Thankful & Blessed

Our first cool front is moving in now, right behind the rain that is falling. Autumn in Texas, much like winter, is more a state of mind than a significant shift. It's a gradual conversion, and fall to us is when it falls below 80 degrees, and the breeze is no longer hot. If we get any color change on any trees, we count it a bonus. Living in north Texas, I get as much fall as the state offers, and if you select your trees well, you can conjure up some "fall color" and tease yourself into thinking you have a fall season.

I was chatting with my daughter-in-law and my youngest son's girlfriend in August, and we were talking about our favorite season. It was humorous to reveal that each of us picked as our favorite season the one which held our birthday. So, yes, as a Scorpio, my favorite season is fall. To me it represents all the good feels: the coming back home after the vacation months, the settling in to the keeping of the house and the ensuing preparation for company coming for the holidays, the anticipation of family gatherings, and the simple joys of football, slower paced days, shorter days, glorious sunrises, and cool evenings spent on the porch or patio watching the sun go down.

Growing up, fall was a kaleidoscope of togetherness - the annual trek to Denton from Houston to be with family for Thanksgiving, the side stop at the farm, the smorgasbord of food at both houses, the sounds of family laughter, the setting of the one household television constantly broadcasting the football game de jour. It was like Christmas, without the cold (which I hate), and without the presents (which always seem to add stress), and for more days (because we always had Thursday to Sunday for this annual trek.) Yes, Christmas 2.0 definitely. The improved and better version!

And then there was my November birthday! Early years were family parties that morphed into adolescent slumber parties, that morphed into my birthday being somehow recognized whenever we gathered for Thanksgiving. In our house, my brother's birthday was five days after mine, and my dad's birthday was eight days after mine, so growing up we had a trifecta of birthday celebrations, and while theirs both sometimes fell on Thanksgiving, crowning them officially as turkeys, mine never did, and that added to the joy and the fun of it all for me. I never had to share my day, and I could never be called the turkey. Win win.

As I transitioned from high school to college, fall meant the imminence of Thanksgiving break, and the real homecoming - the trek from central Arkansas back to coastal Texas, and bringing with it the relief from roommates, dorm life, professor quirks, unending assignments, and most importantly, cafeteria food. Ahhh...the food of fall! Chili, casseroles, chicken fried steak, fried eggplant, hot water cornbread, pies, cookies. There's nothing better than my mother's cooking. I come from a family of good cooks, and it really spoils you to the savory goodness of family favorites. To me, home cooked meals are quintessential to the adoration of all things fall.

As a young married gal, fall turned into planning a multi-family gathering in Houston which was followed by a marathon shopping day. Yes, we were Black Friday gals. My mom, my sisters, and I started Black Friday shopping when I was in elementary school, heading to the budget basement floor of downtown Foley's, back before malls existed. When Gulfgate Mall opened up, we shifted to that mall, and then we moved around over the 30 years (~ 1970 to 2000) of Houston Black Friday shopping to whichever mall was the newest, or had the best Foley's. When my sisters had toddlers, we would head to Toys 'R Us first, and then move on to Foley's. Walmart and Target folded in there along the way, the newer version of Gemco.

When we moved away from the Houston area in 1997, we were initially able to head back "home" to Houston for family Thanksgiving while we lived in San Antonio. However, in 2000 when we moved south to the border town of McAllen, our Thanksgivings changed and we began the new tradition of having our own Thanksgiving, and welcoming whomever was willing and able to travel to be with us. {Having a husband in retail has its benefits, but also its pitfalls. No traveling on the holidays definitely falls into the latter category. But like with much of life, we adapt, choose joy, and press on.}

By the time we moved to Dallas in the summer of 2005, we were adjusted to our new routine, and began recruiting early for guests to come join us for our fall feast. And with that came the anticipation of the company, and the preparation for their arrival. We love to welcome guests to our home. And part of the whole fun of fall, to me, was in using the golden days of September, October, and November to prepare my home, hearth, and heart for the influx of holiday guests. Since I am a natural planner, and since hubby works so much during the holiday season, we learned to start early, especially as we have aged! We don't move quite as fast as we used to. ;-)

And as some years were spent alone, with the travel rotation of friends and family committed elsewhere, we duly learned to be thankful for the years when we did have company, and we also truly learned to enjoy the quiet years where it was a table set for four. {And having spent one year with a table set for two, I can truly appreciate now setting down four plates.} Every fall seemed to be a shift and like the leaves falling in the wind, a varied and enjoyed moment to take in.

