Homemaking

This past weekend was nice. Who doesn't like a three day weekend? On Saturday, we went to Bloomington's Fourth Street Festival and then to the Garlic Fest. Doug's oldest son and wife and their two year old, Lilly, met us there. Lilly is so cute, she calls Doug "baaapa." Anytime he steps away, she is searching for him "where baaapa go?" So cute. We were also joined by my friend Karen who is doing Sober September with me. Guess what? We had a lot of fun being sober! This pic of me was in the paper on Sunday following our attendance on Saturday. I joked that they "got my best side." 

 

Sunday, Doug returned to work and I did what I love to do - putzing and piddling around the house. I started the day with tea from my new mug I purchased at the festival. Isn't it cool without a handle and just an indentation for the thumb? It will be a nice hand-warmer as the temps come down this fall and winter. 

Although general cleaning is kind of boring, it seems even though there are only two of us, it is often a necessary evil. With a Corgi, I mean EVIL. Corgis are shed machines. Corgi owners joke there are two seasons for shedding - January to June and July to December. With my resident Taurus, this shine won't last long.

During the summer, I take most all of my houseplants outdoors. We live in the country, so by the end of summer, they are full of dead leaves and spider webs. When it gets close to time for frost, I want to be ready. A gal I work with gave me a ton of hens and chicks, so I planted some of those. I re-potted a small cactus, I'm curious to see if it will get taller and or wider in the new pot.

I stole, I mean helped myself to a start from a plant in my building's lobby - the one with the red stem. I do not know what it is, but I like it. (Can anyone tell me what it is?) When I broke the piece off, it was very sticky and oozing. It took forever to root. So I potted it and put some chicks around the edge of the pot. We'll see how it does. I re-potted the Christmas cactus my sister gave to me last year. We keep our house so cool in winter (the better to huddle by the fireplace, my dear), and I may need to take it to work to get it to bloom. I have a lovely big window near my desk. Last year the cactus had small pink buds all over it, but it never bloomed and then the buds fell off. I will have to take the tropical fern back to work as our house is anything but tropical!

What is your favorite season? Mine is FALL! I have the fever so bad! I got out my fall table runner and napkins and put a fall towel on the stove. I go crazy sticking pumpkins and gourds all over. For now this is it. Oh, and a few fall candles. The little one is pumpkin chai. So yummy.
This was my adventure in homemaking. I love to make a house a home. I don't get to do so as much as I would like as I work full time. Work is such a bother, getting in the way of what I really want to do! On Sunday I sewed. Christmas will be here before we know it and I have lots of handmade items on my list. How was your weekend?

Sober September

  

Last night of this for a bit.

It was casually mentioned to me recently. My gal friend and I had met for dinner before heading to a movie. She said "I'm thinking of giving up drinking for a month." I said "Ugh, I don't know that I want to." She replied "I know." And, that was that.

Then I started thinking. I have bounced the same four pounds back and forth all summer long, never getting below a certain set point. Often times I was guilty of drinking too much. My people have always had an affinity for the drink. My sister doesn't drink and interestingly enough, my mother, who may have consumed 4-5 drinks in her life,  died of NASH. I'm often tired and suffer from brain fog. I wonder about the relationship between those factors and alcohol? Suffering since age ten from migraines, having even one drink will often lead to a horrible headache. Even if I only have one drink, I don't sleep as well as I do when I don't consume alcohol. Reading what I've written, I know there are those who would think well, why would you drink at all? Because it has always been so fun, you know? 

When my daughter was young, we had a practice of "doing the day." This meant we would drive to Indianapolis for a day of shopping and lunch or dinner. My daughter must have been twelve or fourteen years old when she said to me "you know what I hate? That moment when you order a second drink." I didn't ask her why she hated it, but now I wonder if she just didn't want to sit there with her mom when she drank or if she didn't like how I acted after that second drink. (Or, both?) At any rate, not good. Not a good mom move. I made my children uncomfortable at times because of my drinking. Come to think of it, I'm certain I have made others uncomfortable because of my drinking.

