Peanut Butter Eggs and Polka Dotted Swiss

Easter is kind of a crazy holiday. It moves all over the calendar, acting as capriciously as the very eggs themselves that you try to dye. I will never forget the very first year we lived in North Texas. My deep south Texas mom planning mode found the perfect short-sleeved pastel shirts for the boys that matched my sleeveless dress. A cold front blew in, and I have photos of us standing near budding trees, wind blowing our hair, freezing.

As a child, Easter to me meant matching dresses for me and my sisters that mother would whip out on her sewing machine, and specifically I recall the tortures of laced necklines and stiff polka dotted swiss that both itched like the blazes during church. I always loved picking out my new white patent leather shoes, and I remember being delighted the year that I graduated from knee socks to white tights. I also remember treading oh, so carefully on those virginal white shoes, not wanting any scuff marks to mar their sparkling new status. I also loved a little white beaded handbag one year. I believe it was the same year I got those white tights. Oh, I had it going back in the day.

As I aged and entered adulthood, Easter became a jumbled chaos of pinks and blues and baskets of candy, and Steve and I, childless at the time, were the designated egg hunt hiders, choosing to head outside with baskets overbrimming with eggs to be hidden, rather than stay inside and try to manage a herd of children eager to hunt for the chocolate that would be over their eating allotment, partially melted, and offer a perennial mess, including but not limited to the little discarded pastel foil wrapper balls that would be found in nooks and crannies for weeks to come. Children too eager to eat more candy on the sly could never be bothered to head to the trashcan with those. 

When Steve and I moved an hour north of my family in Houston, we became a tour spot on the Easter rounds, our home now perfect for hosting the family Easter gathering. Our heavily treed backyard and lush grass, along with our large deck, was an excellent spot for activities relating to Peter Cottontail, et. al. However, the Easter twenty-one years ago was slightly different. Instead of hiding the eggs, I was the egg. I was 38 weeks pregnant at the time, and decked out for the sunny spring afternoon in a jersey knit top that was full of tiny flowers. I remember going to the OB the morning after Easter, and him fussing at me over my weight gain. I assured him it was the salt from the Easter ham and the fluid would come off.

Well, indeed it did. That Easter Sunday in 1994 was April 3. The following Saturday, 11 days early, I went into labor and my own little bundle of joy appeared just after midnight on Saturday, giving our first child a birthdate of Sunday, April 10.  If I could have been a little faster, he would have had the coolest birthday - 4-9-94. Alas, I didn't make the midnight mark and settled for the 11 day early feat.

Easters took on another new meaning at this juncture. Little boys in dandy matching outfits with cute coordinating socks and shoes, Easter hunt outfits for playing in, and parents wanting a nap at about the moment the sugar high kicked in for the kiddos. We moved around the state, and took our little boys with us, keeping to the simple Easter traditions we had that of course always included starting the day at church.

While growing up in my house had included the age old tradition of dying Easter eggs every year the Saturday before Easter, as the photo above documents, Steve and I never implemented that tradition with our sons. I don't know if it has to do with the fact that Steve worked every year on the Saturday before Easter or not. It never was appealing to me. No one would eat those eggs, and they just easily cracked and were quite the mess. Warm gulf Easters could even have the dye coming off on your hand if the hunt ran long. We were none the worse for wear by skipping it. Paas had nothing to offer me and each year I skipped over that egg dying kit on the Target aisle, no regrets.

One year, 2010 to be exact, the boys got a wild March hair and wanted to pick up one of those Paas kits. Now, mind you, they are 14 and 15 years old at this point, and since I imagined the mess could be managed easily enough, I acquiesced. We bought the kit and the Saturday before another April Easter, we dyed Easter eggs. Our one and only time. I think the boys kind of felt like Steve and I about it - once you've done it, it's enough. They were really cute in the moment - quite proud of their feats. I still smile when I see these photos and remember these tall lanky boys, headed into manhood, wanting to dye eggs and really enjoying it.