Across the space of time and locales and age, I think the biggest shift I've made regarding fall is to take it from a celebration of the season to become a spirit of awareness, a spirit of gratitude, an acknowledgement of being thankful and blessed. Sometimes I hate the word "blessed". It brings out, in some circles, a sense of smug bragging, as if "I've lived such a good life - see my rewards?" and I hate that. But the "blessed" that resonates within me is the acknowledgement of all the incredibly good things in my life that are pure gifts, because they are completely undeserved. And I try so hard to be so thankful for them, not only in the fall, but year round.

This little layout captures just a snip of what some might call my "attitude of gratitude". These are just some random photos taken by me in the fall of 2014, in the fall that turned out unexpectedly to be our last fall at our beautiful home in Murphy. Me sitting with my dog on my patio on a beautiful October afternoon. My husband working hard to clean the outside of windows as we prepare for company. The beauty of a changing tree in my front yard that I paused to notice when headed out for a walk. The cart full of special groceries on our foodie run to Central Market. Thanksgiving isn't just a day. Thanks giving is a way of life. And I want to recall, this year, this first November without my dad, this Thanksgiving holiday most of all, that I am thankful and blessed. I want to remember. Help me remember. Thankful. And blessed.

I Heart Fall ~ Fall Bliss ~ October 2014

Add caption

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Simple Stories

Title: Simple Stories

Story Central: Simply Amazing

I began the task of scrapbooking in a rather modest fashion, as a 29-year-old young, stay-at-home mom, working at the breakfast table with a stash of supplies that would fit into a Craftstor bin. 

Did you have one, too? I was rather proud of that bin. And then I required a second matching bin. And the coat closet, seldom used in the gulf winters of Houston, gave way to usher in a scrapbook closet. And before too much longer, the dining room became the formal living room, and the formal living room became a combination home office and scrapbook space. 

And that was just in the first house. I am about 3 months short of the 23rd anniversary of that day I went to that fated, memorable Creative Memories class. ;-) And in that span of time, over the course of twenty-three years, I have worked in the above scenarios: in the corner nook of a playroom, on the side of a bedroom, in 1/3 of a bonus room, in one corner of a home gym, in 1/2 of a home office, and now, finally, in the fifth home in which I've scrapped, and for the first time ever, I finally have my own whole room, dedicated completely to me, designed exclusively for me. It feels like heaven.

Of course, my style of scrapbooking has evolved and tectonically shifted as much in all the time which spans over two decades, just as the space in which I've worked. Thank goodness. ;-) I'm so glad I live in a scrapbooking world that contains the goodness of Echo Park, Carta Bella, and Simple Stories, all companies that have come along in the last ten years or so, companies that have come along "after the scrapbooking boom ended".

When we set about to move to our downsized nest, a downstairs study for my scrap space was on the must have list. When we found and selected the first house's floor plan, the Samuel, which had a 12 x 15 study, I was ecstatic. And then when we changed builders and neighborhoods, and selected and bought our Roseman floor plan, 8 months after the contract signing of the Samuel, it was delightful to discover a 12 x 15 study in it as well. 12 x 15!! So much real estate for my part-time love affair. I've come a long way from that scenario of one end of the breakfast table paired with a coat closet.

Not only was I granted the dream coming true of that much space all to myself, but I was given the permission, and the invitation, and the support by my husband to design my space. I initially planned to use stock Ikea cabinets. But as I thought about the Roseman and the finish-out of this second downsized house, the idea of a "second kitchen" right off the front door did not really appeal to me. I was driven back to Pinterest to start over on my design, and to find inspiration to go perhaps in even a new direction. Somewhere along the way, I saw a built-in secretary type of a bookcase, and my mind had a big light bulb moment, and I took to Numbers to draft up what would become my scrap space storage.

Two months. I spent over two months on the drawing. I studied everything I owned. I measured masses: height, width, quantity. I contemplated future buying potential, the need for expansion, my frequency of use, the need for accessibility.... Every little detail was poured over and over, and over with a fine tooth comb -- with 20 years of history and knowledge and desires and ideas. I decided I wanted to have an L-shaped workspace. I spaced out what would go where within the room. And then I took all of that information, and began slotting its space in the room, and into the designated wall of cabinetry. I finally got the design where I wanted it, and set back and waited for the house to be finished, and for it to become cabinet time.

