. Not always. *fingers crossed*

While I go make a cake, I wanted to share some fun links with you:

- My very dear (and far too adorable) friend, Lola, officially became a naturalized US Citizen! Confetti! Lola's co-workers gave her a cookie cake to celebrate:

When I saw the picture I was all, "What's congrade?" But I see now that it reads: congrads. Congrats/Congrads/whatever (seriously - I'm not a stickler for spelling). In fact, I feel like this cookie-cake-writer is a kindred spirit. This is how it looks when I try to write with icing too. I usually write "Happy Bir..." and then I get bored and squirt the rest of the icing onto the surface, so that it might congeal into a gooey heap of awesome. I like my cake decorations abstract.

For serious though, Lola has such a cool concept of culture and home and what it means to find your place in this world. She's a born adventurer. I love her dearly.

- The dark circles under my eyes right now ~~are most likely the product of age~~ come courtesy of my friend Jenny B. Jones and her compulsively readable new novel.

There You'll Find Me came out this month, but you probably know that already. And you know that it's amazing and sad and sweet and hilarious and romantic. I'm trying not to say anything else about it right now, because I'm doing a separate post about There You'll Find Me (and giving away a signed copy! Yowza!). But I have a hard time not gushing about it. For now, I can most assuredly say this: Finley's story will rock your soul. I can't believe how hard her story pulled me in. This book is a keeper. Scrape the change out of your floorboards for this book. Give up Starbucks for a week so you can buy this book. Trust me. (Did you catch what I just said? That the story is better-than-Starbucks good?) I finished my copy very, very early this morning and I can't stop thinking about the people. I miss the characters already.

- In other book news, I read the sneak peak of Maggie's Stiefvater's new novel, The Scorpio Races, and I have come to the following conclusions: 1.) I will buy it and 2.) it will probably freak me out and 3.) Maggie Stiefvater could write about tap-dancing earthworms and it would still read as gorgeous prose. She's ridiculously talented. The Scoripo Races is based somewhat on a scary legend/myth/sea-story I had never, ever heard of before. I think this book is totally Gaiman. By which I mean: it will be scary-pretty. Scary-pretty so much that I might have some busted dreams as a result, but alas.

- I loved reading about Mary Blair's Google Doodle. My favorite part is when they talk about how Mary Blair's work inspired the movie Up.

- This is my favorite thing that I've pinned recently. "The Beat-owls" is my second favorite recent pin. Heh. :) I feel like I don't understand Pinterest though. Because while most people (normal people?) are pinning recipes and pictures of Duchess Kate, I'm pinning ... a picture of a T-Rex chasing a toddler and instructions on how to make a lego ornament that looks like The Death Star. I'm really not as bizarre as my Pinterest would lead you to believe.

- I watched a new TV show called "Once Upon a Time" last night and I thought it was super fun. I love re-tellings of fairy-tales, so I had a hunch I would be into it. Did you catch it? Think you'll keep watching? I've also seen "The New Girl," and I like it a lot. But my absolute-favorite new show (so far) is called Person of Interest, starring Jim Caviezel. I can never remember the name of the show so I've been calling it The Jim Caviezel Show. (I've loved Jim C. since "Frequency." That's one of my favorite movies ever.) "Person of Interest" = Oh. My. Lanta. GOOD. It's a mash-up of revenge and who-dunnit and story and action. The motive behind what the lead character does is what really intrigues me (unless I've missed something, his motive is only being revealed in pieces). If you watched, and adored, "Alias" (I have every season on DVD) (don't judge me), then you need to give The Jim Caviezel Show a whirl. It is quite intense. And he's such a great actor for a part like this: smart and tough and fearless. Sometimes (well ... most times) he looks crazy handsome. But sometimes he just looks downright-psycho-crazy. There are so many emotions that play across that man's face during an episode. There is no love story in this show (not yet) (well ... not exactly) and it's lots of punchy action; very Bourne Identity-esc. I'm all over it. (I also like the show "Unforgettable" but I still can't decide if it's because I truly like the show or if I'm just crazy-go-nuts about Poppy Montgomery's hair.) Are you watching anything exciting this Fall that I need to DVR?

- I'm hanging out with my bffSarah this week and we're commencing in our annual Halloween Festivities of Awesomeness. I cannot tell you exactly what we're doing. But I can tell you that I'm pretty sure we'll be running through Trevor Bayne's mind this week. Zing. (Unless it rains. If it rains, we're totally just staying in and watching Hocus Pocus and eating candy.) Do you every do the corn maze thing? They're weirdly fun, yes? We're professionals so I'm estimating it will take us 3.5 minutes to solve The Bayne Maze. (PS, while I know zilch about racing, Trevor Bayne seems like a great guy.)

Also ....

- I really want to see the new Puss in Boots movie. And I even-more-really, really want to see this:

- This bracelet is gorgeous. And I want on my wrist.

- This place looks stormy and candy-colored. And I want to go there:

(County Cork, according to GoogleImages. This is how I imagined Abbeyglen in There You'll Find Me.)

- And this song is beautiful. And I want to keep it in my heart:

Welcome back, Burlap to Cashmere! I have missed you so.

I'll be back later this week with pictures of my caramel catastrophe. How was your week? Reading anything awesome? Doing some fun adventuring? I would love to hear what's new with you!

spellbound.

2011-10-12T08:00:00.000-04:00

Listening To: Caleb Meyer by Gillian Welch {it's a rockabilly ghost story}

This street art: is rocking my world.

Hey beauties (& beastlies)!

A fun and funky little Paperdoll interview/giveaway is happening this week on Lilies Among Thorns. I adore that blog. Lilies is smart and fun and reads like a well-written teen magazine: lots of fashion and interviews and book reviews and recipes. But amidst all the fun, those girls also manage to be seriously encouraging and savvy and just generally awesome. I was floored when Haylie asked to interview me about Paperdoll. I warned her that I sometimes get long-winded but she's a top-notch editor and dealt with my chatty-ness like a pro. Thanks for asking such great questions Haylie Jo!

Lilies Among Thorns is also giving away a copy of Paperdoll. All you have to do is leave a comment on this post. (Also, I forgot to mention this because I'm such a slacker at blogging, but Michelle Pell wrote a sweet review of Paperdoll for Lilies Among Thorns. Considering that The Book of Pink has been out for a few years now, my heart goes spinny when someone takes the time to say kind things about it. Thank you so much, Michelle!)

In other news, I'm trying to reorient myself to the Muggle world today. I survived The Wizarding World of Harry Potter with a few pictures and funny stories to share with you. I also have a bruise on my shin the size of a softball. I'm not gonna lie ... it makes me feel pretty fierce.

Also, it rained nonstop while we were there, so I got to wear one of those super-sexy Universal Studios ponchos the entire time. And because I'm so short, the tips of my hawt-poncho nearly touched the ground, floating and fluttering and generally making me look like I was wearing the world's cheapest wizard costume. I ended up tying the sides together, so I could slosh about a bit more easily. I call it "poncho-couture." Tim Gunn would have been so proud of me. I made it work.

This is The Rogue Accountant in The Sunshine State (he remembered to pack a rain jacket so he was not a member of The Poncho Mafia). He was thrilled about the weather:

Did I mention that it rained? Seriously.

But my family does not back down at the first hint of a tropical storm. Despite the monsoon, I drank Butterbeer (oh my) and rode my last roller coaster ever (more on this later) and bought a coffee mug with Sirius Black's face on it. (I said: "I kind of want a souvenir. Should I get a Ravenclaw patch or a bag of dragons?" Chase said: "How about this coffee mug with Gary Oldman on it?" I said, "DONE!")

My nephew asked why I hadn't bought a wand yet and I said, "Um... I don't think I want a wand." (1. Because I'm a cheapskate and 2. Because they don't do real magic. I checked.) And he spun around very dramatically with a look of terror in his eyes and said, "But then you'll be a Muggle forever!"

How cute is that?

My sister must have agreed because she surprised me with Ginny Weasley's wand (!!), which pretty much made my life complete. She says I'm a total Ginny; sweet and cute and a little bit shy but talented and tough as nails. Sisters are the best, aren't they? If my brother had picked a wand for me, he totally would have picked Belletrix's wand. Or Filch's mop. My sister has always been particularly good at making me feel like a rockstar. She got Hermione's wand. Which is appropriate; because my sister is brilliant and gorgeous and quite heroic.

My Brother, the ever nefarious Rogue Accountant, got Voldemort's wand. *eye roll* And then he made me transport that skanky wand home in my luggage b/c he was afraid he couldn't take it aboard his flight.

It was a seriously fun vacation.

My favorite part of the trip, however, wasn't my Ginny Weasley wand or my Gary Oldman mug or even walking through Hogwarts School (though that is a seriously awesome experience).