Easter has changed once again. We celebrated our first Easter on Sunday where there were no Orange Danish for breakfast, no new clothes in the house, no baskets to prep, no candies to shove into eggs. It was a little melancholy to say the least, Reese's Peanut Butter eggs offering me no comfort. I was open to embracing the change as an opportunity to soak in the true import of the day, and we had an amazing worship service at church no doubt. We changed the restaurant where we ate, and invited two dear friends to go with us. We had a wonderful day, truly. But in my heart I was thinking about all the Easters past, full of baskets and boys and bunnies, and  wishing for just a simple case of Easter Egg-citement.

A Simple Case of Easter Egg-citement ~ Easter Weekend ~ April 2010

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Echo Park, Lawn Fawn, October Afternoon, W R Memory Keepers

Title Font: Eggcream Title Stickers: October Afternoon

I'll Like You For Always

My older sister is a librarian and as a young mother, I leaned on her guidance for children's book recommendations as needed. Of course, my boys are now well out of the genres of elementary school librarians, but I have fond memories of connections with her and with my sons over books we pored over, shared, and compared. Pattie was into children's books long before I was, because of her profession, and I remember in particular her bringing some books to read as part of a presentation at a ladies church retreat. 

She is a skilled crafter in her reading style, and I learned from her that day to emulate her captivating style when later in life I read to my children, just as I learned what books to stockpile in our own little family library, and which ones to read over and over. I have a small cache of those remaining books, books that I think I will have until I am no longer on this earth, or until I pass them on to my sons and their future families. 

One such book is a dog-eared copy of "I'll Love You Forever" by Robert Munsch. I can clearly see this columbian blue book cover in my mind, and I am never one to downplay the artistic creation on a cover that can convey a lovely introduction to a new found literary friend. Pattie read this particular book at that ladies retreat, which had to be back in the late '80's, as I know it was before we moved to The Woodlands in January 1991. Yes, a memory of a good book, superbly read, can stay with you for decades. I believe, too, that my family copy of this book was a gift from her at a baby shower. At the retreat, she had us in tears by the time she finished reading that book to the room full of adult women. And I can tear up at the mere memory of it, and I know clearly that I can easily cry if I were to read it today.

A mother held her new baby and very slowly rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she held him, she sang: 

I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living my baby you'll be.

- Robert Munsch 

 

When I first heard of the book, I obviously did not have any children yet, and I did not know at that time that I would have sons that would someday tower over me. My affection for the book when first heard was out of a deep love for my own mother, and her deep love of her mother that I had observed firsthand. I was in my late twenties at the time of that book reading, and old enough to appreciate my mother to a large degree - although at that moment I did not near appreciate her as much as at this very moment that I am typing - but I was old enough to see ahead around the corner to the inevitability of time and of both of us aging. 

While I knew I would not have any stairs to someday climb to fetch her, or rocker to hold her in, I knew that I would love her forever, and that as long as I'm living, her baby I'll be. Mom and I have this game we play. She tells me she loves me more than I love her. And I tell her that isn't possible, because I have loved her all of my life, and she has loved me only part of hers.  We both win this game.

As my children entered my life, and took over my house, and my schedule, and my heart, the book, of course, took on a new layer of meaning, spanning across four generations of mother-child love, instead of only three. My own personal role of mothering intensified my knowledge of  just how rich the penned words in that little blue softcover book were, and many a time I held a wriggling tender little boy, singing to them in my mind the same chant that Pattie had crooned over that room full of crying church women. 

As I worked on this Valentine layout, looking at these photos of my very big boys, on the fence between boyhood and manhood, boys that have grown now into men that could carry me if needed, and boys whose laps certainly could now bear me, the images of that book, and the words of those pages came lighting back to my heart, and to my mind, as I tried mightily to stem the tide of time, and keep those boys with me just a little while longer.

We know by now how this chapter ends. We know that any mom and/or dad that succeed in raising their child trade off that success for a nest that empties, rooms that stay dark, cell phones that don't ring near enough, and calendars with far too many gaps in between true face time.