When the house finished in November, I knew I would need to wait until after Steve's fiscal year-end for his assistance in overseeing the work, as his days off are more often than not weekdays. It was okay. I kept my design fresh in my mind, and busied myself with setting up the rest of the house, preparing for the holidays, having family over for Thanksgiving and Christmas. The New Year rolled around, and Steve's work fiscal year-end passed, and I set out to get quotes on my design. Four quotes. I went with the one that was in the middle on the pricing, and that offered a warranty on their work, and that when talking to him, felt like I was maybe talking to an uncle. Such a kind man. It took them seven long weeks from my meeting with them and paying my deposit on January 19 to the two-day installation which began on March 10. That's the time frame you're looking at for custom, complex work when you currently live in an area that has a booming home industry and several corporate relocations occurring.

Once I got a firm installation date set with my cabinet team, I could then schedule my painters. I had done my painter research during the long arduous weeks of the cabinet build. Armed with a few possible painting dates, I reached out and scheduled the painting. And then I set out to firm up my paint color choice. {Which selection I completely and absolutely adore 110%.} Benjamin Moore Hale Navy. My painting crew was as wonderful as my cabinet crew, but humidity and complications had the painting stretch from March 23 to March 31, and then I had to let the enamel based paint cure for 5 long days. The saying "Great things come to those who wait" had never felt more authentic.

Finally, finally move-in day arrived! The displaced scrapbook stash -- that had come out of four Expedits and been piled in the dining room, the living room, the retreat, the hallway, and one son's bedroom -- could finally begin coming downstairs to its new and beloved home. And as the migration commenced, the utter neglect of my basic and fundamental stash organizational discipline quickly became evident, and quickly came home to roost. Practically everything I went to put away had to be tweaked either by collating new purchases into the existing supplies, or by purging some unwanted excess, or by changing its storage container, and all too frequently, tweaking had to occur in all three areas. That is I guess the ultimate consequence for shopping for twenty-two months and not being able to properly put things away. I had some wonderful friends during this time that kept encouraging me as I waded through my self-made abyss of bliss.

I made lists. I prioritized. I had to go slowly and intentionally, as I wanted everything to be logical and accessible. I religiously studied my initial drawing, and had to adapt the placement of some things as I dealt with the actual masses of certain collections and the finalized dimensions of the cabinet uppers and drawers. {This is where I encountered and slayed daily my inner Perfectionist demon.} Every day I worked hard to cross things off that list. Sometimes the desire to empty a space upstairs would override the next logical thing on the list. I was balancing clearing out the chaos upstairs with creating order downstairs. As I finished or completed an area, I would highlight it in orange to let me know that section was full and done.

I was constantly collating new purchases into an existing stash. Sometimes I would find more of something that had been packed away with the wrong type of items, and have to revamp new spaces again. Lots of late nights. Innumerable trips to The Container Store. {When the managers at two locations greet you, you know you've been in too many times.} A frequent trip to Joann's and Michael's and Hobby Lobby, looking for the ideal storage was sometimes the back-up plan for failed Container Store excursions. Always carrying with me the dimensions for my necessities de jour, and more often than not, carrying my cabinet print out in my purse.

Thankfully, my husband was so patient as I sat in my new digs night after night, listening to reruns of HGTV, Modern Family, Everybody Loves Raymond, and Law & Order episodes. Who am I kidding? He, too, was ready for the return of order to the house! He even patiently spent one evening with me working on a new brad storage system. Poor guy. His lack of fingernails made the end of his fingers so sore and tender after countless times of peeling brads off of cardboard backers. And he's done more than that. He's done just anything I've needed him to! The day recently when he did "my cross wall" was such a day of joy to me. My space is nearly done. There is one pile that haunts me. And, full disclosure, there is memorabilia in the garage to deal with. I count that more on the Moving In/Housekeeping side of the To Do list rather than the Scrap Room Set-Up To Do list. ;-)

But, the small, resolute, lingering, seemingly indestructible pile aside, I'm ready. I'm ready to be done. {There will always be a pile, yes? It's time to move on! Yes? Yes!} I'm ready to play. I'm ready to stop cataloging and purging and organizing and placing. I'm ready to cut paper, and play with photos. I'm ready to sail past the "soft opening" test runs with my new space that I've experienced to meet some project deadlines. I'm ready to launch into the wide open clear spaces of unencumbered scrapping, endless projects going on, fun piles here and there, and embracing the freedom and the time to tell stories that need to be told, stories that are welling up inside of me, stories that are ready to be birthed.

As I contemplated and pondered Every.Little.Detail. of this space, from supply storage to stash placement to workflow to lighting to paint colors to fabric choices to wall decor to cabinet knobs, I came to realize that Scrap Central wasn't going to be the name of my play space anymore. That sounded not only a little pedestrian, but a little too negative. This beautiful new space isn't to be about scraps, it's to be about stories! It's to be about memories, and photos, and sharing what I love about the people I love, and the very good life that I am blessed to live.

story1

  [stawr-ee, stohr-ee] 

noun, plural stories.