I think it must go back to the practice of popping a champagne cork - of the celebratory act of drinking. It is so fun. And if it is *SO* fun, let's just have more fun. Ugh.

I am an all-out all or nothing gal. For me, for now, it is nothing. Good riddance.

I write for my own purpose, but I also write to help others. If you believe you may be like me, and drinking just a bit too much, perhaps you should consider taking a break. I've enlisted two friends to teetotal with me. A journey is always easier with friends along for the ride.

Thank you to those of you who have continued to write to me despite the fact that I haven't posted since January. Lots of love to you!

Me & Cheryl Strayed

Mammoth Cave National Park, 2011

 I hike. I'm a hiker. I have gone through a lot of pairs of hiking shoes and boots. And, socks. I once became friends with someone on the trail when she gave me her dry (dirty) socks to put on my feet because my socks were soaking wet.
My love of hiking was instilled in me by my mother. Our family vacations were spent tent camping. Mother would take off and the three of us kids were left to scramble and keep up with her. We followed like ducks in a row.
She was my Girl Scout leader. People thought because I had so many badges that she was easy on me but in truth, she was harder on me than any of the other girls. I really had to prove myself.  The sleeping bag I remember from my Girl Scout days was brown and had mallard ducks printed on the flannel lining. These were the kind of bags you would put in the washing machine. Mother would hang them out on the line to dry and I remember how the bag felt and smelled - the flannel kind of rough - not soft like it is, now. When we tent camped, everything smelled delicious of sunshine and grass and dirt and Off! bug spray.

Pink Dust in the Grand Canyon, 2008

 I haven't hiked the Pacific Coast Trail, but I've hiked a lot of other places.

Grand Canyon, 2008

Rocky Mountain National Park, 2005

The scene where Witherspoon is climbing the huge rocks and working to get her pack through, I leaned to Doug and said "that looks like the boulder field." The boulder field is on Long's Peak - a huge expanse of boulders that you have to maneuver your way over, around and through.

Random Internet pic of the keyhole/bounder field on Long's Peak

 Long's Peak is a fourteener - but I called it quits in the keyhole. The keyhole is at 13,000 feet, which was quite an accomplishment for me. You can see just past us in the photo, how it looks as if you are entering Mordor.


Me and Doug sitting in the keyhole on Long's Peak, 2005

 You find out a lot about yourself when you push yourself to the limit. I've always been at my happiest times when I'm out there in nature, dirty, grimy, struggling to climb a mountain or to paddle a canoe into the wind or to slither through a hole in a cave. It is during those times that I've been more than me - that I am me, but that small self who is just a tiny element out there in nature. I've been happiest when the rain is falling on top of the tent or the waves are lapping at the shoreline and it is pitch black dark and all you can see are a million stars.

I read Cheryl Strayed's book when it came out in 2012. I knew I had some things in common with her as I read it. Other parts, not so much. I didn't know when I read it that I would lose my own mother two years later.
I gave her book to someone I thought was my friend at the time. I would later learn that person was never my friend when she abandoned me when I lost my mother. She accused me of being self-centered. I agreed that I was and told her that if she could experience a loss such as mine and not be self-centered, then she was a better woman than I.

I cried when I saw the previews for the movie, and knew it would be difficult to watch. One person who wanted to go with me to the movie was my friend, Julie. You know how when one person goes out of your life, another enters? When the person who was never my friend left my life, Julie walked in. She wanted to go see the movie with me and I would have clung to her and cried. My daughter knew I wanted to see it and we talked about going together. In the end, it was good that we didn't. I probably would have alarmed her with how much I cried and for how long. In the end, it was Doug who sat beside me. Doug being his rock self. He had seen it all before. He was here for the day in day out crying of the first three months following her death.

In the book and the movie,it is implied that Cheryl Strayed's mother came to her as a fox.

