Weekend in Pictures

Waiting for the flight out of Germnay

Gorgeous view of Charlotte, North Carolina

I've taken over this spot on my grandmother's porch

SHOCK TOP!  I have missed you so.

Eating lunch on the river in North Myrtle Beach, SC

Jennifer, myself, and Bethmom [aka, the grandmother]

Minnesota is home, but I always feel as though I belong on the beach

Excuse a lack of posts these next couple weeks.  I am on vacation after all.  I promise to catch up on my blog reads and postings after I get home to Germany!

Friday's Letters

My friend had a baby!  This is Alexandra Clarice, and she's absolutely adorable.

Dear Friday.  You're here.  I'm still in Germany.  This was not the plan, but I'm trying very hard not to freak out on everyone.  I can go with the flow...maybe.  I'll try to, anyway.  Dear Military Passenger Terminal.  You kind of lied to me.  I get military flights are always a little up in the air, but changing from a total of 7 flights headed to the US to 2 is rude.  I never managed to make it out of the country yesterday because you started being so fickle.  Dear Husband.  Seriously, you're the best.  Thank you for buying me a ticket home and putting up with my slight hysteria yesterday.  I adore how family is more important to you than anything else in the world, and that you were willing to do anything and everything in order to let me see mine.  I love you so much.  Dear School Kids.  You are ridiculously annoying, rude, and incompetent.  Just stay out of my way and maybe I won't karate chop your ass.  Dear Humidity.  Holy crap, you are intense.  Dear Pups.  I'm going to miss you so much while I'm gone.  But, I'm not gonna lie...last night was the best night of sleep I've gotten in a while.  Dear Germany.  Thank you for such beautiful, warm weather this week.  I'm struggling a little with the difference in weather between here and the California coast that I'm used to, but I can still appreciate how wonderful it is!

Leaving On a Jet Plane

via this site

Woohoo!  I'm packed and loaded, so the next time you hear from me, I should [hopefully] be in the US.  Leaving within a couple hours to try and catch a military flight back home!  Keep your fingers crossed for me, por favor.

p.s.  I never look like the chick in the picture when traveling.  How do they do it?!?!

Guest Post from J

J has to write one of my favorite blogs to read.  She's open, honest, hilarious, and extremely supportive of her blogger friends.  Not to mention she is a hoot on Twitter.  And if I think she's awesome, it's the truth.  So you should think she's awesome, too.

Hey, y'all! I'm J, and I blog over at An UnstyledLife. I'm so excited to be a sponsor of English's blog!

Last week when I introduced English on my blog,
she did a quick little rundown about herself and her blog, and I loved it so
much, I figured I'd do the same! Here is my Top Ten Things About J list.

1) I married my husband, B, when I was 20 years
young. Yup, 20. We've been married for nearly 6 years now, and I've never
regretted marrying him so young. Sometimes you just know, ya know?

2) A little over two years ago, we welcomed our
sweet baby girl, M, into our lives. She has since grown into a *very* independent
toddler, with the attitude of a 15 year old, but she makes up for it in cuddles
and cuteness.

3) We live in a teeny town with a population
somewhere around 2,000, where everyone knows everyone else. And their business.

4) I work part time as a bail bondsman, and I
also own an event planning company.

5) We have a mini farm here at our house. We have
a hen and rooster, two ducks, a goose, two cats, two dogs, and a handful of
fish. We also have a horse, but she is boarded out a farm because we don't have
room for her here at our house.

6) I live in Texas, and believe 100% that it's
the greatest state ever. You'd have to pay me a great deal of money to move
away.

7) Even though I live in Texas, I'm a diehard
Alabama fan. Roll Tide, baby, Roll Tide.

8) I'm extremely proud of being from the South.
Our tea is sweet, our accents are funny, and everything is a bit slower paced.
It's more than a place, it's a way of life. Things are different down here, and
I wouldn't have it any other way.