1.

a narrative, either true or fictitious, in prose or verse, designed to interest, amuse, or instruct the hearer or reader; tale.

2.

a fictitious tale, shorter and less elaborate than a novel.

3.

such narratives or tales as a branch of literature:

song and story.

4.

the plot or succession of incidents of a novel, poem, drama, etc.:

The characterizations were good, but the story was weak.

5.

a narration of an incident or a series of events or an example of these that is or may be narrated, as an anecdote, joke, etc.

6.

a narration of the events in the life of a person or the existence of a thing, or such events as a subject for narration:

the story of medicine; the story of his life.

7.

a report or account of a matter; statement or allegation:

The story goes that he rejected the offer.

8.

news story.

9.

a lie or fabrication:

What he said about himself turned out to be a story.

10.

Obsolete. history.

verb (used with object), storied, storying.

11.

to ornament with pictured scenes, as from history or legend.

12.

Obsolete. to tell the history or story of.

And so I knew in my heart that when I unveiled my new space, I would be unveiling a new name as well: Story Central. 

Story: "A narrative, either true or fictitious, in prose or verse, designed to interest, amuse, or instruct the hearer or reader; tale" or "A narration of the events in the life of a person...the story of his life." 

Yes, yes, one million yeses! That is what I want to be about - narrating the story of my life, and the life of my family. 

Thank you for hanging with me during the transition, during all the dusty, neglected days on this blog. It's definitely now time to turn a page and begin a new chapter in my book.  And so I unveil to you Story Central, my beautiful, custom, delightful spot from which I pray I will sit and share with you many more days of my crafting the good story I love. She is simply amazing.

Story Central ~ Documenting the Design ~ April 2017

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Simple Stories

Title Font: Watermelon Script

I've Been Busy Chasing Dreams

The good news is that I could remember my default settings here for type size, font, and color on my posts. The bad news is that I haven't blogged in so long that the cobwebs and dust here are incredibly dense, and I should have my keyboard rights revoked. Sincerely, since last I saw you.... Truly, though, I feel like I'm a sporadic episode of a bad soap opera from which you just cannot look away.

So at any rate, happy end of summer. Today is officially the first day of fall. It's still hot in Texas. 95 right now as I type this. Teachers everywhere are scurrying to get classroom routines down pat, and parents everywhere are dealing with the reality that school has started, and with it all the ensuing schedule demands. Some are doing the happy dance, some are obsessing about finding the exact class, club or sport supply requirement that everyone wants and no one stocks, and some of melancholy over the house being quiet again. 

Yes, September. It's here. And halfway over. My youngest son is 21 now, and still working hard to build his culinary resume, and finalizing his application to the CIA. He did take a big adventure trip to Peru for 9 days after his August birthday. Football has resumed and the Steelers are 2-0. He's excited. Oldest boy is hunkering down and getting his routine settled as he has entered his last year of college. {Where has the time gone?} Thankfully, he wisely decided this week not to get a dog. Hubster is knee deep in another holiday season prep fest at work. 

See, I seriously feel like we need a "when last we left her" recap. And you should totally read that in your mind in a 1930's creepy, sinister radio narrator voice. :-) So, I shall catch you up to speed, and once again hope that I can keep it together enough to be a little more intentional and frequent out here in the blogosphere. I have always felt that writing comes out of a place of abundance within me, and when I'm not living in an "overflow" mentality, it's hard. But, the exciting thing is that I feel that spirit of abundance returning. Life must be leveling out some.

So, stating the obvious, my last post was, serendipitously, on Friday, February 26. On that next day, Saturday, Steve was off, and we both got up early and drove down to Houston for the day for my second installment of spending a Saturday visiting my parents. {You might also recall we were in month 8 of building a home: contract signed for new home on 6/13/2015, moved out of old home into an apartment on 7/28/2015. Slab on new home wasn't poured until 12/30/15.} Steve and I had a great visit with my folks and got in late Saturday night, February 27. We woke up on Sunday morning, now February 28, folks, and went to check on the progress of our home build, as our project manager had let us know via a Friday email that they "fixed all the items on our list" regarding framing, electrical, and plumbing issues we had noted and had been working with them on for weeks upon weeks. We walked in the house and disgustedly observed they had fixed ONLY ONE of the items. I slowly turned to Steve and said, with all the subtle coyness I could muster, "I found the new David Weekley neighborhood on Friday afternoon. Do you want to go see it?" To his credit, and my complete satisfaction, he didn't bat an eye, or pause a second before determinedly replying, "YES." Now my husband does not get upset very often, but on that day he was incredibly agitated "for him". ;-) {I am all the volume in our marriage.} ;-) 