My favorite part was my nephew Andy, age seven.

Magically, wonderfully, gloriously seven.

Can you imagine seeing The Wizarding World of Harry Potter as a seven-year-old?

Seven is my favorite number and one of my favorite words. Seven is also a big deal in Harry Potter (did you notice how often that number came up in the series?) I'm convinced seven-year-olds are the best seven of all though. When we saw the castle towers from the interstate, Andy gasped and yelled, "I'm about to explode with excitement!"

We got the park as early as we could, sloshing our way through the pouring rain. Andy lead the way to Hogwarts, wand at the ready:

My Little Hero.

He carried his wand with him the entire time. Every time I look at that picture, I get teary.

I'm pretty much spellbound by that kid. I'm spellbound over the power of a good story and the imagination of a seven year old. That's a magical combination. These are magical days we get to live in. I'm a blessed girl.

Thank you SO much for your great insider tips! I'll share a few more stories with you soon (I'm still collecting my thoughts and trying to open locked doors with my new wand). How's your week shaping up so far? Carving some pumpkins? Solving some corn maizes? Eating bags of candy in honor of Halloween month? Riding roller coasters in the rain? I would love to hear what's new with you!

with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

2011-10-05T08:00:00.000-04:00

Listening To: After the Storm by Mumford & Sons

Line Obsession: “I closed my eyes, put my right hand on top of the book, and passed it lightly across the cover. It was cool and smooth like a stone from the bottom of the brook, and it stilled me. A whole other world is inside there, I thought to myself, and that's where I want to be.” - from Ida B. by Katherine Hannigan

Hey beauties (& beastlies). I've been camera-happy lately, collecting loads of pictures that will mostly disappear into the abyss of my computer unless I blog them. LUCKY YOU. ; ) I have decided to call this extravaganza of photography:

pictures that = happymaking.

Here goes!

Comfy Jeans + Mary Janes.

So, these shoes? I get that they're not everybody's thing. But they are so my thing. I adore them. I got a sick coupon to DSW a few weeks ago, but didn't know if I would ever use it. And then I saw these. These shoes managed to sway me. Suede me. Zing! They're suede Mary Janes with a bow on the side. Girly? Most extremely so. But the suede totally makes them tough. (... right?) I'm also wearing my favorite jeans in this picture. And I'm also bouncing up on my toes. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to take a picture of your shoes with PhotoBooth? It involves lots of long strides and toe-bounces. (If suede-bows are your thang too, here's where you'll find 'em.)

Snuggly Dogs + Sunny Days.

Biscuit and I have been making up for all the stank-hot summer days when she couldn't go out and play. She loves to be outside. She chases the ball. She chases her shadow. She rolls in the dirt. She pounces into my lap and licks my cheek. Mostly, she lifts her little fuzzy face toward the sunlight and sniff-sniff-sniffs like she just can't get enough of it. It's the sweetest. Face to the sun = a good way to spend a day.

Messy Hair + Hoodie Weather.

The same stylist has cut my hair twice now, so I can officially confirm that she's boss. The Boss of Locks. BossLocks. That sounds like a viking, yes? But she doesn't look like a viking. She just looks like a cool 20something. (Where was I going with this? ...Hair!)

During our first encounter, I told her that I liked for my hair to look messy but still polished. I like bedhead. But not too much bedhead. Classy bedhead. Bohemian Bedhead. But not, like, Bohemian-stank. More like Bohemian-steeze. Or something.

And I also told her that I wanted volume, "but not like a Bon Jovi Shackle-My-Heart bouffant." What does all that even mean? I have no idea. But she knew. She cut my bangs at a slant and sliced in some long layers and bam. No round brushes. No flat irons or curling irons. It's pretty sweet. Here's the kicker {better sitch yerself down for this one} the haircut only costs $25. I don't think I've ever paid that little for a haircut. Not in the city. Not in the boondocks. I'm baffled by it. So if you live in Chattanooga, or you go to Lee University (because I know at least a few of you fine folks are from Lee - woo!), and you're looking for a stylist, you should go visit the hair boss. Just don't book her solid because occasionally I need a trim. Her name is Bethany Gann and she works at Beke Salon in Cleveland, TN. She's a crazy-talented girl and, besides that, she's a truly rad person. (PS - I don't get any free shampoo or anything for sending you there. I just think she's cool.)

This + This. I'm not sure why they go together. But they totally do.

Mountains + Woods + Water + Kaleidoscope Snow.

Vacation pictures from Washington and Oregon. Best. Vacation. Ever. Sigh.

Flowers + Fall.

My city had a major drought toward the end of this summer. The rains finally fell; it was a roar and a downpour and a deluge. For days, the rain was a constant silver curtain out my window. More warm weather followed that. And so I guess the seasons got confused and now ... things are blooming again. It's the wildest thing: the leaves have rusted edges, but the branches have springtime blooms. The pear trees are blooming. The crepe myrtles are blooming. The roses, which typically go paper-crinkly this time of year, are mega-watt- BLOOMING. Blooming when you are not supposed to bloom? Blooming when it is not expected? I love that so much I can barely stand it.

Something about all the blooming reminds me of Jenny Han's novel Clara Lee and the Apple Pie Dream which is, technically, a book for kids. So you can pretend you're buying it for your little sibs, the kids you babysit, your classroom, etc., if you want. But make sure you get to keep it to yourself for a while, because it's lovely. Clara Lee, the spunky little protag, has a dream that her grandfather dies. She's frantic over this, of course. But her grandfather tells her that, in Korea, dreams about death mean that new beginnings and good luck are on the way. I. Love. That. I love new beginnings that come when you don't expect them.

"Forget about what's happened; don't keep going over old history. Be alert. Be present. I'm about to do something brand new. It's bursting out. Don't you see it?" (Isaiah 43:19 The Message)

Bloom on, brave souls. Bloom on.

Hogwarts + Me + The Fam.

So this picture is a rerun. But it is timely because most of my fam is taking a mini-trip to the Harry Potter theme park this weekend. SO STOKED. Have you ever seen National Lampoons movies? Our family trips are very similar to that. They are very loud. Also, funny (but sometimes funny more in retrospect than in the moment). I'm told a luau will be involved ( ... ?) Get ready, Orlando!

Backyards + Blankets + Paperback Books.

Favorite Nooks + Records + Heathcliff.

My dad built a stand for my record player with shelves for records, books, pictures, and various other wonderfuls. I'm wild about it (all three pics are glimpses of the wonderfuls). My dad's work is always so strong and sturdy; he builds bookshelves and steps and rails and record holders. Stuff that helps me get where I need to go. Stuff that keeps my stories and daydreams safe. {The pics: 1. I love every single song on Tapestry. 2. The card stuck to the mirror is called a silhouhead. 3. That's the cover of the 1943 Fritz Eichenberg Wuthering Heights; the Christmas present from my parents that caused lots of squealing. They gave me both Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights and the illustrations are insane. I wish Random House would reissue them. Not for me, because I already have them. I just think every Bronte fangirl should have them.}

Also making me happy ....

These lyrics in Mumford & Sons "After the Storm." I listened to this song over and over on Tuesday. While I drove and while I wrote and when I fell asleep. I sat in my car, in the parking lot, listening to the song play out. I was in a remembering way. (Tuesday was my grandmother's birthday. I miss her a bunch.)

"There will come a time you'll see
with no more tears
and love will not break your heart
and dismiss your fears
get over your hill and see what you find there
with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair." - M & S

This quote from Nina Garcia in the October issue of Marie Claire ...
"I've never understood haunted houses. Why anyone would choose to step into a scary situation is beyond me. But this year, in prepping my sons for Halloween, it occurred to me that fashion plays upon those same emotions we experience during a haunting. Only it's the unexpected looks that jump out, make your heart race, and leave an indelible impression on your sartorial dreams." - Nina Garcia

Love that. I think all great art (I hate dropping the a-word because it sounds so snooty, but you know what I mean) is that way. I adore books and paintings and stories and songs and pictures and dances and quilts and clothes that stir me up, that make me react (don't you love it when your heart latches on to something before your brain even understands why?). I like to be haunted that way. And I think it's a fine goal to hope your work haunts someone that way, to strive to make something that lasts. (Keep blooming, brave souls. Keep blooming.)

The story in this song:

And you. No doubt about that. You people have a knack for making my day. Thanks for taking the time to say hello. Thanks for making me laugh. Thanks for reading along. As The Golden Girls would say, thank you for being a friend. :) I feel so crazy-blessed to be part of this little community. Wish we could all travel to Hogwarts together this weekend. We could duel!

Do holler down in the comments if you've been to Harry Potter World (or whatever it's called). I would love to know some must-see, must-do stuff! Is the Butter Beer outta this world? Did your wand really pick you? Did you play Quidditch and eat chocolate frogs?! I am so excited! I'll let you know how it all goes down.