9) I am completely obsessed with anything social
media. Twitter, facebook, pinterest, instagram, tumblr. If it's social media
related, I'm all over it.

10) I'm a bit of a perfectionist. OK, maybe more
than a bit. I like things perfect, and my OCD dedencies run crazy sometime, which
means I spend a lot of time making lists and obsessing over tiny details. It
drives my husband crazy.

So, there ya have it, ten very random facts about
me. My blog is pretty much a modge podge of completely random things. I blog
about my life, things that I love (read: pretty, shiny, sparkly things), and
anything that strikes my fancy. So come by, grab a glass of sweet tea, and stay
awhile. I'll be happy to have you!

Weekend in Pictures

Do you ever have those days where just about everything seems overwhelming and unnecessary?  Well, I do.  In particular, editing photos.  Therefore, not a single picture posted today has been touched up...and I do apologize for that.  But I'm just not in the mood to fight with Photoshop today...

Went to a vintage fair on Friday, and fell in love with these chairs!  They're so bright and pretty.

Seriously?  Love.  I wish I had the money for this thing...

Ended up buying three French dining rom chairs at the fair.  Two red, one cream.  They're gorgeous and smell like lavender. 

We've been plagued with lightning & thunder the past few days.  I wish I had a tripod to take better pics, but this will have to do.

New color love.   

Favorite shoes!

And I lied.  I did edit this one since my eyes were so freaking bloodshot from wearing make up for the first time in...who knows how long.  Favorite earrings and new favorite shirt.

Obviously I didn't do too much.  But what about you?  Any exciting weekend adventures?

Bookish Sundays

Title: Tuesdays with Morrie


Author: Mitch Albom

Synopsis [c/o Barnes & Noble]: Maybe it was a grandparent, or a teacher. Someone older who understood you when you were young and searching, who helped you see the world as a more profound place, and gave you advice to help you make your way through it. For Mitch Albom, that person was Morrie Schwartz, his college professor from nearly twenty years ago.

Maybe, like Mitch, you lost track of your mentor as you made your way, and the insights faded, and the world seemed colder. Wouldn't you like to see that person again, ask the bigger questions that still haunt you?

Mitch Albom had that second chance. He rediscovered Morrie in the last months of the older man's life. Knowing he was dying, Morrie visited with Mitch in his study every Tuesday, just as they used to back in college.

Tuesdays With Morrie is a magical chronicle of their time together, through which Mitch shares Morrie's lasting gift to the world.

Maybe it was a grandparent, or a teacher, or a colleague. Someone older, patient and wise, who understood you when you were young and searching, helped you see the world as a more profound place, gave you sound advice to help you make your way through it.

For Mitch Albom, that person was Morrie Schwartz, his college professor from nearly twenty years ago.

We choose not to contemplate death.  Perhaps there is a safety system in place; a will, life insurance, guardians willing to look after children.  But on a daily basis, we avoid these thoughts.  The fact that at one moment, we can exist.  In the next, we're gone, leaving behind family, friends, colleagues.  It is absolutely terrifying to even consider.  Sometimes we are prepared for ourselves or for others to leave our lives.  Sometimes we are blindsided with death and have no chance to express our unspoken thoughts or feelings.  And those words that are left unspoken, those thanks we have never expressed, the feelings or regrets we never allowed ourselves to feel; they haunt us.  A bitter taste to the mind.

This novel tells a tale of a great man who influenced many, and who faced death with a brave stance.  He allowed himself to feel as much as possible, saw beauty in every day, learned to enjoy his slow degradation.  He openly admitted his fears, described his wonder, accepted his fate.  And he taught others to do the same.  Not to hold on or deny what would eventually occur, but to embrace it while learning to give voice to every little thought or feeling.  To believe that our fears of being forgotten are unfounded.  Everyone is loved.  Those who love will always remember.