On this Valentines Day, as we began the wrap-up time with our sons at home every day with us, with one son in his first year of high school, everything became more cherished. And as I looked back on this Valentine's Day memory, the words "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as you're living, my baby you'll be" seemed as appropriate and applicable as they ever might be. 

I am blessed to see my sons turning into handsome, intelligent, fun, witty, caring, sensitive, compassionate, loving young men. I am blessed that they are both embracing college and all the opportunities that it offers. I am blessed that right now, at this moment, we are all healthy and whole and happy and employed in endeavors that speak to our commitments and our hearts. I am blessed with the excitement of seeing what they become, and pondering what lies ahead, and remembering joyfully what these last years have held. And I am blessed that these words ring true for me, and for my husband, "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as you're living, my baby you'll be."

I'll Love You Forever ~ Valentine's Day ~ February 2010

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Crate Paper

Title Font: Silhouette Cut File

A Meal Made With Love

This time last week, it was Valentine's Day and I was on a jet plane to sunny Orlando, Florida. Sounds crazy, huh? As Valentine's Day approached, Steve and I just couldn't wrap our heads around what that looked like now, here in the house, just the two of us, when our traditions had run so deeply wrapped around celebrating with the boys, and creating a large, multi-course home cooked meal...for four. We limped through 2014 with Andrew here, and Philip's first year away, eager to provide him with one last year of our tradition, all the while the three of us noticing the empty chair at the table. 

I think in our hearts, Steve and I knew that we needed to do something different this year, more than any other, just to break the expectational mold of, and definition for, what Valentine's looked like for us. When we found out that Valentine's weekend coincided with President's Day on Monday, a three day weekend suddenly held lots of possibilities. And of course, our hearts leaned to one of our favorite places on earth, determined to make the most of our annual passes. 

We planned the trip just two weeks before taking it, and and in Disney trip planning time, that is sort of stunning. We pulled it off, and had a magical weekend. But even while I was in the throes of the Magic Kingdom, and surrounded by balloons, parades, and smiles, it was a bittersweet weekend. Little toddling boys reminded us of our own. We stumbled on things that we knew would make the boys smile. We rode their favorite rides, and walked the seven magical lands with joy in our hearts, but with memories of other trips, and the boys' presence etched on our minds.

While this year we had Valentine's Day dinner at the Grand Floridian cafe, and had the most amazing Shrimp and Grits meal, I did miss my big Italian meal. And it goes without saying that I missed sitting at my dining room table with my boys. Dinner amore'. Dinner made with love. I don't know if I could pinpoint the exact year we started this tradition, but I know it began back in San Antonio, so that could be as many as 18 years ago. I know that preschool years there acclimated them to Valentine's Day, and that set off the shift, the tectonic shift, of our celebration on February 14 every year.

I remember so many years where I would spend the day in the kitchen, preparing the various components of the meals. The Italian entrees changed over time, as the boys matured and their tastes changed. I used to make stuffed shells every year, a batch of meat stuffed shells, and a batch of cheese stuffed shells, using the recipe from Steve's family. 

I would also make, in the early years, the cheesecake recipe I garnered from a college spring break trip to Philadelphia, home of the famous cream cheese. I believe fettucine alfredo was an early addition to the menu, and it has survived across the years, and is one thing the four of us really love, while the cheesecake gave way to Creme Brûlée.

Chocolate dipped strawberries made their debut early in the menu, too, and are one of the family faves, as well. They are set out on the counter early, and greet everyone as they come in from their day, and are just gobbled up in no time. I remember little boy dimpled hands helping me dip them in chocolate across the years. I remember the really large strawberries we could get in the valley, where all the produce was so fresh. 

When we moved to Dallas, and found and fell in love with Maggiano's, Steve decided to try to replicate their fried zucchini into our annual Valentine's menu. It quickly became another family fave, and it's the only time a year that he makes it. The stuffed shells gave way to lasagna, when the boys finally decided they no longer loved the little shells full of goodness. {I secretly love the shells and really miss them.} Another Dallas change was the infusion of Carrabba's into our menu. Chicken Bryan, of all things. Steve's and Philip's favorite.