 My mother has come to me as a great blue heron. It sounds crazy, but there have been so many times in these past nine months since her death that a blue heron has appeared. My mother's dying wish was to live to see my daughter's child born. Mother died on March 5, 2014 and my second granddaughter was born on June 8, 2014. Almost two hours exactly after the baby was born, a great blue heron circled overhead. After three months, I had started to realize the appearance of the great blue herons. I looked up into the sky and said out loud I know you know, mother - I know you know Aly is here.
Someone who loves me very much was recently asking me questions about the grief I've experienced since mother's passing. I don't know that I have many answers. One thing I've experienced is the feeling of being untethered. In the womb, you are tethered to your mother by the umbilical cord. And despite the fact that the cord is severed phycially at birth, I don't feel that cord is truly ever cut. Now that my mother is physically gone from this earth, I have been questioning my identity - who am I now that my mother is no longer physically present in my life? My dad asked me if I was making too much of it. I said what if I am if it is a comfort to me? I was discussing the appearance of the herons with my massage therapist and she asked me if I had looked up the meaning of the heron and I told her I had not. She answered "well, everything has meaning," and she loaned me a book on spirit animal meanings. It said that the heron was showing me how to look deeper into aspects of my life that will bring out innate wisdom and to teach me how to become more self-reliant - how to ground myself in the earth and my spiritual beliefs and how to become comfortable in uncertain situations and to be watchful. I found all of this to be incredibly interesting.

In my struggle, I've also done some stupid stuff. I didn't do heroin or have multiple partners stuff, but I've treated myself in a distructive manner at times. I've made some bad decisions and acted upon them. I've lost my self-control. I try to rise above at this point in my life - to take the high road and most certainly have not in a few situations since my mother's death. I have cried and wailed and have become angry and I've said things I shouldn't to people I shouldn't have. And throughout, my mantra has been forgiveness and peace. Forgiving myself first. Forgiving others and striving for peace. That is all I can do.

So much of the movie is so raw and real as to death and the way you miss someone. So many things ripped the band aid off for me again. You see things and they remind you. It comes slamming back. And you can hear the hospital sounds and smell the awful antiseptic, sickening smell of illness and death. The little green mouthwash sponge thing on the stick. Toward the end of my mother's life, I was the one she would allow to swab her mouth for her.

In the movie, when Witherspoon falls to her knees in anguish in the middle of the trail - that was me this past summer, gardening with all I had in me - sobbing, tears falling, clawing at the earth, ripping weeds, one moment angry and strong and the next leaning forward on my hands and knees, falling forward, watering the earth with my tears. Doug saw all of that. It would break his heart and I would wave him away.

 My healing from the loss of my mother isn't yet complete. Some people tell me it will never be. Some tell me the second year is even more difficult than the first. I do know that the most growth comes from the most difficult times.


Last photo of mother and me

I hiked this past summer on mother's birthday, July 12. It was a beautiful day and I hiked at one of her favorite spots at one of her favorite parks. I felt her presence with me.
I'm thankful for the raw story of Cheryl Strayed's Wild and the movie. Now I want to go back and read the book again. I know there are those who think I'm too open at times. This is the life of a writer. Tonight, we got into the car and Doug spoke. I said I don't want to talk.
All I wanted to do was run home to the keyboard and write.
Cheryl K. Bennett

No net

Today is a day I would call my mother if I could. This is the hardest part - not being able to pick up the phone and hear her voice.

For a lot of my life, my mother's mother was my safety net. She was the person I would call. I once dated a guy who was annoyed by my calls to my grandma. I knew that relationship wouldn't last long - and it didn't.

I called both my mother and grandma for advice. Sometimes I took it, sometimes I made my own decisions. But they were there for me to talk to.

After my divorce, I grew very close to my grandma. Grandpa had passed away and grandma said "we'll do this together." If I was lonely or sad or just needed to talk or to know she was there, I would call. I spoke with her several times a week.