Tuesdays with Morrie is a story that never fails to bring me to tears, and always leaves me in deep thought.  Not only about my eventual demise and that of those around me, but also how to live and be the best I can.  Hopefully you will pick this novel up, read the pages, and be left with a sense of fulfillment and hope, as I am.

Photography

I have people ask me all the time, "Are you a photographer?  You're not?!  Well, you should be.  Your pictures are amazing!"  To which I reply, "Thank you, so much!  That means a lot."  And it really does.  Humans like to receive compliments.  We like to be flattered and encouraged due to our own natural self-deprecation.  No one likes a braggart.  But then, no one likes to hear others fishing for compliments.  So, I promise that I'm simply stating facts.

I am not a photographer for two reasons: 1) I'm not a people person. I don't particularly enjoy shmoozing or coercing others.  Therefore, I don't want to take others' photos.  2)  I love taking pictures.  I'm scared that if I turn it into a job [complete with appointments and unhappy customers and time limits] that this passion will become yet another forced requirement.  So, in order to maintain my sanity and my passion, I highly doubt I will ever take people pictures [except for rare occasions].  But I have been trying to figure out a way to possibly turn my camera into a business.  That's where you come in.

I'm debating on opening up an Etsy store to sell photos in.  There will be no particular theme; just pictures I deem fantastic enough for others to purchase.  I believe in keeping products affordable, but also in being paid for my time to not only take the pictures, but also edit them.  However.  I honestly don't believe my photos are worth paying for.  Yes, there are some that I think are fantastic, and I have improved so much in the past year.  But I also see room for tons more improvement, and a need for legitimate lessons.  My husband on the other hand is encouraging me to take this step.  He thinks I'm talented enough.  I need outside opinions, since the two of us are biased.  Me because I'm a pessimist, he because he loves me.

I would love to have your completely honest opinion on this.  Whether encouraging or critiquing or down right negative.  Any and all points of view will be considered with a very open mind.  If you don't feel comfortable enough leaving your comment here in public, please feel free to email me.  This is not a decision I take lightly, and the more insight I gain from outside perspectives will help me reach the right decision.

Thank you in advance for helping me out.  With that said, here are some recent pictures I've taken!  Not all are edited, so please don't base your decision on that...I just like to show the process of seasonal change with basic pics straight off the camera.

Favorite bench in summer.  It's changed so much!

I'm pretty sure this is a wood chopping block, but I like to pretend it's the thinking chair.  Or a wooden toilet.

Friday's Letters

Inspired by LWLH

Dear Friday.  It's you?  Again?!  Time seems to be speeding up lately.  Dear Husband.  We are officially half way through this.  I can do it.  Dear Dogs.  You two have been especially clingy during a period where I don't feel particularly affectionate.  Please stop climbing in to my lap, or trying to sleep on top of me, or taking over my pillow.  I'm getting frustrated.  Dear Husband.  Forgot to mention something.  You're welcome for letting you buy a new computer, but this one better last you a while.  Your Macbook isn't even a year old yet.  You're lucky I love you, 'cause I wouldn't put up with that from anyone else.  Dear Blogging Community.  Your kind words and support after I wrote that one post has helped me more than you'll ever know.  Thank you so much for being so wonderful!  I don't know what I would do without you all.  Dear Family.  Official countdown stands at 1 week for S.C., and two weeks for M.N.  I honestly don't know what to do with myself, I'm so giddy.  Dear Sponsors.  I absolutely love having you all guest post on here.  Needs to happen more often.  Dear Germany.  The carnival you hosted this past week was tons of fun.  I didn't go on any rides [I mean honestly...carnival rides?  Nerve wracking], but I ate waaay too much carnival food and took tons of gorgeous pictures.  Thank you for hosting.  Dear Ashley.  I'm grateful you started this link up.  I also want to thank you for being such a wonderful person and visiting every single blogger who participates.  You're pretty amazing!