What's making your Fall days particularly fabulous?

girls in grey cardigans.

2011-09-30T08:00:00.000-04:00

Listening To: Rambling Man by Laura Marling

Reading: Mindy Kaling's "Flick Chicks" in The New Yorker. "There are, like, nine people in the entire world who are architects, and one of them is my dad. None of them look like Patrick Dempsey."

31 Years Ago This Weekend: My parents got married. Their ceremony was small; just family and close friends. My mom wore a pale blue, knee-length dress and tan heels. My dad wore a brown suit and a big smile. I love celebrating happily ever after with them. They're the best.

My brave little roses are still blooming! Take that, Almost-October.

So I’ve decided to take a Facebook hiatus for just a littlewhile. I realize this isn’t blogworthy news. I’m only mentioning it on herebecause some of you sweet people have said hello recently via The Facebook. Thatalways makes me super-smiley. I most definitely did not want you to thinkI’d defriended you. I’m just trying to focus-in on something specific. Andsometimes I need to go a bit extreme when I’m recalibrating my focus. (Are you ever this way? Or is it just me?) Muchlike Frosty the Snowman, I’ll be back again someday soon (probably within thenext few weeks). Thumpity, thump, thump, etc.

Speaking of Facebook: I’ve received a few random Facebookmessages this year from guys I do not know. And the content of their messages leadsme to believe that these gents are not blog readers, nor have they readPaperdoll. In fact, the content of their messages, along with their shirtlessself-taken bathroom mirror profile picture, leads me to believe they’re most likely trolling Facebook forchicks.

Their message is usually some derivative of: “U are butifel.We r friends, ok?”

There is a possibility I’m getting pranked by trixy LOLCats.Nevertheless.

This random messaging has only happened a couple of times. Asyou know, stuff like that is easily remedied. It’s easy to block people foreverand always from finding you, or sending you weird messages, on Facebook. The messages aren't pervy. They're just dumb. But itis still kind of funny that these messages are even sent to me at all, evenrandomly. Because this is my Facebook profile picture:

Nothing says: PARTY ANIMAL HOPING TO CONNECT WITH A FACEBOOKSTRANGER …

… like a girl in agrey cardigan sitting in front of an empty Starbucks cup. I can see wheresomeone might get the wrong impression. So I’ve decided to set the record straight.

I’m about to give you the low-down on what girls in greycardigans are really like.

Now – obviously – this list of facts that I’m about to sharewith you does not apply to every girl in a grey cardigan. This is not auniversal checklist. These facts only apply to the shorty in that particularpicture. Try not to be intimidated by her. *sarcasm*

The Girl in The Grey Cardigan:

- Nearly started a kitchen fire this week withoutturning on the stove. Apparently, it takes some serious culinary finesse tomicrowave a sweet potato. Little potato = Whole lotta smoke. My house still smells like a campfire. (Thoseless imaginative might claim it smells like an ashtray.)

- Occasionally craves any/all of the following:Fruit Loops, Cherry Coke, sriracha, cold weather, hot coffee and Ryan Adams’“Heartbreaker” album. But not necessarily at the same time. Not necessarily.

- Prefers wildflowers to roses.

- Loves her freckles. Is still self-consciousabout her body, but she’s making peace with the soft places.

- Digs love songs (like this) and lonesome songs(like this) and the way guitar strings feel when she presses her fingertipsagainst them. Wishes she could make music come from those strings, but figuresshe’ll probably have to learn more than one chord in order for that to happen.

- Is fluent in sarcasm but tries to use her powersfor good. (Fears sarcasm is a dying language.)

- Never went through a phase when she thought boys were gross. Has always believed guys are weirdly wonderful. Mostly wonderful. Unlessthey send bizarre messages on Facebook. INTHAT CASE THEY’RE JUST WEIRD.

- Would wear knee boots and skinny jeans every dayof the year if she could. But she lives in the south, so she can’t. Becausethat would mean excess sweat. Fake leather sweat is no good. Pleather Sweat = Stank.

- Stares at the night sky until she finds the perfectwishing star. Loses all sense of time while doing this, but never loses hersense of wonder.

- Frequently references Star Wars, The Chronicles ofNarnia, Harry Potter, Anne of Green Gables, Muppet movies, andFriends.

- Is aware of her geekery. Considers it anattribute.

- Has had/presently has a celebrity crush on allof the following: Bo Duke, Chris Thile, Taye Diggs, Han Solo, Conan O’Brien,Bruce Springstein, Neil Gaiman, Enrique (the waiter at Carrabas) and PaytonManning. Go ahead and try to infer something from all that.

- Gets annoyed when someone corrects someone else's grammar during conversation.

- Likes to write sentence fragments. Just toalienate the grammar trolls.

- Is allergic to gravity.

- Watched two episodes of She-Ra on Netflix. Wasinspired. Asked her family to please begin addressing her as “Princess ofPower”. Thus far, they have refused to play along.

- Left her heart in London. Intentionally.

- Threw a guy’s keys in a Wendy’sTrash Can once. Accidentally. (Well … “Acidentally.”)

- Loves Jesus. Loves her family. Considers her dogpart of her family. Loves her friends. Mostly, she just seriously loves tolove. Being loved back is pretty rock-awesome too.

- Has a poem by Langston Hughes taped inside herBible.

- Has a Chinese fortune folded into her locket.

- Has a freckle on her lip.

- Has a paint stain on her sleeve.

- Has a story in her heart.

Here’s what I’m getting at Facebook fellows: The Girl in theGrey Cardigan … she’s probably not what you're looking for. Don’t misunderstand: she’s acool girl. She doesn't like to cook, but she knows how to put out a kitchen fire. (That's so hot. Zing!) She's no athlete, but she canthrow down in a game of Clue. Also, she once made it all the way to Super Sleuth in her Carmen Sandiego computer game. Most men are intimidated by those skills. No shame in that.

In other news, I heard a rumor that the weather will hover around 65 on Saturday. I'm giddy over this. I'm headed to the library today to pick up The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer, which I'm pretty stoked about. My weekend plan is to cuddle up with my dog, drink lots of coffee, and read. Do you have any fun fall-ish plans? You reading anything particularly snazzy? Happy weekending to you!

a nifty opportunity.

2011-09-27T08:00:00.000-04:00

Listening To: Slumber by Needtobreathe
Craving: Nutella on toast. And a glass of vanilla soy milk. In the words of Ebeneezer Scrooge, you keep breakfast your way and I shall keep it my way.

Hey beauties (and beastlies). I hope you're having a fine and swankified start to your week. (Do you know what I think when I type "swankified"? I think of the most swankified place in town ... The Ozdust Ballroom! And it makes me want to defy gravity!)

(This probably goes without saying ... but it is rather late as I type this entry.)

I just got back from a girls weekend (well ... girls + 1 brave guy) with two of my college roommates. My body is tuckered out from traveling but my heart feels more rested than it has in a long time. Some people make me feel like I'm home no matter where I am. My girls are all like that. I love them dearly. They're fun and they're a little bit wild too, and those things together make for loads of good memories. Soon, I'll post a picture of something awesome I discovered this weekend.

But today, I'm writing today to direct you to this recent post on the Living Proof Blog.

Shall we discuss Beth Moore? Beth Moore has been one of my favorite Bible teachers since I was in High School. Way back then (back when I parted my bangs down the middle like Dwight Schrute ...? Back when cafeteria conversation was all about what happened on Dawson's Creek ... back in THE DARK AGES of dial-up Internet and cell phones the size of bricks), I remember watching my first Beth Moore video. VI-DEE-O. Every week, my mom had to hunt down the traveling television that all the departments at church shared, roll it into one of the class rooms, and pop the video into the cranky VHS player.

I realize that most of you don't even know what VHS players are ... but trust when I say VCR's are vintage. They are swell and snazzy and you need one.

Back in ye olde days of VHS, we all circled our metal folding chairs around The Traveling TV and watched Mrs. Moore talk about the Bible.

This is what I've always loved about the way she teaches: she gets the imagining part and the think-harder part of my brain to work in tandem. That does not always happen. In fact, I have long suspected that part of the reason I never liked school much was because I couldn't figure out how to make my mind and my imagination work together. Mrs. Moore is also a born teacher - very spunky and fun and smart. The studies she and her coworkers have researched and put together over the years have come to mean so much to me. I keep the ones I've completed in a stack beside my bookshelf. And I hope like the dickens nobody ever reads them. Those studies are seriously my grown-up diaries.