{Now, the narrator needs to pipe back in and let you know that the heroine of this tale had secretly reconnoitered on Friday afternoon the 26th to find the new David Weekley neighborhood that was supposedly going in near or around the neighborhood she was presently building in. The heroine had also reached out to this same company back in June 2015, and was not answered, and reached out again to them in January 2016, and got the information that it would take 6-8 months to build, and yes, they were patio homes with zero lot lines. The final fact I'll share is that the heroine's last house in Murphy was built by David Weekley and David Weekley originates in Houston, where said heroine had nursed a three decade crush on his homes before being able to build one herself in 2005.}

So, we walked out of that framed shell of a house and drove the 1.8 mile distance in 4 minutes, parked the car, and got out to walk the model. Now, the model was not yet finished, and the neighborhood was not yet finished, but pre-sale was occurring and the sales team was set up in a nearby office space, but on that Sunday, it was just Steve, myself, and survey marked lots full of dirt, and quasi-constructed homes present in the neighborhood. The model itself was dried in, framed and insulated - ready for drywall. Farther along than the home we bought back in June. It was also markedly superior in workmanship and lumber quality. I am so thankful that the two homes were at virtually the same stage, insulation being only the different item in one over the other. I do believe that was a sovereign moment for Steve to so transparently be able to instantly contrast and compare. {I had walked the model home under construction on Friday afternoon and was already 36 hours in love with the concept, neighborhood, and area.} He immediately blurted out, "This home looks WAY BETTER than my home! Look at this lumber! I can see there is a huge difference in how ours is being built! Our home looks like crap!" I can still hear him being so vocal, so emphatic, so disgusted. My inner self was dancing. I had been ready to walk away from the other one since November. We had 15,000 reasons not to. As in dollars paid down as deposits on upgrades, technically non-refundable. 

So, I looked at Steve and said, "Time and money aside, is there any reason we should buy that other house and not buy a home here in this neighborhood? Setting aside the delay in move in, and setting aside the risk of losing $15,000, is there any reason we should buy that house?" He said, "No." And then I said, "Then there is no reason why we should buy that house. Because $15,000 and 6 months are not enough of a reason to be miserable for the next fifteen years." {I think that might have been my most logical, sane, and rational rebuttal I've ever given in my life.} ;-) He agreed. I then called the internet sales number and set up an appointment for 1:00 p.m. that very same day with the Spicewood Sales Consultant. It really just all snowballed from there. We knew we were after something very similar to what we were building around the corner. We were handed the 8 floor plans, and quickly tossed any that had an upstairs study, or no study, or 4 bedrooms. That left 2 viable options, and we both loved the one that had the largest study, The Roseman. Now, I cannot tell you if that is why Steve loved it, but I know that is what I evaluate first and foremost! It is kind of funny, though, that he and I were both able to decide in about 15 minutes which one we liked, and we both picked the same one. We have bought too many houses, for sure.

We picked the plan, looked at the neighborhood plots available, talked through the pros and cons of them, drove over to neighborhood and walked some lots with the Sales Consultant, and then headed back to her office. I asked Steve the second "tough love" question of the day, "What questions do you need answered to make a decision?" {My heart needed to regroup and move forward!!} He said, "None." to which I quickly replied, "Do you have your checkbook, or do you need mine?" Good lordy I love that man. He whipped out his checkbook right then and paid the deposit. I'm sure that Sales gal will tell the tale of us for years to come. We might have been the fastest sale ever on a home that had a model home that wasn't even finished yet, let alone the neighborhood not even being finished. 

Opportunity is what happens when luck and preparation collide. We got lucky that day. We acted on a hunch and scored an amazing lot that had zero premium, and were the second sale in the neighborhood. You can't ever tell me that internet researching on a slow Friday afternoon at work doesn't pay off! We then spiraled into the circuit of cancelling the other contract and going full bore into the beginning processes of an entirely new new home build. We called it the new new house and the old new house. Everything about the new new house confirmed for us that it was meant to be. I told Steve on 2/29, the day we cancelled our contract on the old new house, "Sometimes God lets a dream die to give birth to a new bigger and better dream." I sent him an email that day called, "What a difference a day makes" because the new team was all over us with information, mapping out what needed to happen next, finalizing our paperwork, etc. It was stunning to watch it all unfold! And after a long week of intermittent communiques with the old new house, we found out on Friday, March 4 at 5:00 p.m., as we wrapped up a meeting with our new new house team, that we were getting a full refund on the old new house. Talk about a gift from heaven! It was sweet closure to a long and arduous ordeal. We got that check in the mail two weeks later and never corresponded with them again. 