Guest Post from Patricia

Sometimes we need a reality check.  Life isn't perfect, but that fact can be difficult to face.  In a world full of "perfect moms" & "DIYers", Patricia is honest and realistic.  Her blog is full of well written stories, colorful anecdotes, and a truthful persona that can only be hers.  If you haven't visited her blog yet, you definitely should.  It's by far one of my favorites; no fake or conformist personality for her.  It helps that she's hilarious and sarcastic!  As a side note, Patricia recently had to shut down her blog/twitter/social media sites for personal reasons, and start new ones.  Don't give up if you can't reach her new blog quite yet; she'll have it up and running soon.

Oh man.  Writing for English's blog.  How awesome is that?  I love English, her awesome mashup lack-of accent, her freckles, and her photography.  Seriously, hers is one of the blogs in the neverending sea of blogs that I consider myself lucky to have found.  (So thank you for this opportunity madam!!!) Now I will stop being creepy and introduce myself.  

My name is Patricia.  I write over at Little Red Writing Hood.

 

This is me, and Stockholm's magnificent City Hall (or Stadshuset) behind me.  

This is me, defaming a wall that's older than America (while wearing Elvis earrings.)

I go by "Alex" in my meatspace life. 

I know, classy. 

Now that I've made a positive and lasting impression on you, I figure it's time to talk about myself for a bit--particularly how I got into writing.  My story is a strange one, but I'll try to make it entertaining.  That is kind of the job of storytellers.

My writing started in elementary school; everyone thought I was an amazing writer, from classmates to teachers.  No one denied my talent.  One teacher dropped the not so subtle hint "S.E. Hinton was only sixteen when she wrote the Outsiders...." scrawled across my perfect grade.  (Little did she know I hate S.E. Hinton.)  For all intents and purposes, I was a hit.

I was not, however, a hit at home.  My dad hated everything.  He hated creativity especially.  Most of the time he hated me.  This only progressed the older I got.  He had a special deep-seated hatred for writing.  I don't know why.  After my first C grade, he burned every book I owned, along with all my Christmas presents, and warned me to stop writing.

I didn't listen.  At nine years old, I had a great story in mind. It was science-fiction.  I told no one about this story.  I wrote it in secret, in a series of blue legal pads.  It was brilliant, if I do say so myself.  I dreamed of the day I would unveil it at school and my career would skyrocket off into the firework display set off just for me.

One random day, Dad found the story, read it.  It was possibly 50 or 60 notebook pages long by this point.  He would read a page, tear the page out, tear it into shreds, and throw it on the floor.  Being a smartass, I pretended like this didn't bother me.  I insulted him while he read it.  I insisted that he must have liked my writing otherwise he wouldn't be reading it.  I hid the heartbreak.  I watched my creation be destroyed.  And the worst part is that after he was finished, he got up and walked away, leaving me to sweep up the tiny little blue papers and throw them away.  His only words during the entire fiasco were "It's shit."

I didn't write anything after that, unless school explicitly called for it.  And those stories were loved too.

But I was too scared to write.  I never wrote anything for myself, on my own after that.  I stayed too ashamed and disgusted at myself and the world to even try.  My yearbooks are filled with comments from classmates encouraging me to keep writing.  You'll be famous, they said.  I ignored it for years.  I kind of drifted pointlessly around, became an art teacher for awhile, then drifted pointlessly around some more.

Then one day, I started writing again.  

Just that simple.  

I have tons of short stories.  I have a novel in progress (and yes, it's science-fiction.)  I wrote an embarrassingly long, 200 chapter series placed in the Fallout universe.  I blog nearly every day. Some days I wake up and feel like the best writer in the world.  Some days I wake up and think that nothing I ever make deserves to be read by anyone ever.

But the important thing is to do what you love.  I love writing.  I simply could not live without it.  My Dad practically ripped open my ribcage and tore out my heart and stomped on it.  I had done nothing wrong except try to be creative, and use what I consider to be my one and only talent on this earth.  I was a kid.  There's no forgetting that.  I'm reminded of it every day.  Some days it's my driving force.  Some days it prevents me from writing more than a few words.  But the point is, I write.