Across time, over the miles, in three different homes, we have celebrated Valentine's with a meal. Red checkered tablecloth. Candlelight. A table full of tasty meals, prepared by either me, or by Steve, or by both of us, or with the boys helping us. Dinner made with love. Dinner made for love. Dinner amore'. I am not sure when, if ever, the four of us will be together again on Valentine's Day. The boys will go their own ways after college, more than likely. But, I will always have my memories, and wherever any of us are, it is my wish that on Valentine's we can sit around a table, with people we cherish  and soak in the moment, and have our own version of our dinner amore', a meal made with love. 

Dinner Amore' ~ Valentine's Day ~ February 2010

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Crate Paper

Title Font: 2 P's Mister Giggles

The Invitation to CREATE

I guess I began writing as a fifth grader. I entered a play in the Bicentennial Fair about Betsy Ross and the American flag. I can still remember the two Davids playing the roles of American Revolutionaries as they acted out my play on the stage of the Astroarena in Houston. The following year I took creative writing with, of all names, Ms. English, and that segued into newspaper staff in the 7th grade with Mrs. Blanscet. I cannot recall easily if I wrote my 8th grade year, as I know I was an officer on the Student Council. But, as high school beckoned, I decided to follow my journalistic flair.

I tried out for and made the staff of The Gauntlet. It was heaven. I was made for yearbook staff. I loved the grid paper, the large rub-ons, the smell of the chemicals coming out of the darkroom, the dusty layer of all things paper on every conceivable surface. I was assigned the Underclassmen section of the yearbook, and set out to paste tons of little headshots down on paper, and type the names out via one of the Smith Coronas lined up underneath the shoulder high windows. The yearbook room was at the end of the last hall, as if forgotten, or relegated to the fringe, but it was the perfect spot in my book. We had easy access out to our cars to go sell ads, and swing by Jack in the Box on our way back.

I stayed on yearbook staff for all four years of high school. I was offered and accepted the position of Editor-in-Chief for my sophomore year, and kept that position until I graduated. The Gauntlet became my baby and even though I worked with three different yearbook advisors, I was able to be the voice of continuity and help vision cast the themes each year. I recruited friends to the staff. By my senior year, the staff had morphed from students that needed an elective to a staff of honor students and close friends, friends that I am still in the loop with to this day. And my first yearbook editor, Ms. Bryce, is a jewel to me and I am thankful that I am still in touch with both her and Mrs. Blanscet. Teachers are amazing inspiration touch points.

High school ended and even though I was offered a journalism scholarship at a state school, the powers that be determined that I attend a private school in Arkansas. I left behind my vision for being a journalist and took on the accountant cap at my alma mater that would now be at the foothills of the Ozarks. I did dabble with yearbook there. My freshman year I was on Petit Jean staff, once again on the Underclassmen section, but it didn't feel the same at all. I didn't connect with any of the others, and the goal set for me of graduating in three years didn't really allow the time for it. I set it all to the side.

As a young stay-at-home mom, I was introduced to scrapbooking. That was perfect timing, because I had actually created a TO DO list after leaving corporate America, and organizing and dealing with photos was at the top of the list. Sadly, 20 years later, the rest of the list remains untouched. Maybe I will get those recipes organized after I retire. Again. :-) Scrapbooking filled my creative void, and awakened in me all of my journalistic love that I had set to the side, much like the letter jacket, the Jack in the Box runs, and the schoolbooks themselves. I had a good but wild scrapbooking ride with Creative Memories, and then moved to the Dallas metroplex. In the big city, much like the physical transition itself from the Rio Grande Valley to Big D, I left CM behind, back in the dust of the valley, as I grew ready to embrace all of the ideals that glittered in the posh Dallas skyline. 