However. Anytime I talk about Beth Moore, I feel like I need to add this little disclaimer: I have been very, very blessed to have a bunch of great Sunday School teachers along the way. I have many friends who (rightfully) have issues with the Church (not a specific Church; I'm talking about the Church as a whole). There are certainly issues in the Church I don't agree with (soooo grateful I live in a place where I'm free to believe and free to disagree). But my little disagreements are non-issues. I know many people who were hurt or ostracized and even abused by people who were claimed they were in ministry positions.

Church was always a safe place for me. Church was one of the places (besides home) where I felt like I could totally be myself. My Church taught me that living out what I believe was essential, that the words mean nothing if I'm not living out a life of love. My church was especially passionate about missions and local outreach. Church was also one of the first places I was encouraged to share my writing. My pastor was big into the arts and he was always encouraging me to read something to the congregation or write something for the bulliten. He and his wife still email or call sometimes, just to encourage me (even though they're technically retired). They're amazing people and I love them dearly.

My Church was not perfect and there were a few things that cropped up over the years that might have irked me. But the good was really, really good. For many years, my grown-up dream was to write novels and to teach a kids Sunday School class. (In many ways, that's still the big dream.)

Beth Moore is not my favorite Bible teacher. My mom is my favorite Bible teacher. My mom taught me how to study my Bible when I was in High School. She also taught my youth group class on Wednesday nights. When I was in my early 20's, my mom decided to teach a young women's class (most likely so she could ensure I would get my rear out of bed and go to Sunday School). Her class was so popular that it became a catch-all for women of all different ages, in all different life stages. My mom is a gifted teacher; she's funny and articulate and creative. She spent endless hours planning for those classes and they came off so authentic. So genuine. I'm only bringing that up because, sometimes, when women start talking about Bible teachers; they only mention the front-and-center types. Beth Moore and Joyce Meyer and ______ whoever else. I do that too, sometimes. I've been talking about Bobbi Houston a bunch lately, because I watch Hillsong Church when I'm battling seasons of insomnia (it's either Hillsong or the infomercial about pajama jeans ... what is up with that weirdness?). I am so grateful for those women, who are encouraging and teaching from a big front-and-center platform. But I'm even more grateful for the Sunday School teachers I've had; for the men and women who poured into my life at a very personal level.

I am most grateful for my mom. She's an amazing teacher. She was also amazing at vacuuming the hallway right in front of my door every Sunday morning so I would get out of bed. Like, she would jam the vacuum against my door - WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! - until I flung the door open and then, very pleasantly, she'd say: "Oh good! You're up!"

Anyway. Mrs. Moore's studies are great. And when girls (especially college girls) write and ask me about Bible Study suggestions, I always recommend Beth Moore's work.

But here's why I'm linking you to her site today: Beth Moore is going to scholarship 1,000 girls to attend next year's Passion Conference. Half of the scholarships have already been filled, but there are still some that are available. There are some specific requirements: you need to be between the ages of 18 and 25. You need to have never attended a Passion conference before (attending a concert is okay; but you can't have experienced the main event). And you need to not be able to afford it without some outside help. (Everybody is broke in college. But if you know that there is absolutely no way you could make this happen financially - that's what this scholarship is for.)

(I'm pretty sure this scholarship covers registration only, not travel or food, so keep that in mind as you proceed.)

If those pre-requisites apply to you, or a young woman you know who might be interested, then scoot on over and read about the scholarship on the Living Proof blog. You can apply for it here on the Passion site. Email me and let me know if you get one (or if you're already planning on going). I won't mention you here on the blog, but I would love to pray for you as you attend.

Funny Randomness: A few years ago, I got to meet Beth Moore. I thought I might like to work in event planning and so I interned with some ladies who are, quite frankly, The Queens of the Main Event. And one thing lead to another and I got to attend a taping they put together for Beth Moore's then-new series. My reaction was similar to this.

I debated what to wear for days, ended up in jeans and a black sweater because I'm very daring like that, and I went to the taping. And I purposely sat in the way-back of the room so my face wouldn't be on camera. And some sweet, well-meaning lady kept moving me to the front of the room despite me digging my high-heels into the ground and saying, "You don't understand! I cannot be on camera! I am allergic to cameras! I look like Chaka on film! I will ruin your series!"

This is Chaka.

My utter loathing of cameras simmered, however, when I found out that everybody at the taping got to meet Beth Moore. My reaction was similar to this:

Because Mrs. Moore's writing had helped me through so many strange seasons, I was as terrified to meet her as I was excited. I was so worried that I wouldn't say the right thing. There are many writers who would stir up that kind of reaction in me. I press memories into books the same way some people press flowers or pictures or concert tickets into books. Stories remind me of what was happening in my life when I re-read them. There are so many books - fiction and non-fiction - that have filled my heart up with hope again and helped me through the dark days. Beth Moore's books are definitely among them. So I wanted to say more than thank-you. And that was my only chance and what if I blew it?!

After the taping, the powers-that-be herded us into a long hallway. And a lady told us, as we were shuffling around in line, that we needed to practice one sentence that we could say to Beth Moore. One sentence. And that was it. The taping was FULL of people and Mrs. Moore had a plane to catch and so we needed to try and refrain from telling her our life stories and etc.

One. Sentence.

So. I started sweating. Sweating major. And because I was sweating, I started slowly flapping my arms like I was doing a slow-motion funky chicken. To cool off. To relieve my stress. But then I realized that I looked kinda weird. I realized this because the women beside me were looking at me like I had three heads. Clearly, we were not sisters in sweat. So I pressed my arms tight against my sides. And I started practicing my one perfect sentence.

Fact: Perhaps the only thing more troublesome than a girl standing in line doing a slow-mo funky chicken is when that same girl begins talking to herself; arms rigid at her sides.

First impressions are my speciality.

And then Beth Moore began her walk down the hallway. And she kept moving closer to me. And I kept sweating. And then she was talking to the girl beside me. And then my turn came ...

... and I totally flopped.

I didn't get my sentence out right. I don't remember what I said. But it was rushed and twitchy and stuttery and I ended up mostly staring at the pointy tips of my shoes.

I think I said, "I read ... my Bible ... Bible Studies ..." *thumbs up*

I'm very profound that way.

But she was so sweet. I got the vibe that she's good at making people feel like they aren't as nit-witty as they think they are. I only said one sentence. Actually, I said lots of sentence fragments. It was the quickest of hellos, and she wouldn't remember me now. I know I didn't say the kind of thank-you like I'd hoped to say. But she still made me feel like I mattered. She seems like a very cool, very real kind of person. It's not that I doubted she would be authentic; but when you look up to someone for a long time, and you realize they are exactly as genuine as they seem, that is definitely warm-fuzzy inducing.

Is there an author (or a few authors) you'd love to meet someday? Do you think you'd be nervous about meeting them? Also, let me know if you've ever been to a Passion event! I've never been to the actual event. I get twitchy in big crowds. But the ministry and the music have been a big encouragement to me.

once upon a goonie weekend.

2011-09-16T08:30:00.000-04:00

Listening To: I Feel Like Going Home by Yo La Tengo
Line Obsession: "Why is it every other person you meet says they're an artist? A real artist doesn't need to gas on about it, he doesn't have time. He does his work and sweats it out in silence, and no one can help him at all." - from Paula McLain's The Paris Wife
Editorial Note: I'm still learning my way around the new blogger, so my apologies for any wonky formatting. Also, spell check didn't work for the second half of this post. Thanks for being patient with me while I figure out the new stuff!

via GoogleImages

So the other night I heard a kerfuffle in the vicinity of the back door. Fortunately, I have every season of Alias on DVD, so I know how to defend myself when kerfuffles arise. I snatched up my Swiffer and prepared for Plan A: poke the assailant. {Plan B: simply hold out the Swiffer and then point to the floor. Presented with the option of swiffering my vast sea of dust, I'm positive ye olde burglar would have hauled out.}

But then I realized the ruckus was merely .... The Rogue Accountant.

This is Chase showing off his first painting. I call it "Tim Burton's Corsage."

My brother snuck in, as sneaksters are prone to do. I think he nodded (or maybe not) and then he proceeded to go to the kitchen, open the freezer, and eat my very last chocolate ice cream pop. Not that I'm bitter.

This serves me right, of course, because whenever I visit my brother's apartment, I eat his strawberry Popsicles. Like, not one. But all. Because he buys the fancy ones - the thick Popsicles with real strawberry chunks inside. Don't judge me.

While eating my very last chocolate ice cream pop, Chase mentioned that I hadn't blogged about us visiting the Goonie House yet.

And I said, "Well ... I put the pictures up on Facebook ... and only like four people clicked 'like.'"

Fact: all four of those people are cooler than a polar bear's toenails, obviously, but I just realized, after posting the pics, that maybe Goonie stuff isn't for the masses. Maybe not everybody thinks that movie is a cornerstone of great American cinema, like we do. Not everybody would have worked a visit to a filming locaiton for an 80's classic into their Pacific Northwest vacation, like we did. Not everybody works a quote from Goonies into most any conversation.