I also Photoshop myself into pictures with Mr. Spock and I also ruin photos with handsome Peruvian friends.....

What I'm trying to tell you is very redundant, but yet insanely important, so I don't feel bad repeating it.



Don't ever let anyone tell you what to do or what not to do.  Don't let anyone make you feel inferior.



I have spent almost fourteen years repairing the damage inflicted on me by a stupid bully.  I'm not saying you'll never feel hurt and I'm not saying you'll never feel like whatever you're doing is kind of crappy, because you'll have those days.  Use those days to push you to do better.  Remember that you are special and you do have something to offer the world.  Whether the world is thousands of people as an audience, or a few close loved ones, they are your world and they matter, and you matter.  And so do your talents and passions.  They matter.  Think about that.  Really think about it.



My life is still chaotic, as are all people's.  Writing wasn't the answer to my problems, but once I accepted that I must do the thing I was meant to do, other things started falling into place--like EMT/Firefighting school, for example.  I would have been going down a long road of misery had I not listened to my heart and the little voice that said, start on that novel.  When I presented friends, very sheepishly, with the idea I should write, they already knew.  Duh.  They knew I was good at it, they knew I would succeed.  They knew it before I did, because they believed in me when I had no belief in myself.



Find what you truly love, no matter how silly it sounds, and do it.  And keep doing it.  And do it even more. 

Guest Post from Lissa

Today, Lissa from through the looking glass and I have decided to swap blogs!  She's guesting here, and I'll be over on her amazing site.  So, check out her awesome post here, then feel free to visit her blog to say hello, and let her know how fantastic she is :)

hello, be freckled readers!

my name's lissa & i'm visiting from over here.

truth be told, i met english just last week via a link up.

she is just so kind & sweet... who wouldn't like her blog?

her photographs are amazing & she's such a talented lady.

we moved to the beach last fall for my graduate program 

& ever since the crazy idea of moving down south came up, 

i've been daydreaming of summers by the beach and now, here we are!

the photo above was taken our first day here. (we clearly didn't waste any time!)

growing up, my brother & i would make lists with 10 things we wanted to do every summer.

now that i'm married, jay & i have been making lists, too. last summer we got everything done!

here's my summer to-do list:

1. go to the beach once a week.

2. use our date night budget for ice-cream 

or little local places on the boardwalk.

3. attend at least 3 free concerts.

4.  go hiking with friends.

5. have a sunset picnic at least once on the beach.

6. find a local drive in & go.

7.  visit the zoo.

8. go thrifting in a nearby city.

9. reserved for something special. 

10. reserved for something special.  

as you can tell, i'm pretty serious about my list so i'm 

saving the last 2 for something special when they come to me.

come visit me here & let me know what's on your list this summer!

The Truth

I'm not good with feelings.  I'm not good with emotions.  I'm absolutely terrible when it comes to opening up and describing what's going on in my head.  Timmy and I have been married for almost two years, have known each other for four, and I still have difficulties being completely honest with him.  Not that I lie; I just don't want to talk about anything serious.  But between him, my mom, and my best friend, I manage to do so a little.  Not a lot.  That's where this comes in.  I'm trying very hard to change this fact, mostly because I know I can't deal with everything on my own, and know that there is no one in my life that can relate to what I'm going through.  But perhaps somewhere in this blogging community, I can find support.

This blog post has been sitting, waiting for a few months now for me to build up the courage to release it to the world.  I'm terrified.  I'm shaking.  I'm admittedly crying, but just a little.  I'm resolved.

I need to describe a little back story before I get to my issue.

Timmy and I married on July 20, 2010.  We eloped in a small town in Northern California, just a little over a month after he proposed.  It was quick, it was small, and it was perfect.  One month later, we started to try for a family.