After grandma died in December of 2006, I dreamt she called me - from heaven. (I don't recall if I've written about this before.)
Doug and I were at a party.
The butler came to me and said "madam, you have a telephone call."
Doug and I exchanged looks. Who could be calling me - at a location which was unknown to all? Why wouldn't anyone who knew me just call my cell?
The butler asked me to follow.
He led me to a dimly lit hall. To a table with one slender lamp which was lit. A drink - somewhat martini-ish looking, which had a green glow to it sat on the table. Somehow, I knew the drink was for me. A phone with many buttons sat on the table - one button lit with a green light flashed.
The butler said "push the button and you will be connected."
When I pushed the button I heard grandma's voice.
"Cheryl Kay?" (Grandma always called everyone she loved by their first and middle name.)
I was incredulous.  "Grandma???"
She laughed. "Yes, honey, it is me. I'm callin' you from heaven!"
I was blown away.
"Heaven? How is it?"
"oh, honey, it is about as wonderful as you can imagine. I don't even have the words to describe how wonderful it is here."
We chatted about this and that.
Then she asked "would you like to speak to grandpa?"
Grandpa? Would I!
Grandma said "he is right here, I'll put him on."
Then it was as if someone put the phone on a counter and I could hear sounds - something like what you would hear in a hospital or a nursing home. I stood with the phone to my ear and listened carefully.
Grandpa never picked up. I stood and listened for quite some time, reluctant to hang-up the phone and break the connection.
When I returned to Doug, he found my story hard to believe. I said "who knows I am here?"
We couldn't think of anyone. I shrugged and gave him a look.

When I woke from that dream, I felt so happy. I felt happy all day long, walking around with a big smile on my face.

Today, I have felt tired and sad. Today is a day I would call mother just to hear her voice. Just to hear the voice of someone I love and someone who loves me. Just to have that safety net.

Blue on blue

Spring has sprung so I was off to the salon for my Spring Pedi. The polish I chose was Finger Paints - Tiffany Impostor. In my case it was Toe Paints.

For most of the day, I had a great day today. I emailed a friend to tell her I felt as if I was coming out of a fog.

Then, driving home from my pedi, a melancholy mood settled over me. Once again I felt tearful. Last week was a rough week. I shed a lot of tears last week. Each time I feel I have cried enough, I find myself crying again. There are so many things that prick my heart and the tears well up in my mind. Easter was the first holiday since losing mother. On Easter Sunday I drove the two hours to my hometown. I met my dad at church. He still attends the church I grew up in - where I married my children's father, where my children were dedicated, where I took my children to church. Normally, when I walk into the sanctuary, the multitude of memories cause me to be overcome with emotion.  A while back the powers that be decided to remodel the sanctuary. Gone are the cobalt blue stained glass windows (there are no windows), and the pews have been replaced with chairs. The carpet is new, the walls were a putty brown with baby poop brown contrast. It is now more of a multi-purpose room. Therefore, no memories, no emotion. Part of me was relieved. I sat with my dad during the service.

After church, we went out to eat. Then we took my mother's black mustang convertible out for a spin. (A family member will soon inherit mother's car.) The day was beautiful, full of sunshine and warmth, the temperature hovering around 75 degrees. We drove through one of the most beautiful areas in Henry County - Blue River Valley. We drove out in the country and looked at the Big Blue River. After that, we drove east on state road 36 to Summit Lake State Park. State Road 36 took us to the homes of both of my grandparents. We drove out that road for visits with them nearly every Saturday when I was a girl.

Summit Lake State Park is a park where I would go to contemplate life, to camp with my son, a place where I spent a lot of wonderful, special times. Driving around the park made my heart ache.
After mother was unable to hike about, dad used to take mother to the park for rides and to see wildlife. He pointed out to me places where they saw deer and a skunk. When we got out of the car to take a short hike, dad pointed out where he pushed mother in her wheelchair on a trail. For both dad and I, this park was a special place.

When it was time to head back to my house, dad told me my visit meant more to him than I would ever know. He said "we made a memory today - someday we will look back on this and remember when we took mother's car out for a drive." Then he told me that ride may have been the last time he would drive mother's car.