Not everybody can be awesome.

(Also, most accurately, 99.9% of my Facebook Friendage probably doesn't give a hoot about anything I post on there.)

But this is my blog and since you folks are sweet enough to indulge me even when I nerdout ... I'm going to talk about my Goonie Trip. And if, like me, one of your lifelong dreams is to visit the Goonie House in Astoria, Oregon, then I hope my travel trips will help you get the most out of your vacation!

This is how it went down:

Truly, our Pacific Northwest vacation (which I documented on tumblr as Sibling Revelry) was anchored around iconic places. We ate cheeseburgers at the base of Mt. Rainier. We walked down storybook trails in the Olympic National Forest. We watched people wind sail in the Columbia River Gorge. We drank coffee at Stumptown and bought books at Powell's and ate grilled cheese sandwiches at a pub on Cannon Beach.

I don't mean to sound cliche: but it was truly one of the sweetest trips I've ever taken, and I still can't believe I got to go. I am so grateful. That part of the world is stunning. And the people who live there are funky and kind and they put coffee kiosks at every ten paces. Translation: I love Pacific Northwesterners!

But in addition to what could be considered typical tourist fare, we also drove to Astoria, Oregon. Astoria is a funky little city by the water that frequently lands on "Best City Ever!!" lists. It actually reminded me of my city - low key, easy going, laid back vibe. Seems to cater to an artsy crowd. For most people, Astoria is worth visiting because it happens to be a spiffy mix of urban, small town, and seaside.

But for the few, the brave, and the nerdy ... Astoria, Oregon is better known as The Goondocks. We drove there because The Goonies launched their adventure from there. Because Goonies was the movie that set our childhood hearts a flutter. Because, for many years into our adulthood, Chase and I had a tradition of having a junkfood night and watching Goonies (we sort of still do this but minus the junkfood) (because some things don't process like they used to ifyaknowwhatimean). For years we joked about going to the actual Goonie House. Last year, as we started planning this vacation, I said, "We should see if we can swing by Astoria!" And Chase said, "We are definitely swinging by Astoria." Some things are meant to be.

This is the bridge into Astoria (which means this is the point when I was bouncing up and down in the seat squealing):

Thanks to the Rogue Accountant, we got to see quite a bit of this funky little town.

On foot.

Because my brother doesn't like to park anywhere remotely close to the actual places we visit.

Still walking.

Somewhere around the fifteen mile mark, I started to wonder if we would ever make it to the Goonie Museum.

< --- He was a pro! And he never made it out!

Still walking. In the movie, this is the museum where Mikey's dad works:

And FINALLY we made it. The best place to start your Goonie Vacation is at the Oregon Film Museum. This building used to be a jail. But Goonies will recognize the exterior from the first scene in the movie, when the Fratelli's bust Jake out of the slammer.

It looks so much smaller than it did in the film, don't you think?

Chase tried to tour the Winnebago parked out front but he was informed that it was not part of the museum experience.

After we reenacted that first scene on the front steps (which is not part of the experience either ... unless you are awesome), we went inside and paid a few bucks each to take the actual tour. Now. If you hear the word "museum" and "tour" and automatically think big and swank ... you might be surprised. This museum is teeny-tiny. And probably only fun for Goonie fans.

By which I mean: it was fantastic.

Also, it is a spectacle of modern technology.

First, you walk into an area where you can have your mugshot taken AND stand beside cardboard cutouts of all the characters. (See? How is this not interesting to my Facebook friends?! I don't understand people.)

(To further verify my geekery: I did not do the mugshot bit, but, if I had, I would have turned the numbers to 24601.)

I have a picture of Chase beside Cardboard Chunk (Captain Chunk!) but I can't find it. So stay tuned for that.

Chunk was the Goonie who loved to eat ice cream and wore plaid pants and a Hawaiian print shirt through the duration of the film. When Chunk's parents reunite with him in the end, they bring him a large Dominoes pizza of his own, and he nearly cries because he is so overwhelmed with happiness.

As a child, I was mostly a female version of Chunk.

This is me beside Brand, the Goonie who wore workout shorts over his sweatpants and stole a bicycle so he could save his little brother. Brand married Diane Lane when he grew up.

I had a massive crush on Brand when I was a little girl. And I still think Josh Brolin is a handsome man (please remember: I am old ... so this isn't so weird). I thought about maybe kissing the cardboard Brand so I could keep the picture forever and always. But sometimes people get weird when you make out with their cardboard cutouts. Don't ask me how I know.

And there's Sloth, down at the end of the cell block. I considered kissing him too, but he was too tall:

Too tall is not typically an issue when it comes to kissing. But I think it's only fair that a guy meets me halfway. Because I'm short and I'm not much of a jumper. Also, I prefer that the guy not smell like Phys-Ed. A girl's gotta have standards.

Baby ... Ruth?

In that same area is some sort of flowchart that I didn't read ... because flowcharts make me think of math. But beside that is a giant board with notes and stickpins for fans to leave Goonie notes. People from all over the world have tacked their memories to this wall, so the expectation is huge.

I don't know what Chase wrote, most likely something inappropriate, but my note was fairly straightforward and awesome:

I will never say die!

Next, we walked past the cells where the opening scenes were filmed. The first cell is full of memorabilia including a Goonies boardgame (!!!) and figurines and maps. Rich stuff.

The next cell contained Data's suit from the film. Actually, it might have been a replica of Data's suit. Or maybe somebody just left their uniform in there but I took a picture anyhow:

The third cell is where the opening scene with Jake was filmed. And you can totally stand in there and AND! there is a webcam. So if you know when you'll be there, people can login and watch you. In any other circumstance, this would be as creepy as all get out. But because it's Gooniestuff, it's awesome!

Across from the cells, there are more cardboard cutouts of the production crew, including Steven Spielberg and Richard Donner. You can have your picture made with them too, if you want.

Are you packing your bags yet?

Next, you get to walk in a prop room and play with cameras and pretend to be a movie star. This was, admittedly, my most favorite part of the Goonie Museum. This room had a green screen set up and you could stand in front of it. And then somebody could stand behind the camera and "direct you" and see a wintry scene on the green screen. My big break was at hand!

Except.

I was wearing a teal t-shirt. Green Screens and teal t-shirts function in much the same manner, apparently.

I think my shirt looks like one of those gas station t-shirts they sell with the howling wolves on them. You know what I mean? Or is that just a Tennessee thing?

Chase jumped in front of the green screen next. That punk looked way cuter than me:

Fun fact: when my brother was a kid, he loved pretending to be a meteorologist. He had a laminated map of the USA on his wall and, every morning, he would take a dry erase marker and map out the jet stream. (As I type this I realize he probably doesn't want that information broadcast but, alas, that's what happens when you eat the last of my chocolate ice cream pops.) I think standing in front of the green screen brought out the weather man within.

Next, we got to act out the getaway scene in Ma Fratelli's vehicle. Not only can you sit inside the truck ... but you also get to watch yourself on camera.

Note: I don't know if you're technically supposed to sit in it ... but we did and no alarm went off.

(Would you think me vain if I admit that, when I watched myself on camera ... the first thing I did was fix my hair?)

The getaway vehicle was nifty. But ... here's my thing. The signage makes you think that you are actually in the truck that Ma Fratelli drove. But. That truck in the movie star room did not look like the ORV with bullet holes. Just saying. Nevertheless! This is me doing my best scoundrel face:

Chase looks much calmer driving the getaway vehicle than I've ever seen him look while driving a vehicle for real.

A funny: I always think it's weird in movies when people drive with two hands on the top of the steering wheel. And they crank it back and forth in a quick motion. You know what I mean? Most people I know drive with one hand and the steering wheel doesn't move much at all unless you're swerving to miss a dementor or something. Right? And yet, when we got in front of the camera, we both gripped the top of the steering wheel just like they do in movies. Interesting.

To end our museum experience, we visited the gift shop. Not much rich stuff in there. There are little statues of David (which is rather hilarious if you're familiar with that scene) and Baby Ruths and t-shirts. But none of the goods were as corny as I'd hoped. I bought a $2 map that claimed to show off the other movie sites in Astoria. But it was a waste of $2. The only real Goonies site the map listed was the Goonie House (more on that in a moment). The rest of the sites are from Short Circuit and Kindergarten Cop.

So if you go to the museum, unless you're a fan of those films (and who isn't?), maybe just use your $2 to buy a Baby Ruth instead.

The Goonie House, where Mikey and Brand lived, is very easy to find. Legions of Goonie have made pilgrimages to the Goonie House before, and have left clear directions online. (Ye intruders beware! Crushing death and grief!) There is no charge to see the house. You will need to drive from the museum to get there. You do not get to go inside, even if you do the truffle shuffle (more on that in a minute.)