Before you say anything, I know: we're too young, it's too soon, we're not ready.  I've heard it all, and maybe you're right.  But I don't agree.

I was fastidious in the effort.  I kept track of everything on calendars, I watched for any little sign that could indicate we had succeeded, and I raced to the bathroom to take a pregnancy test every month.  And every month it turned up negative.  This effort, this future we would share together, became almost unbearable.

A year goes by.  I'm heartbroken, ashamed, desperate, and angry.  I lost a great friend because I was envious and resentful of her life, and couldn't understand why I couldn't have the same.  I cried, I begged, and I shouted; Timmy was there through it all, but I don't think he ever understood just how deep it went.

After we left California last September, I pushed it all down.  If I was honest with myself, things had actually worked out; I couldn't imagine moving to another country with a baby, or while pregnant.  It didn't change my feelings though.  But instead of talking about it with anyone, I decided it was best kept to myself.  Previously, having been open with a small group of friends at our last base, I had let on about the basics.  It ended up with some being genuinely sorry for our ordeal, and others starting to keep their distance.  No one wanted to mention children around me.  No one understood what I was going through.  Everyone tried to tell me it would be okay, everything would work out, it just needed time.  What I needed was for people to stop talking to me like that.  So I just quit mentioning it.

When we arrive in Germany, I made a small group of friends.  They know that we've been trying, but that's all.  I pretend like it doesn't bother me, and they leave me alone about it.  If there are any questions, I brush it off or lie.  I don't need to lose anyone else because of my selfishness.

The truth of the matter is, it's still hard.  I don't track anything anymore or take pregnancy tests because I honestly just can't handle it.  I pretend that it doesn't bother me when I hear someone got pregnant, or that I hate seeing women who are 15-18 years old and have children.  I make jokes about how happy I am I don't have my own little rugrat running around to clean up after, and that I'm so much happier the way my life is now.  None of it's real.

I feel ashamed that I can't perform a very natural biological string of events.  I'm ashamed that I'm so angry and selfish.  I'm ashamed I can't fulfill my husband's desires to be a father.  I'm ashamed that I let my personal feelings ruin one of the best friendships I ever had.  I'm angry that I have let this turn me into a monster, albeit a hidden one.  I'm angry that I resent the people I love for being so lucky.  I'm angry that crack-whores can have children so easily while I have such a difficult time, but that one doesn't bother me as much.  I'm angry that it's been 21 months and still nothing.

Timmy finally convinced me to see a doctor about it.  I was absolutely terrified; they say ignorance is bliss, and in this case it was true.  I don't want to know that something is horribly wrong with me.  I'd rather be ignorant.  I've been diagnosed with possible endometriosis [which can cause difficulty getting pregnant], and the only way to find out for sure [and to fix the issue] is by exploratory surgery.  I don't want surgery.  I don't want to have to go to a doctor.  I want to be normal.

I deal with this on a daily basis.  Some days aren't so bad; I can honestly see it being just Timmy & I for the rest of our lives, and being okay with that.  Other days are horrible; I lock myself in my house to hide from the world.  Other days are in between.  A mixture of good and bad and a mask that I put on.  Maybe I shouldn't let this effect me so badly, but I can't help it.  I can't let it go, I can't be okay with it, I can't help thinking about it every single day.

I understand that I haven't been trying for 15 years to have a child, and that it's much more difficult for other women.  I'm not trying to take away from those who know they can't have children at all, or who have to do so with IVF or surrogacy.  I get that I only feel a fraction of what they're going through.  Despite all of that, all of my emotions run so deeply and I can't shut them off or feel better about the fact that others have it worse than I.

I have to see a fertility specialist when Timmy gets home.  My recent visit to the doctor raised enough concern to send me off base to a local German doctor to figure out what's wrong.  I'm terrified, anxious, hopeful, despairing.  I'm amazed I can feel all of that at once.