Through losing mother, I have changed. I look at myself in the mirror and the eyes that look back are vacant. I look tired. I am tired.
In these few weeks which have seemed like an eternity to me, I have changed. I am trying to take it slower. I am trying to forgive myself. I am trying to look past ignorance and people who are self-absorbed. In the past, if someone did something bad, I would think jerk! Now, I feel sorry for them.

While trying to navigate life following this profound loss, I have also been struggling with feelings concerning another situation which hurt me greatly. The line between hurt and anger blurred. Where, when and how does that happen? Sometimes I feel that when I am hurt I are being a vulnerable and then when the anger takes over I feel stronger. I used to carry a card in my wallet that read: Refusing to forgive keeps you in the role of the victim. When I don't forgive, I am giving the one who caused the pain power over me. By forgiving them, I am in control of myself and my own happiness. I always try to look at experiences and see what I can learn from it. I try to be the bigger person. I also try to realize where the other person is coming from. I try to think about what is going on in their life and what are they reacting to? I often say "they will get theirs." I have seen this happen over and over. What you give out comes back to you. Holding on to hurt accomplishes nothing. Today, I let it go. In my heart, I forgave, and it felt wonderful. I felt the weight lift from me. I have enough pain to process due to mother's death without allowing other circumstances to cause more pain.

What are you carrying around inside of you? Who do you need to forgive?

A day

One month ago today, March 5th at 9:10 a.m., my life forever changed as a part of me departed this world. It changed me. How could it not?

Despite knowing my mother's health was declining, despite watching her struggle to breathe, despite sitting with her in hospice, clutching her hand in mine, it was a shock. A numbing shock. I still cannot believe she is gone.

My mother is dead, my mother is dead, my mother is dead. I never verbalized these words, but they rolled around inside my head making a horrible racket like marbles in a bucket, making me want to scream. 

I am more contemplative, more serious, more quiet, more tired. Exhausted. Even now, writing these words, a wave of nausea flows through me.

She hadn't yet passed the first time I thought of calling her. We took Little Bee swimming and she swam for two and a half hours. Natalie and I were walking down the hall, hand in hand, when I thought I need to call Mother and tell her about Natalie swimming. Then it occurred to me- I will never call her again. I have thought about calling her to tell her what is going on several times since.  We've had torrential rains this past week and flooding. Mother always watched the weather here and would call me to make sure I was o.k.

Last night a friend came from out of town and was my overnight guest. We ate out last night, we came home, changed into comfy clothes, I made a fire and we talked.

This morning, hair disheveled and eyeliner smudged, we sat, wearing pajamas, drinking coffee and talking.  I laughed. I yelled. I carried on.

We talked and talked and talked. She listened as I went back to the subject repeatedly - "mother this, mother that, since we've lost mother..."

We ate good food-delicious food and consumed some excellent beers.

Today, we drove from Bloomington to Nashville, Indiana and walked a bit. Then we drove the back roads and hills and through mud, with the windows down and sunroof open. We were silent. We breathed in the smells of spring, of earth bursting forth with fronds and green and sprouting and growth. We got a little lost and found our way again.

And I felt more like me than I have in months.

Today was a day. It was a good day.