{We did continue to check on the old new house about every 4 weeks or so. They listed it for $35,000 more than our contract price on it, and it sold in about a month of our cancellation. The buyers moved in around July 21, best I could tell based on some curtains on the window. I will tell you if I had waited 13 months for that house I think I would either be incarcerated or in an asylum. And the last time we walked the house, right before the appliances were installed, we could still see mistakes in it and shoddy workmanship, and we were so glad we bailed when we did. My mom has said to me many times over that house, "You never would have been happy in that house," and I believe she is spot on.}

We moved full speed ahead on the new new house, and never looked back or second guessed. Of course, we went through Design again, and selected, and in some cases re-selected, choices. I am getting the same floor in the new new house, and going with the same color scheme, but the new new house had more options available, and like any good dessert buffet, I helped myself to more than I needed, and maybe more than I should've. ;-) We worked on the design elements and making all of our decisions and selections while the developer worked on finishing up "Phase 2" of the neighborhood, the phase that we will be in. We had our final design appointment on April 19, the neighborhood received city of McKinney sign off on May 17, and our permit was approved on or around June 3. The lot was plowed on June 10. Our new new house was further along after 7 weeks than the old new home was after 7 months. It's all been a whirlwind ride. A very fast, emotional, chaotic, happy dance ride.

We are hanging in there. The apartment is old. We are weary of it. Poor Truman doesn't know what to think. The one year mark in late July of being out of our old home hit me hard. The month of June when we thought we were to have been in our old new home was a challenge. The extended lease expiration date and paying high month to month rent is icky. There have been some dark days, some weepy weekends, some endless evenings. But, we are in the home stretch. The tile crew is installing the kitchen backsplash soon. The countertops are in. The plumbers started installing fixtures yesterday and should finish up today. The electrician shows up today to begin installation of outlets, switches, and light fixtures. HVAC also begins today. My best guess is that there are between 50 and 60 days left of apartment life. {Believe me I have a complex algorithm set up to calculate this that I review and update daily. You don't want to see that deep into my head, trust me.} ;-) And 9 of those 60 days we are, thank the Lord, in Florida.

Walt Disney himself said, "All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them." So, that is why I haven't been here. I've been busy chasing dreams. And actually watching a few of them be captured, followed, come to life. 

Follow Your Dreams ~ Buying The Roseman ~ March 2016

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Simple Stories

Title Fonts: Silhouette Cut File

Settling on Spicewood ~ Starting the Cottage ~ March 2016

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: October Afternoon, Simple Stories

Title Fonts: Ballerina Script

The Turning of a Page

This morning I am texting with my son who is in Paris. I am perfectly fine with the fact that he is eating real French onion soup while I am sitting at my desk, working to fund the very expense of his school semester abroad. I do wish deeply, though, that I could have a sip of his espresso, and a bite of his chocolate croissant, and see his smiling eyes. And I wish also that he would post another photo on Instagram. I am wanting another peek at something beyond the Eiffel Tower from Day One escapades and the Arc de Triomphe from Day Two adventuring. 

The other night after work and an oil change, I finished putting away the remaining unpacked remnants of Scrap Central Clubhouse, proof that we are settling in. {Scrap Central Clubhouse blog post here.} Now that one birdie has flown the coop for the fall and our resident foodie is abroad, our home life is settling down somewhat. Our oldest son remains at home, but remember he is my game boy, and most evenings I find him either gone to his part-time job, or laying atop his bed, game controller in hand. It is in his DNA. And I completely understand and embrace him. Sometimes I wonder if we are the only family of four that is comprised solely of introverts. It is a good thing that we do all enjoy being introverts together on occasion.   ;-)

Our oldest did comment on Day Three of being in the apartment, from atop same said bed, to the three of us in the kitchen/dining room, about 12 feet away from him, "I like this new space. We are so close to each other." It has been enjoyable to hunker down together, and be together in our little small space, where different rooms still have the proximity and sameness to them to lend to one a sense of community, of shared time...separate, but joined somehow. We have two weeks and four days remaining with him home, and as I count and, disbelieving the number, recount the days, I am surprised that there are so few left, and my eyes once again do the leaking thing.