Much like leaving AOL and finding the "real internet", I parted ways with CM and found a whole "real scrappy world". One thing led to another, and I eventually morphed my style of scrapbooking completely, led by the ideas and inspiration I was finding in that scrappy world.  I found Creating Keepsakes in 2005 and had - as what I consider a pipe dream, super lofty, basically unattainable - the goal of being published. I didn't want the publicity per se, I just wanted my work to be "that good". Having won first place at state UIL in writing, I was accustomed to pushing myself and pursuing excellence. {Now, I am not saying by any measure of degree that I believe I have attained that now, or will ever attain it. I am saying I like to learn and love to improve.}

My scrappy world led me down the road, or should I say up the road, to Scrapbook Generation in Springfield, Missouri. Missouri really did become the SHOW ME state. I found their sketches in 2010 via some friends on Two Peas in a Bucket, and it was the marriage of my high school journalism love to my young mom's love of all things paper and photos and pen. Their sketches helped me refine my layouts, define my style, and experiment with new angles of inspiration. My husband has always supported my crafting. He doesn't always understand my "need" for so much paper, but he never questions it, and has been known to go out of the way to help me pull off a hair-brained idea. 

I found out that Scrapbook Generation held a mega crop twice a year. And in the summer of 2011, I decided I wanted to go. And I convinced my husband to take me. And I convinced a bunch of gals from Two Peas to go, too. We had a wonderful time. I made it back for a second one. And then I segued to their retreats, all the while loving on their sketches and using 'em like there's no tomorrow. Since discovering their sketches in 2010, I could probably count on one hand the number of layouts I've done without one of their sketches. I just find them to be such a foundational grid that lock me in for a beautiful layout, and set me up to be able to create outside the box of that grid something that will work, that will be fun, that I will enjoy. 

And having met the female family of four that IS Scrapbook Generation, I can tell you they are women of honor, women with family values, women with amazing and unending creativity, women that care, women that serve, women that have succeeded in the business world, women that will laugh with you, women that will cry with you, women that you are blessed to know. When they launched CREATE last year, I was blown away by the free electronic monthly magazine, and I was, honestly, a tad jealous of the inaugural design team. Even though I have drooled over every issue of the 2014 magazine, when the design call came out for 2015, I wasn't sure I would apply, unsure of whether I could make the cut, unwilling to open up my heart to hope, unwilling to be left out, much like the photos that don't make the page. I waffled back and forth, and on the last day, I did send in my application, knowing if I didn't try to be again a part of creating for these SG women that embody so many traits that are also embedded in my core, that I would be full of regret.

I did apply, and then I doubted myself, and I fretted, and I had resigned myself to not making the team, and I talked to Steve about it almost nightly while walking, trying all the while to breathe and not obsess...and on the very night that I had given up all hope, Steve walked in to Scrap Central at the exact moment that my iMac flashed an email bubble at the top right of my screen, and in that second that I could see him in my peripheral vision, I could also see Debbie's email address and the words "Welcome to the CREATE team" on that email bubble. I was so excited that I wanted to shout and jump around and cry and breathe big sighs of relief. And I blurted out some jumbled words to him, and opened the email and read some of the sweetest words a gal can see when she has striven for so long to be a creative wordsmith.

I won't be the best, and I won't be the most creative, and I won't have the work that is over the top, but I can tell you I will give it my all. I can tell you I will love it. I can tell you I am honored beyond measure. I can tell you I love to create. Thanks, Scrapbook Generation, for the inspiration, the ideas, the friendship, the amazing online store, the over the top sketches, and the invitation to CREATE. I am looking forward to 2015 with eyes wide open, photos at the ready, and paper scattered everywhere. Come create with me, come CREATE with us.

                                                                         

Scrap-a-Palooza ~ Scrapbook Generation Mega Crop ~ June 2011

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Pebbles

Letter Stickers: American Crafts

Simply Being Together

This past January was the thirty year mark of my having met this most amazing man. I wanted there to be fireworks in the sky, a romantic getaway for two, a weekend of moments to pause and reflect on three decades of being friends. It wasn't in the budget, though, and instead we sent off a college tuition payment. ;-) No harm, no foul. 