Thar he blows

Old man winter is bearing down on something terrible in the Hoosier state tonight.  I was out earlier and it was sleeting/snowing and blowing hard. It is blowing so hard that the blinds over our sliding glass door to the patio are rattling with each burst. I saw on the weather on my phone we may have blasts up to 55 mph.  So far our electricity is holding on.  We do have the fireplace if we need it.  If Doug was home a fire would probably be roaring, but I am home alone tonight.
The wind is blowing like a chorus of muttering old men, low whispering voices sing their song.  I like it. I took Chelsea out to potty earlier and the wind gave us a hug and swooped down and whispered in my ear.
I went out and ran around and did my crazy pre-Christmas shopping thing.  Do you do this?  I think I need to buy more, but I can't exactly say for whom and I go to this store and that just looking. I bought one more gift for the Bee tonight.  Lawsy, she has plenty of gifts from this Grandma, that is for sure.
I work tomorrow and our office party is tomorrow night and then on Saturday morning I will head out bright and early.
First I will drive to Durham, NC to see my son and his girlfriend and her family and my dear friend since high school - Laura P. Then on the 26th I will drive on up to Baltimore to see the Bee and her Mama/Mommy.  I will stay with them until Sunday and then head home.  A lot of driving, but I'm o.k. with it.  I'm going alone because we couldn't find anyone to babysit this farm and the two cats, Corgi and 23 chickens.
I'm about ready to kiss this old year good riddance - are you? It has been a tough year on one hand and on another hand the blessings have been bountiful.  I am sad to see the year of Paris end. (And be on the last page of my Paris calendar.)
2013 will be a better year, I'm sure of it.  Lucky 2013.
I'm hauling my laptop along, so who knows?  Maybe you'll hear from me while I'm on the road. Stay warm, stay dry and count your blessings.  Take a tip from the wind and hug your loved ones a little tighter. xo

500

Post number 500.  Not that many, really when you consider I've been on here since 2008.  I was on another site for a couple of years before that.
I enjoy blogging because it fulfills my need to write and publish.  I enjoy shooting and using my own photos.  I enjoy the interaction that results from blogging.  I get a real sense of accomplishment from blogging.
I'm always writing blog posts - in my mind.  Do you do that?  I shoot a bunch of photos and have it all planned but life gets in the way sometimes and it doesn't get written.
I tend to be Mary Sunshine.  My creativity shuts down when times get tough.  I have shared some tough times with you along the way.  I've shared some real times with you, too.
The blogging community is interesting.  There are some blogs I have read and enjoyed and commented on and no matter how many time I've commented, I've never heard from the blogger.  And there are other bloggers who respond right away when you comment. And there are people who always, always comment on my blog.  Thank you - feedback is wonderful, isn't it?  I think so. 
When I'm blogging, life is just about right.  I'm rested, (usually) and have enough time to blog and something to share.  I love to blog and read and comment on other blogs. Other times I barely have enough time to throw a blog out there.
Because of working full time, the hours are limited and it seems everything needs me...the animals, the house, the laundry...ugh. 
Usually, when I write, it flows.  I have something to say and I say it. The beauty of it is, if you don't like it or disagree, don't read it.  This is the record of my life.  I like to think about how blogging is changing history.  How after we are gone, other will be able to read our words.  I like to think the Bee will read this blog some day.  Maybe she won't.  In some small way, I like to think I'm leaving my mark on the world or helping someone out, out there. 
Happy 500th post to me.  Here's to many more!

Birthday: Saturday, 10/20

My last post was about girl's night out - the night before my birthday - on Friday night.

My actual birthday was Saturday the 20th.

My day began with a hair appointment at 8:00 a.m.  I arrived before anyone was at the shop. 

do salon

Following my hair appointment, I met Doug for brunch at Michael's Uptown Cafe.

For information regarding the tree sweaters on the square, read here 

 

 and here.

 Why I love a birthday in October:

 Another reason I love an October birthday:

After brunch Doug and I went to the Farmer's Market where Doug bought a ginormous mum for me.  Isn't it beautiful? I always have a big pumpkin (he brought one home to me last week) and a big mum at the end of the drive.

After Farmer's Market we went home and got ready to go to my friend's son's wedding in Indianapolis.  It was in an old historic downtown Indianapolis church.  The reception was at the Ritz-Charles in Carmel.  The wedding and reception was a great place to spend my birthday.  My friend has always been there for me and my family and it was our pleasure and privilege to be there at her son's wedding.  We ate, we talked, we raised money for Lou Gehrig's disease, we drank, we danced.

Donna and me

Donna and I were born the same year, three days apart.  Her birthday was October 17.  She will forever be my "older" friend.  We've been friends for twenty-three years. 
All in all, I had a truly wonderful birthday.  (Anyone notice anything different from my previous post?)