It has been a tumultuous few weeks, to say the least. A dear friend described them as tender times. Yes, to be sure. The boys rolled into town, post summer jobs, to a frenzy of last minute packing and moving from our home, and then unpacking into the apartment, and then suspending all of that busyness to just enjoy being together for twelve non-moving days, and then the gradual shifting of together time to the final "get ready to go to Europe" last weekend all together at home phase, the reality that they are both going abroad for the fall, to different cities, for differing semester lengths, setting in heavy on the parental hearts. Yes, tender times to be sure.

My summer was so chaotic that it didn't really seem like summer at all. Full of fun, good times to be sure, but opening a conversation about moving on June 6 can do that to a summer. You know, kill it. I am going to try somehow to eek out a few more flip flop, ice cream, sun soaking days. Thankfully, hopefully, the north Texas September weather will cooperate with me, and let me indulge myself with the quiet joy that can be Indian Summer. Whether or not I was ready though, summer has indeed ended and the checkout lines at Target last night, coupled with the incredibly overflowing mess there of notebook binders and pocket folders, reminded me that school has started, as if my putting my son on a plane to Paris wasn't notice enough. I believe the big yellow school buses will begin their routes Monday in the neighborhoods where I live and work and drive. It is nice to not be entirely certain. I have my own reminders and tells to manage outside the scope of the local ISD's bell ringings.

I am so oriented to a school schedule, though, that even though my big man boys will be schooling across the pond on another continent, and therefore needed no "back to school shopping" this year, other than for luggage and shoes, that this time of year always has me pause and savor the moments and memories that revolved around school calendars and assignments and events. I cannot see August on a calendar and not think "Back to School". I am just programmed systemically to recall the smell of notebook paper, to hear the sound of the chalk on the board, to taste the over buttered perennially served green beans, to see desks in straight rows, like soldiers, ready to battle the incoming masses, to touch the pages of a new textbook and turn them quickly to scope out the future adventures.

I have always been a learner and an avid reader. Oh, mercy, the sound of my mother in the car every summer vacation chanting the same dialog is stamped on my brain, "I don't know how you can sit there with your nose in a book while we are driving through all of this beautiful country." Mother was never a reader until her first shoulder surgery, and so she literally could not fathom the deep adoration of a well-developed plot, much less reading non-stop for every waking daylight car riding hour. Me? I would pore over anything I could get my hands on, and eagerly anticipated the choices I would make on our annual pre-vacation you can only check out ten pilgrimage to the public library. Summer vacation to me as a child was as much about reading as it was about sightseeing and touring.

The boys are readers, too. Each in differing levels and genres, but akin in the ability to follow along cult-like to their respective authors and characters, and reveling in certain release dates and having a list of books to hang on to, even long after it has been read. I don't think they are as voracious of a reader as myself, but I attribute that more to the scarcity of genres that appeal to young men as opposed, say, to a female at any given age. I can read almost any genre, and follow quite  few whereas they are limited to maybe one or two genres....

Enough of that, though, except to say that we are at times a reading house, and quiet afternoons where one can sit and read are available as one desires, and we have always made space in the budget for books, never saying no to a book purchase, and even going out on an errand solely for the purchase of a book. We are house, too, that mourned the passing of Borders bookstore, while yet also secretly embracing the electronic book with our other half of our self, and so knowing we cannot have it both ways, we elect still to buy "real" books as we can, and I should also add that my husband refuses to read an electronic book in any capacity. I would confess that I am really the only e-reader in our house, and it is strictly economics to me, of space and money more than anything. My preference is the big bulky real book, but I read so fast that I cannot contain all of their presence, and I cannot afford them either, given their e-cousin is so much more of a cheaper date.

One May 2009 afternoon found both boys reading downstairs, and just in that instant I had the presence to snap a few photos of them, just more of my every day pursuit to document life. As I look back at these photos now, and see them in their metamorphosing wonder years, sitting on a couch that was surrendered to the garage sale in a house that is no longer ours, I am nostalgic beyond belief, and also simultaneously so very happy that this random reading moment was one remembered. I can recall their tickled annoyance with me for taking the photos, their willingness to be photographed, but their unwillingness to stop reading long enough to be bothered to look up for the camera and smile, and the smirking that ensued on their faces over their clever rejection yet once again of mom and her camera fetish.

Oh, to be sure, that afternoon of reading on the couch, pages were turning. Not only were the boys plowing through their book, but it was almost as if they were growing up before my eyes. Physical pages were turning and in just as real a fashion, virtual pages were turning, too. Boys were giving way to men. School days and recess giving way to semester hours and studies abroad. Oh, for the bliss of another summer afternoon spent reading on the couch. If only I could manage the turning of a page.