We parked at the bottom of the hill (I'm guessing my bro didn't realize how close we were, or he would have parked twenty-seven blocks away as per usual), in a neighborhood with lots of signs that read: "DO NOT BLOCK MY DRIVEWAY!!!!!!" And then we saw this:

And my heart started pounding. We hiked the steep gravel road alongside some cool Goonies from Canada (it was kind of like the Canterberry Tales only slightly more nerdy).

And, behold:

The Goonie house. The Goondocks!!

The Eiffel Tower? London Bridge? Machu Picchu? A Texaco sign burned out to spell the word Taco? Perhaps those are all wonders of the world that stir your imagination. The Goonie House was like that for us. And it really does have a snazzy view, just like in the movie.

It did not have the mousetrap set-up outside that opened the gate (the chicken, the popping balloon, the bowling ball, etc.) But it was still pretty rad.

Very Girly Note: Their landscaping is absolutely gorgeous. I love clusters of flowers like this. I suppose those aren't technically wildflowers ... but they look that way! Pretty, pretty.

Now. Perhaps the most iconic scene in movies is when Chunk stands in front of the Goonie House and hollers: "Let me in!" And Mouth says: "First you gotta do the truffle shuffle." This is the original truffle shuffle:

Before we arrived, I said to Chase, "If you do the truffle shuffle ... maybe they'll let us look for a treasure map in their attic!"

And Chase said, "Oh, I'm doing the truffle shuffle ... whether they let me in or not. I've dreamed of this moment my whole life."

It's good to have dreams, you know?

And yet, I didn't know if he would actually do it. Because the truffle shuffle demands commitment. It takes guts to do the truffle shuffle. By which I mean: to properly do the truffle shuffle, one must not care about his or her reputation. Or about attracting anyone of the opposite sex while said shuffling is in progress.

Once the sweet Canada family had departed, my brother did indeed fulfill his childhood dream.

And it wasn't the truffle shuffle. It was THE TRUFFLE SHUFFLE. If you could medal in truffle shuffle, he would have won gold. Carpe Diem 100%.

Chase's Truffle Shuffle:

I think mom should send that photo out with Christmas cards this year.

This is a close up of Chase's shuffle face:

You see? Commitment!

As we made our way (quickly) back down the hill, Chase said, "I just made that family's year."

Indeed.

Cannon Beach was our next stop. We'd actually wanted to go to Cannon Beach just because we heard it was gorgeous, and oh mercy was it ever. Pictures don't do it justice (do they ever?). But there are a few Goonies scenes filmed there. Remember when Ma Fratelli jumps in the race to evade the cops? That's on Cannon Beach. (I think.) And do you remember when Mikey holds the doubloon up to the rocks and figures out where the rich stuff is? THe Dubbloon = Haystack Rock = Cannon Beach.

We didn't find classic "rich stuff" there: no doubloons, no string of pearls, not even One Eyed Willy's bedazzled eye patch. But we did find "rich stuff" in the way of wholesome dairy delight. Locals call it ... Tilamook Cheddar.

You know my theory about Georgia people and their sweet tea? I think Georgians keep their delicious sweet tea in vats and only share it with those they deem worthy. Same with Tilamook cheddar. The cheese is not a secret ... not exactly. And yet, I feel like we had to immerse ourselves in the culture to find it. We had to earn the cheese. By the end of the trip, we were stopping at gas stations just to buy small packaged chunks of it. Don't judge me. (My bro informed me later that they sell Tilamook Cheese at Earthfare so maybe my "earn it" theory is somewhat skewed. I bet you have to prove your merit before they let you have it though.)

This is an image I found when I googled Tilamook Cheddar. I don't know what "baby loaf" means but it makes me chuckle:

At Cannon Beach, we stopped at a pub and I ordered a Grilled Tilamook Cheese Sandwich and ... happy, happy day. It was dreamy. After that, we ran across the street for coffee, and then we walked beside the water.

Well. I walked beside the water. My brother kept creeping up on this poor seagull trying to scare it:

He's such a Fratelli sometimes.

And that was our Goonie Day. I get that it's not everybody's thing. Most people probably don't consider Goonie adventures a worthy detour.

I'm convinced these people are missing out.

I don't care how old you are ...

standing on the edge of the world
and scanning the skyline for a pirate ship
is the perfect way to end a day.

We felt like such Goonies. One Eyed Willy would have been proud.

I might do a few more posts about some vacation adventuring if you're interested? Truly, the only thing that could have made it cooler is if you'd been along for the ride. I think you would have had a blast. Provided you enjoy loud music, lots of driving, and frequent coffee + cheese stops. ; )

Okay! I'll stop pestering you now. I'm off to put the finishing touches on a weekend getaway for my sister. (I'm super excited!) I would love to hear what's new in your world!

And if you feel like getting nostalgic, let me know some of your favorite movies back when you were teeny-tiny. Is there a film location you'd love to visit someday? (I've also been to Prince Edward Island and sometimes, when I try to talk about it, I still get dorkily weepy. But I should blog about that too. Maybe we could have an Anne Appreciation Day ; )

Happy Weekending, sweet people! Thanks for making this blog so darn fun.

(I'll end with this picture of the Goonies all grown up.)

punkrock sparrow.

2011-09-12T10:00:00.000-04:00

Listening To: Shadowfeet by Brooke Fraser

Current Favorite Text Message in my Inbox: "I'm sitting in a Zaxby's near Athens and the pictures on the wall are crooked. Intentionally." - The Rogue Accountant, who thrives on order (Thank you, Zaxbys. I applaud your efforts!)

I found this photo on Pinterest, where it (sadly) wasn't credited. Such a gorgeous tattoo!

It is 2AM here in the hills and there's some feisty punk-cricket up against my window singing his sweet little heart out. I'm about to have a showdown with the cricket. Here's the backstory: Fall has slowly been making its way back into my city. Finally. Thank goodness. The sky has been swarming with silver rainclouds and the air is getting prickly again. It is almost sweater weather. Boot weather. Coffee drinking weather (it is always coffee drinking weather ... but I'm convinced coffee tastes better in the Fall). The leaves are looking rusty around the edges. These are all signs of Autumn.
And yet, apparently, nobody has mentioned this to the punk-cricket.

The crickets around my house usually go on vacation during the fall and winter. But this beast is determined to keep me awake. I imagine him with a tiny striped scarf around his neck, shivering, rubbing his spindly legs together for warmth. He could take a break. I would not object if he did. But the cricket won't have it. He keeps on singing.

You remember when I told you that I get crazy-disoriented when I first wake up? Then it won't come as a shock to you that, sometimes, I wake up and my friend the punk-cricket sounds way louder than he actually is. Like, I startle awake and think, "Gah! The house is on fire!" But then I realize that it's not a a smoke detector that I hear; it's just that dang cricket.

Sometimes Biscuit points her nose toward the window and growls at the cricket. And I wake up like, "Gah! There's a lion in my bed." And then I realize it's just my dog that's growling.

I say something like, "I know! Tha-shhh that pun-kwicket!"

And then Biscuit huffs at me like, I can't understand you when you're wearing you mouthguard. So I take the mouthguard out to repeat myself. But then Biscuit's all Wah-Hoo, Snack time! And she lunges for it.

Anyway. I'm convinced the punk-cricket was referred.

Because I think the woodland creatures are conspiring against me.

Now, before you click away from my blog, know that I do realize that's the sort of sentence that could signify instability. I promise I'm only crazy in a fun way. *twitches*

I think the cricket came because of the midnight bird. All summer long, usually at 12:01AM on the dot, a bird right outside my window would start singing. And it was never some sweet, airy, lullaby. That bird could seriously belt out a party tune. Bird karaoke. "Ice Ice Baby"... bird-style.

The birdsong always woke me up but, usually, I didn't mind so much. Once I realized it was just a bird, not a car alarm, I kind of liked listening to the happy-chirpy-party going on outside. I imagine the other birds in the trees looking down at my midnight bird like, "Loser. Shut it." But my rebel bird carried on with its chirpy dirge. After about ten minutes, or sixty, the bird would hush and I would fall asleep again.

One night, the midnight bird woke me up and, when I opened my eyes, I realized my room was still-bright; moonlight poured pale and pretty through the window, pressing tree shadows against my walls. My sheets were cool and my pillow was soft. My dog was curled up so close beside me that I could feel her little heartbeat against my ankle. And the midnight bird was singing to me. The midnight bird sang a sunrise song in the middle of the night. By all standards, it was a very ordinary moment, but, to me, it felt a little bit magical. And it felt a-whole-lotta peaceful. I was awfully grateful the midnight bird woke me up to see it.