How do you wrap Paris?

The weekend before Christmas I went out to MD to be with my girls.  My daughter and her wife are both successful women.  I was concerned about what to get them for Christmas.  When my daughter said "just get us restaurant gift cards"  I bought them both cards for about every one of their favorite restaurants.  Doug was asking what I got them for Christmas before I left.  When I started telling him he said "I think you got them a lot!"  I said "well, who knows what they are getting me!"  My daughter is extremely kind and generous and around November I made a point of calling her just to tell her how proud I am because of this. 

We sat down to open gifts and my daughter sat this shopping bag down in front of me.

I said "I'm afraid you got me more than I got you."

She smiled and said quietly "that is possible." 

Then she pointed out that the shopping bag had European flair and showed me the guy on the bag that was wearing the I heart Paris t-shirt.

She said "I know you studied French and have always wanted to go to Paris."

I nodded.

She said "we are doing a theme this year."

Again, I nodded.

A theme. 

That's cool.

We've done themes before.

I'm on board.

 There were stickers.

 And sticky notes.

 File folders.

A Parisian calendar.
Cool.

Little notebooks.
I always carry a little notebook in my purse.  I'm always jotting down ideas that I don't want to forget.

Parisian art papers.
Originally, my daughter thought she would wrap my gifts in these papers.  These papers are large and heavy duty like wallpaper.  Then she thought I might want to use them with my art.  (I hope to frame one of them and possibly use some of them to decoupage a table top.)  In the end, she decided not to use them as gift wrap, but to include them as part of the gift.

Bath & Body lotion.
I like the way it smells!

 Ooooh la, la!  Paris panties!
 (Front)

 (& back)

 Two books.
At one point I started to reach to the bottom of the bag and my daughter said "there is an order to this."  She had a layer of tissue paper and then more gifts below the tissue.  She told me the tissue was a false bottom to the bag.  I nodded.
An order.
O.k.
No problem.

In the bottom of the bag- a s'mores ornament. 
I have always been the queen of s'mores and I love these little s'more ornaments. 
Isn't he cute?  Cute little frenchie s'more guy.

Then these two books. 
She said "I thought you might want to brush up on your French." 
I nodded again.  Sure. I studied four years in high school and at Ball State University. 
I joke:  "J'obliez tout le monde."  Roughly translated "I forget the world."  As in, I forget it all.  Meaning I don't remember a lot of my french. (Or as much as I wish I did.) I LOVE the French language.  The language of love.  Oh swoon.  You can say trash can in french and it sound romantic and sexy.
See that piece of paper stuck in the front of the Frommer's Paris 2012?
This whole time, I'm not getting it. 
Oh, I get that we are doing a theme Christmas.
And the theme is Paris.
I did study French for five years.
It has always been a dream to go to Paris.  I do love all things French. 
So, I say "hey, you left a piece of paper in the front of this book."
She nods "uh-huh, look at it."
Me:  "Is it your Amazon receipt?"
My daughter:  "Look at it."

I open the piece of paper.  I say to her "it looks like you've bought a ticket."
My daughter says "Look at it. Read it."
I start reading it.  My name is on it.  I see the words Dulles and Charles De Gaulle.  Suddenly I start to get it.  I start to cry.  I can't talk.  I'm blubbering.  The kind where snot starts coming from your nose and the tears are coming so fast you can't see.  I'm holding the piece of paper in my hands.  My daughter and her wife are sitting there looking at me.  My daughter-in-law holds baby Bee on her lap.  In the worst kind of sobby, snotty I'm crying and can't talk voice I say
"Are you taking me to Paris?"
My daughter is so happy.
She motions to her wife and the baby.
She says "we all are!  We are all taking you and we are all going!" 
At this point everyone is wiping tears.
My daughter-in-law turns to my daughter and smiles and says "I think that went pretty well." 
My daughter told me that she wanted to make this dream come true for me.
I said "thank you."
But how insufficient is thank you when someone is making a life-long dream come true?
Baby Bee will be fourteen months old when we go.  I'm certain she will simply charm everyone we meet in Paris.  Maybe by then I can teach her how to say "Bonjour!"