I don't know what the issue is, nor do I know what the answer will be.  I do know, however, that no matter the outcome, this will not define me.  I will never simply be "the woman who can't have children." I am so much more than that.  I am a wife, a daughter, a sister, a dog lover, a bookworm.  It won't be easy, but this issue will not control my life.  I refuse to let it take over.

This post might be a one time deal, the only time I open up about my personal issues.  It may become a regular outlet, a way to get everything off my chest.  Whatever the case, I do hope that letting this out will relieve some of the stress and anxiety that has been plaguing me since 2010.

I don't want your pity.  I don't want your insincere support because you feel obligated.  I'm honestly not looking for anything.  I just needed to talk about it, openly, for once in my life without getting sneers or angry replies or that look of discomfort because of the topic.  Mostly, I needed to admit to myself that I have a legitimate problem that is ruining me.  Maybe this will help me heal.

Weekend in Words

This Sunday was like any other.  I wake up.  I let out dogs.  I putz around on the computer for an hour, email the hubby, then pick up a book to read.  I love Sundays because they're my day off from working out; I am allowed to be lazy and lame and just lay on the couch cuddled up with my furry friends.  I make sure I take a break from reading [if I don't set an alarm, I'll spend the whole day caught up in a world of make-believe and get nothing done].  I take the pups on a stroll behind our village.

The forest surrounding our town is full of life now; the once brown and dying trees have sprung back to life, and envelope us in a corridor of greenery as we I mosey down the path.  Believe me, the dogs never mosey.  They sprint, race, run, jump, hurdle; anything but mosey.  Eventually the woods empties us out into an unused field.  I walk halfway across, and stop.  And this is when it happens.

I have a moment of pure happiness.  Standing in the waist high grass, face tilted toward the sun, lulled by the music of the birds; I no longer feel the stress, or worry, or loneliness that exists in everyday life.  Right at that point in time, it doesn't matter that my husband is gone, that there are personal issues I'm dealing with, that I'm disappointed with certain aspects of my life.  Instead, I'm completely content.  I know that if I take another step forward, all of that will fade, and the usual burdens will come crashing down on my shoulders, but right now; right now, I am surrounded by lilac and baby's breath and forsythia, the dogs are ecstatically dancing circles around me, and a family is meandering down another path.  I am warm from the sun, warm from my feelings.  I am happy and untainted and okay.  I will be okay.

I take another step, and reality is here.  The happiness fades, but doesn't disappear, and is what has kept me in such a wonderful mood.  The belief that whatever may come, I will be okay.  It's never easy.  But I can do it.

Emergency Blog Post

Ok, so it's not that much of an emergency.  But I'm so excited, I couldn't wait to share.  Remember how I've been saying I'm a thrift store/yard sale/rummage sale aholic?  Well.  I'm also addicted to online sales.  If you live anywhere near a base, there should be an online site: here, it's called Ramstein Yard Sales or Bookoo.  They're at most posts/bases.  [If you go to Google, type in the name of the base + bookoo, a site should pop up, i.e.: Ramstein bookoo, or Travis AFB bookoo, etc.]  I can browse this online yard sale group all day long, and usually end up finding some pretty cool pieces.  But today's find tops them all.  I have recently made a $30 addition to my living room/dining room, and am so in love with it, it's pathetic.  Here it is.

Sorry about the door being in the way.  Had to stand on the patio to get it all in the frame.  One day I'll move the dining room table out of the way to take a decent front picture.

Isn't it lovely?  The color, the style, the fact that it's solid wood so I can repaint whenever I want.  I'm so proud of myself :).

If you're curious about where in the house it sits, it's right behind the dining room table, in between the two book cases.  Adds the best pop of color in the world, and now I will be hunting for decor to wrap that color around to the couch.

Okay, that is all.  Hope you all are having a great weekend, and all you moms are enjoying your Mother's Day!