So I guess what I'm saying is ... I kind of like the midnight bird. And I also kind of like the punk-cricket, by default, because he seems to have taken over the new night shift while the midnight bird goes on tour.

I like them because I think it takes guts to stand up, by yourself, and sing.

I think it takes courage raise a ruckus. A pretty ruckus.

I think it takes some serious nerve to love what you do so much that you holler about it. It takes some gumption to roll back your shoulders and speak up.

Screaming, and saying nothing, both require very little effort.

Singing is different.

And one night when the midnight bird woke me with it's party-song, I started thinking about how gutsy a person (or critter) has to be to sing at midnight, when the world gets so dark and weird and full of unknowns.

I think about midnight songs when I think about folks I love who are dealing with serious health issues - chemo and chronic headaches and back pain and bone problems and all manner of suffering; serious illnesses that leaves them down for weeks and months.

I think about midnight songs when I think about friends who are grieving or divorcing or coming up for air after a long, dark, season of depression or addiction, a season that may have lasted for months or may have lasted for years. (That takes remarkable courage, to sing out for help.)

I think of midnight songs when I've messed up. When I think, even though I know that this isn't true ... what if God loves me less for this? What if people knew this about me? I'm an adult; I should have known better by now.

I should know what to do with my life by now.

I should know how to make this all work by now.

I'm not trying to be melodramatic or deep. I just think it's darn scary when the world is so quiet and dark that all you can hear is the sound of your own frantic heart pounding against your ribs.

I'm bowled over by people who keep singing, even when the story goes spinny and foggy and dark. I'm not impressed by Pollyanna-fake optimism. I'm not impressed by the person who, when you lose someone you love, walks up to you and pats your shoulder and says, "They're in a better place." Duh. As if that's supposed to fill back up the missing piece in your heart. I'm not talking about religious platitudes up in here. I'm thinking about hope. Hope as a whisper. Hope as a rasp. Hope that starts as a waver but grows into an anthem. People who choose to keep looking for the good in the world, even when their world is certifiably crapped-up ... they catch my eye. Their midnight songs do more than help me tough out the night. They remind me that the sun is on its way back up.

Lately I've been thinking about a line in a poem by Dylan Thomas:

I sang in my chains like the sea.

I'm absolutely obsessed with that line. I've been writing it on receipts and in journals and in the dust of my furniture. I'm so taken with those words. They make so much sense to me.

Because I don't know that the choice is always "sink or swim." Not always.

Instead, I think there are very many days when grief, or illness, or pain, or rejection, or fear batter so hard against our scuffed-up hearts that the only thing we can manage to do is not sink. To barely, barely keep our faces above water. Sink or swim is not always an option.

But I do think there's always a choice for me to sink or sing. And sometimes, it is option A that I choose. I can think an endless string of days that I've let the sea crush me flat.

But somedays, there's a rocksong caught up in me that even the dark can't snuff it out.

Somedays, I remember this day is only one little page in a much bigger (much better) story.

Somedays, I look people in the eye when I talk to them. I fight losing battles even when I know I'll lose (especially then). I pray until I'm breathless. I question out loud. I claim the Truth out loud.

Some days, I remember the sun is rising soon.

Some days, I remember this: that no eye has seen, and no ear has heard what God has in store for those who love him. I remember that He calls me beautiful and forgiven and free. And that He works all things out for my good. And that He came so I could live and live abundantly. I remember that He cares for the sparrows and the wildflowers and so of course He cares for me; even when I'm wild, and even when I'm flighty. I remember that He loves me with an everlasting love that is unchanging and unconditional. Nothing can come between us.

"In this world you'll have trouble," He says. "But take heart. I've overcome the world." (John 16:33)

Some days, I press those truths against my heart and look my fears in the face. I don't run away. I don't back down. I do not sink.

Some days, when the waves come crashing, a girl's just gotta roar.

Hang in there beauties (& beastlies). You are loved more than you know.

crocodile rock.

2011-08-31T10:30:00.001-04:00

Listening To: Save Me by JJ Heller

Line Obsession: Every line in Katherine Hannigan's True ... Sort Of. I finished it last night, and it is officially one of my favorite books. Delly Pattison is one of the coolest girls I've ever read in a book. She made me laugh (and then I called and read those parts to people so they could laugh with me) and her story made my heart hurt, too. It is a difficult book to describe. It is also incredible. If you need a book for the weeekend, go buy that one and let me know what you think! (*cough* Newbery! *cough*)

Do you remember the crocodile in Peter Pan?

This is the Disney version:

But I think the actual reptile that posed a threat to Captain Hook (actual in a ... fictional way) was way more beastly. More like this:

(That, btw, is the gorgeous mural Dustin Chambers created for Living Walls 2011. Which is approximately Reason #1billion why I love Georgia and the classy people who live there. You Georgia folks like to show off your artists BIG. You can see the full gallery here.)

As you probably know, Captain Hook's scaly foe was the reason for Captain Hook's ... hook.* And, apparently, Captain Hook's hand tasted crazy-delicious.

An Analogy:

Captain Hook's hand : The Crocodile :: Nutella : The Natalie

Somehow Captain Hook baited the Crocodile with a clock so he could hear him tick-tock-tick-tock-ing toward him and he would have time to haul out. You remember? But the problem was that the Croc had a mission. The Croc had a goal. The Croc would not settle for just a hand.

This is not a crocodile:

It is a sweet and lovable Biscuit.

But we've been in a situation lately that is very Crocodile vs. Pirate. Biscuit isn't trying to eat my hand, or anything reptilian. So don't be fearful or grossed out or concerned.

However. Biscuit is, for some mysterious reason, obsessed with my mouthguard.

Necessary Backstory: I have to wear a mouthguard when I sleep, else I grind my teeth like a mad woman.

(Tangent: I blame this necessity on my very vivid dreams. I recently dreamed I lost my contact in a bowl of nacho cheese and I was going wild, digging through the cheese trying to find it. Clearly, this was a dream. Because in reality, I would just shrug my shoulders and assume the contact would digest fine and I would keep eating.)

Most of the time, like 99% of the time, I remember to store my mouthguard in its cutesy container and put it in my nightstand. But there were a few times that I just stored the mouthguard in the container and left the container on my nightstand.

And then I started finding the container at various locations all over the house. And because I'm not always so quick on the draw, I thought: "Weird. It must be sticking to my jeans and falling off when I walk through the house."

Sticking to my jeans and falling off when I walk through the house. That's common sense thinking at it's finest, yes?

It was my bffSarah who clued me in.

Sarah told me that she had to get a mouthguard too and I said something like: "We are so awesome!"

And she said, "We totally are!"

We like to affirm our mutual awesomeness as much as possible, usually after an event which might lead others to believe we are not awesome at all. Like: when we meet for our annual Corn Maize/Hocus Pocus viewing? We are awesome. And when Sarah finds a perfect recipe for Butter Beer? We are awesome! (I'm awesome by default, cause I'm her friend.) And when we bust out movie quotes from Emmet Otter's Jugband Christmas ... we. Are. Awesome.

Mouthguards are awesome.

Sarah then said, "My dentist told me to be sure and put it away. Because pets love to chew on them."

And I said, "Why would pets want to chew on mouthguards?"

I don't remember what conclusion we came to.

All I know is that one day, I was running late for something, and I left my mouthguard out on my nightstand. No container. And I came home and it was gone.

And then I found it.

In Biscuit's mouth.

She wasn't wearing it (not when I saw her). But she was chewing on it like it was the most amazing and delicious thing she'd ever tasted. I threw it away, which broke her heart all to pieces.

And I got a new one made. Now I keep the thing tucked far, far away from my dog.

But my dog ... she's like Captain Hook's crocodile.

Because she's had the mouthguard already. And so now, she won't settle for less than that plastic pile of morning breath.

Some mornings, right before I open my eyes, I hear what sounds like an air compressor going off right in front of my face. And I open my eyes and Biscuit's nose is not even an inch from my mouth. She's sniffing. Sniff-sniff-sniffing.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

And I stare at her.

And she stares at me like, "Just let me have the mouthguard. I know it's in there. I want it. Please. It's so delicious."

And I blink at her like, "This mouthguard ain't cheap. Go chew on your toys."

And she sighs and gives up and goes back to eating the face off of her toy-dog. Which is mildly disconcerting but whatever.

That arrangement worked fine until last week, when I woke up to find the mouthguard ... missing.

You need to know this: when I wake up, I'm in a hazy stupor for a substantial period of time.

Like, stuff doesn't make sense to me before, say, 5PM.

And so, if I accidentally spit my mouthguard out in the middle of the night, I wake up and my first irrational thought is:

"Ohmygosh, I've swallowed it I'll DIE!!!!!!!"

The truth is that there is no way to accidentally swallow that thing. But I can't think rationally that early.