Reading on the Couch ~ Boys with Books ~ May 9, 2009

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation 

Paper: October Afternoon

Title Fonts: American Typewriter and Mahogany Script

There's Never a Wish Better Than This

I don't actually expect to live to one hundred. I don't know that I would want to. But the question as to the number of years I have in total is out there, and at the 50 year mark, I know I have spent more than what I have left. I always think about that point in the movie, The Bucket List, where Morgan Freeman's character talks about being part of the 1% of the population that wants to know when they die, and then when faced with the truth realizes he was wrong. He, like the vast majority of the others, actually does not want to know. 

I'm not trying to be morbid. Not at all. I accept my age, and all that it entails, and honestly what I am focused on now is making sure I have as much life in my days as I can possibly have. I think about working, not working, about how working is such a *waste* of time....And I think about how I could spend my time if I had more of it, and I think about what is the best use of my time, and I think about what I want to be sure and do while I can, and finally, I think about remembering the years that I have already had. Of savoring the days past, and the days to come, and the one that I have today.

I have always loved compare and contrast/then and now layouts. I didn't know to do them really until Stacy Julian introduced me to the concept at Creating Keepsakes University in Houston in 2006. But, since then I enjoy creating one whenever I get the chance. When my July CREATE assignment rolled in, and included a layout with journaling inspired by a song, I immediately thought of Five for Fighting's "You Only Got a Hundred Years", and I knew it would be a then to now layout, and I decided to actually make it about me. It's hard to scrap about me, partially because there are few photos, and partially because while I don't mind parading my family around, I am fairly private as an individual. ;-) Oxymoron? Yes, please. 

The lyrics of this song are ones I never tire of reading.

"100 Years" 

I'm 15 for a moment

Caught in between 10 and 20

And I'm just dreaming

Counting the ways to where you are

I'm 22 for a moment

And she feels better than ever

And we're on fire

Making our way back from Mars

15 there's still time for you

Time to buy and time to lose

15, there's never a wish better than this

When you only got a hundred years to live

I'm 33 for a moment

Still the man, but you see I'm a "they"

A kid on the way, babe.

A family on my mind

I'm 45 for a moment

The sea is high

And I'm heading into a crisis

Chasing the years of my life

15 there's still time for you

Time to buy and time to lose yourself

Within a morning star

15 I'm all right with you

15, there's never a wish better than this

When you only got a hundred years to live

Half time goes by

Suddenly you’re wise

Another blink of an eye

67 is gone

The sun is getting high

We're moving on...

I'm 99 for a moment

And dying for just another moment

And I'm just dreaming

Counting the ways to where you are

15 there's still time for you

22 I feel her too

33 you’re on your way

Every day's a new day...

15 there's still time for you

Time to buy and time to choose

Hey 15, there's never a wish better than this

When you only got a hundred years to live

And I know not all of the lyrics apply precisely to me. They are, after all, sung by a man. But the concept in the song lyrics strikes such a chord, and the idea of going from 15 to 100, spanning through the years of your life, is so rich to me that I love to revel in the thoughts, and in the years, and to dissect a moment of my life here and there. When I began the layout, I wasn't entirely sure what I would find when I mined the data of my photos. 15, 22, 33, 45. Random integers. Numbers in a string. Ages of my life. Stages of me. 

{I would be remiss here if I didn't insert, in full transparency, a little of my battle with weight gain. I have been on the losing, or winning, end of the diet battle my entire adult life.} So when I say I didn't know what I would find, I literally didn't know what I would find. I was particularly pleased to discover that these numbers represented some of my "lean" years. ;-) I also worked within the {few} pictures I had of me at these ages to select photos to represent the different roles I have had: daughter (15), wife (22), mom (33), and working scrapbooker (45). I loved pulling together this snapshot of segments of my life. Ages on a page. Numbers in a row. Parts of me as I have been.

I have been blessed, no doubt at all, with a "good ride" so far. I can't see ahead. I can only take in this day, make a few plans for the near future, and remember my stories of the past. I do plan to eek out all of life that I can, all that God gives to me. I do hope to get another few decades out. I'd like to need to do a companion layout to this one. Do you think I can? Will I still be scrapbooking in 30 years? I am not certain of what is ahead. But, I know as long as I can, I will be savoring my days, and striving to tell some of the stories therein.

There's never a wish better than this....when you only got a hundred years to live.

You Only Got a Hundred Years to Live ~ Snapshots of Me ~ July 2015

This layout was featured in the July issue of Create by Scrapbook Generation which can be seen here on their website. 

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation 

Paper: Authentique, Pebbles

Title Font: American Typewriter, Mahogany Script