For two days, I couldn't tell the story without tearing up.  It seems like a dream.  I've applied for my passport. 
I'm going to Paris!

My Christmas donation

Every year I choose an organization to give a Christmas donation to.  Sometimes I do it in honor of someone in my life.  It is a great gift.  They are always tickled when I tell them what I've done.  This year I think I'm going to give my donation in honor of my boss.  He is a kind person.  Whenever I meet with him, I walk away with a smile.  Isn't it wonderful to have a boss that leaves you with a big old smile on your face?  I think so. 

This year my donation is going to raise money to build a well.  Do you read Flower Patch Farmgirl?  If you don't you should.  You will be blessed beyond belief.  Shannan is a beautiful woman who just lays her soul wide open and invites us all in.  She is a wife and a mama to a passel of beautiful children.  (Sorry, Shannan, I only had two so more than two is a passel to me.)  She writes of real life adventures like little boys that rearrange their bedroom when they are supposed to be taking a nap.  She shares delicious salad recipes.  Which I make and even take photos of and then fail to blog about.  She tells us when she cries.  (Yes, Shannan,  I cry  too.)  She shares her faith.  She is a teacher.  She wrote 31 days of letting go and if you weren't along for the ride you should go back and read it all.  I learned so much.  Shannan makes me miss my faith sometimes.  And then I think to myself  oh hello, you were there all the while.

My faith is very personal and it is deep inside of me just like a tree planted by the water.

So hop on over to Shannan's wonderful blog, visit with her and make a Christmas donation.  You'll be glad you did.

Love from a fellow Hoosier (At Heart)

Recently I posted some photos of some cards that I made.  Holly, over at Hoosier at Heart, and I have been friends for some time, now, but she didn't realize I enjoyed creating works of art.  She wrote me back that day and said "I'm going to send you some things..."

I arrived home from work one afternoon to find this box on my kitchen table...how fun!  How exciting!  How nice!

Holly, how did you know that I LOVE candles...(pumpkin cream pie)...I LOVE pumpkin...LOVE candy corn...I was so touched...and then I noticed something that brought a tear to my eye...Holly's handwriting looks exactly like my Grandma's handwriting...(Grandma passed away in December of '06.)...

She also sent sleeves...I can ALWAYS use sleeves...(to put finished cards into...when you do a show, your cards are handled a LOT)...

Holly sent these little treat bags...would be good for trick-or-treat or any gift style...can't wait to dress up these babies...

light weight  card stock forms...again...fun to paint, embellish...snazzle...(yes, snazzle is a word)...

This little jar with lots of brads...Holly, how did you know?  I was running low on brads...(hey, did you decorate this jar?)... NICE...red is my fav...

If you can't read what Holly wrote on this gallon size baggie...it says "misc. doohickeys, what nots & thing a ma bobs." Yup...Holly is a Hoosier...sounds like words I've heard from my mama's mouth my whole life long...(note to self to write a post on "Hoosierisms")...

LOOK, Look, look!  This is what was in that gallon size baggie...oooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhh...*squealing*...

This is where Milo wanted to investigate and get in on the action...(for those of you who are local peeps in my life and may see my cat on my table...please note:  Milo is *never* on the table)...*snorts*...*rolls eyes*...yeah, right.  (Sometimes I make terrible jokes that Milo is going to die on the kitchen table...he is thirteen years old)...

And...a treat...a copy of Cardmaker's Idea Book...wow.  What a treat!

And...a birthday card...

Oh, my.  Holly, thank you sooooooooooooooo much!

Holly's blog is called "Hoosier at Heart" because she was born and raised in Indiana, but life has transplanted her to Arizona.  She is forever asking me about the weather...we email back and forth.  She is a Hoosier girlfriend, for sure.  Her gift will go on and on as I enjoy and play and create.

And...that is why they call it Hoosier Hospitality, folks.