So I immediately fling myself into the floor and feel under the bed and rip off all the sheets until I find the mouthguard. Always. I'm always in full frenzy-mode.

This is what happened to me a few mornings ago: I woke up and the mouthguard was gone. So, as per usual, I rolled into the floor and started feeling around all frantic-crazy trying to find it, while also trying to remember how to give myself the heimlich maneuver in case it didn't turn up.

And then a rare and rational thought occurred to me ...

... most likely, I just spit the dern thing out while sleeping.

Most likely ... my dog then sniffed it out.

I sighed. "Biscuit."

Biscuit was asleep on my bed. She did not look at me when I said her name. She kept her eyes shut. But she totally started wagging her tail as though I'd just given her a treat. Biscuit's poker face always goes awry due to her wagging tail.

"Biscuit," I said again. "Did you chew up my mouthguard again?"

Biscuit rolled over on her back and pressed her paws up in the air like she could not be bothered with such trivialities so early.

Biscuit has a morning routine she likes to stick to: namely, I scratch her tummy and tell her how cute she is and she rolls around and stretches and that's how she starts her day. As I've said, Biscuit is mostly the Queen of the World. HRH Biscuit; Duchess of the Duck Pond, etc. (And please, I do not spoil my dog ; )

So I scratched her tummy while I glanced around the edge of the bed, where she sleeps, and I sang a very catchy song called, "If I were a mouthguard, where would I be?"

And it must have been the song that cued Biscuit in to the quest at hand.

Suddenly, Biscuit opened her eyes. She jumped straight into a sitting position. And we stared at each other; like gunslingers about to have us a showdown.

And then Biscuit jumped in the floor and started sniffing and I flung myself into the floor again and continued searching.

At one point, Biscuit got bored searching and watched from the edge of the bed like, "You find it. Then I'll snatch it from you."

Eventually, the mouthguard did turn up. And it had not been chewed on by a dog, thank goodness. And when I put my mouthguard in that night and said, "I am awe-thum!"

Biscuit blinked at me like, "For now."

Win some lose some.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

This morning, I woke up and Biscuit's face was an inch from my face again. And she was staring at my mouth again, like, "You spit it out one more time ... and it's mine."

She keeps me on my toes.

* Did you know that Captain Hook went to Eton before he turned to piracy? I discovered that in J.V. Hart's Captain Hook: The Adventuroes of a Notorious Youth. Which is a super fun read if you're feeling villanous ;) (I think the first paragraph of that novel is particularly creepy-cool.)

three songs. plus one.

2011-08-26T11:30:00.002-04:00

Listening To: Charlie Darwin by The Low Anthem

Reading: Today's blog post from Jenny B. Jones which is inspiring and funny and smart. A must read, as the cool kids say.

Line Obsession: "Magda looks at me as if I've gone mad. Or I've grown up. It's kind of the same thing." (from The Near Witch by Victoria Schwab)

(Image Here on WeHeartIt)

There are three songs I'm obsessed with today.

There are lots more than three. But three is a good stopping point. Three is odd and small, and yet, three has managed to find a special niche amongst list-making types. Three brings the quirk. Three brings the funk. Three might be odd. But three knows how to shake a tail feather.

... Where the french toast was I going with this?

Songs!

Once I start liking a song, I can't let it go. I wear it out, listen to it over and over and over. I have an iTunes mix that has the same song on it at least 10 times. (For the sake of trivia, it isn't actually a song so much as an arrangement: "Ice Dance" from the musical adaptation of Edward Scissorhands. Which was only a West End thing, yes? You lucky, lucky Londoners.)

I don't tire of music very easily. Don't get me wrong, I most definitely have moments like this:

(In case you haven't seen the episode: the song "500 Miles" was stuck in Marshall's tape player for years, including the duration of a college road trip with Ted.)

I do sometimes get sick of songs.

However. When I find a song that I really, truly fall in love with, or when I rediscover a song after we've had some time apart (to rethink our priorities ... to see other people), I tend to keep it close to me for as long as I can.

Today's rotation:

The Weight of Lies by The Avett Brothers. There is so much I want to write about this song and why I love it. And what it inspired. It inspired something that is so near and dear to me right now. Like, an entire big-fat project that I love started because of this song. Because of the way they sing it. Because of the way their voices tangle with the words and the way the guitar and banjo blend together so strange and so fine. Because of the crickets singing in the background. Because this song is so summer: the summer you dream of running away. The summer you dream of finding your way back home again.

"The weight of lies will bring you down

And follow you to every town

Cause nothing happens here

That doesn't happen there.

So when you run make sure you run

to something and not away from

cause lies don't need an airplane to chase you anywhere."

Stones Under Rushing Water by Needtobreathe

I don't throw down statements like this too frequent-like, but here goes: these are some of the most beautiful lyrics I've heard in a ve-reh, ve-reh long time. And maybe I wouldn't be shivering over them so much if it weren't for the vocals. Or if the music wasn't arranged just so. Maybe what I love is the way he screams the lyrics; like he feels it and means it and knows it. Like he's in love and obsessed and the future and the present are crashing together into this one perfect song. And he's going to say it, dang it. He's going to stop thinking it and just say it, or scream it or, thank goodness, sing it. The harmony-part is heartbreaking. (Also, if I might be so girly, those Needtobreathe boys are just as adorable as they can possibly be, aren't they?)

England by The National

It's a storm. Something about the music and the lyrics remind me of a rainstorm; so strange and sad and pretty. And then the drumbeat pounds out like a heartbeat. And then, AND THEN!, Mumford & Sons covered the song on VH1 Unplugged, which I watched at The Rogue Accountant's apartment. While I dog-sat his fuzzy companion. And ate all of his strawberry popsicles.

Mumford & Sons have a very different vocal style. And the music isn't very similar (or maybe it is, but it doesn't sound that way to me) and it was still stunning. I love it when a song holds its shape against different music. When the song stays the same but it takes on a whole new meaning.

You must be somewhere in London

You must be loving your life in the rain ...

Tangent: I am absolutely 100% not made of steeze ... but I sometimes like to read about designers and look at pics of new lines and what not. And I'm so squealy over Elie Saab's runway shows. I definitely gawk over his work if I see it in a magazine, but I'm most smitten with the runway. His dresses are starry-looking. Very storybook. Listening to The National's "England" while watching this ... feels like a grown-up fairy-tale.

And those are my 3 songs for today.

Maybe. Or maybe not.

Okay ... I know I said three ... but I'm going to do one more.

Like most wonderful songs I cling to, I discovered this one via The Rogue Accountant. I hadn't heard it until we went to Oregon and Washington. And, as it happens, I heard "Charlie Darwin" for the first time when we were driving down the coast. So now, every time I hear it (which is A LOT), I think about sunsets and silver oceans. I think about walking on the edge of something wild and beautiful.

I've read some commentary on these lyrics, which I don't usually do. Just as I'd hoped, there's a heap of discussion about what they mean. Some people think there's an overt message against faith. And some people think the lyrics have to do with sincere faith vs. the kind of "religion" that sucks the beauty out of everything. Again, that doesn't matter so much to me. I don't know what the songwriters intended but, if songs are like stories, I don't think the experience the writer brings to it matters when it comes to how we apply it to our particular story and circumstance. So. This is what I like about the song:

I like the song because I think it speaks to a desire to pull away from all the fake and all the consumerism and all the "decay" in the world and intentionally seek out a better way to love people and listen to them and to try and understand them. There's got to be more than this. There's got to be a better way than this. It speaks to the moment we become intentional about seeking out something bigger and more mysterious. Something authentic.

I like the song because it speaks to dreamers. "Cast your reckless dreaming on our Mayflower." The world can be such a lonesome place for people who are brave enough to wear their hearts on their sleeves. But do press on, you reckless dreamers. The world is a more beautiful place because you're in it.

I like this song because, for me, it's asking: is it safe to wonder? Or, more accurately, am I safe to wonder? Has faith become such a list of rules, such a strict mandate of do's and do not's, that I've forgotten all about the love part? Which is, in fact, the only part that matters? This song reminds me to be daring enough to live in the tension, and the mystery, of what I can't understand. It reminds me that God isn't angry when I ask questions. That He doesn't leave me when I doubt. I question quite often, and not calmly. When I can't see what's ahead of me. When I feel like I'm going under. "If we are faithless, he remains faithful." (2 Timothy 2:13)

I think about stuff like that when I hear the song.

Mostly though, it just reminds me of this summer at ocean and the questions I carried there. I don't know if it was the music or the water that almost made me cry, but something sure did. I'll never forget it. I love hiding my memories in songs.

This is Charlie Darwin by The Low Anthem:

Care to share a song link in the comments? I'd love to know what you're listening to! Happy weekending to you :)