When I look at our life together, I am always amazed that God picked me to give such a wonderful gift of a man. There isn't a day that we get to spend together where we do not laugh, or smile at each other across the room, or finish each other's sentence, while wishing we had more time together. I don't mind getting older at all, but I am really learning to value the measure of a moment.

While having the blessing of scrapbooking for two decades, I have had the blessing of carving out a life for three decades with a funny, tender, sweet man who happened first to be my friend. The treasure in that lies in the fact that he enjoys me, he lets me be me, he strives to bring out the best in me, and he sees me for who I am, and not who he wishes I were. There isn't any higher calling in our life than that. I know I am who I am today because God gave me this man to help mold me and shape me into the best pieces of me.

Steve has always been very supportive of my scrapbooking, and also of my writing. There are many nights he will sit in here on a chair, with either his Airbook or my little TV on, and just camp out in here with me and let me create, and he is content. And every night that I am in Scrap Central, I am wishing he was in here with me. I think of our "last house", the one more I want to build, and I ponder how I can create a space that allows me to create right next to him. 

Last fall, October 2013, I was taking an online class. It's a spectacular class - it kind of made my eyes open up more to the possibilities with the sketches I love so much. The class is called Photo Arrangement Replay and it dissects the bones of the sketches and tells you how to put them back together. Well, one sketch called for a big element, and I immediately thought of a star, and I immediately thought of wanting to do a layout about going to the Cowboys - Giants football game.

I began pulling papers together, and I just didn't have the right ones. I didn't have all of the ones that I wanted. Drat that college tuition, and me cutting back some and being sensible. ;-) There were two stores "near" me at the time, one 66 miles south of me, and one 75 miles west of me. Yes, the metroplex is huge. I called the one south of me and they did not have the paper I needed. I called the one west of me, and they did have the paper I needed. Then, I debated inwardly the utter insanity of driving 75 miles to buy 3 one dollar pieces of paper. Well, the whole of scrapbooking can be considered insanity if you look at it on the dollars and cents/sense scale. I've never let that deter me yet. ;-)

What I love about this man of mine is that he gets it. When I told him my dilemma of not having the right paper, not being able to get it delivered from an online order until the deadline for the layout was past, and the possibility of driving 1 1/2 hours to a little store to which I had never before been and 1 1/2 hours back from same said store, he said, "Well, it's a beautiful day. Let's go." Yes, long ago, you had me at hello.

We left home around 11 am, trying to time the to and from trip legs outside the boundaries of any rush hour traffic situations, and we headed west, to Fort Worth, very nearly after a load of goats. Now, my mother would always say if someone was taking a long time and not arriving as expected "They must have gone to Fort Worth after a load of goats!",  meaning they were inherently lost, off base, running behind. If ever there was a moment in my life when I might be considered to be headed to Fort Worth after a load of goats, I knew with all of my being as I buckled into my seat that this might very well be that moment.

It was an absolutely beautiful day for a drive. We went on roads we had never been on before, unknowing at the time that in a month we would repeat this drive as part of the journey to visit a college with our youngest son. I like serendipitous moments like that. And while we were out and about on this beautiful fall day, we saw for the first time a restaurant called Pappa's Burgers. Now, anyone that grew up in Houston knows the fame of the Pappa's brand. And Steve and I have a long love of eating at all of their various restaurants, including the beloved but short-lived Italian Pappa Mia's off 1-10, and the genesis of their brand, The Strawberry Patch off Westheimer.

So, we knew when we saw that burger joint, as well as we knew we were on an incredibly silly field trip, that we should stop and redeem the sanity level by having a good 'ole Texas burger. And, oh, my goodness - what a burger it was! We sat on the open air covered patio and just had a delightful lunch. I have a secret fetish for Fritos and any burger that has guacamole and Fritos on it always gets my vote. I loved that burger. I do hope some day to make it back there for another one. The onion rings were equally good and Steve liked his burger, too. Truly a fun little find.

We finished up our meal, headed on to the store, I bought my paper, and we headed home, to Scrap Central, where I could finish this layout, For the Love of the Game. It was just an ordinary kind of day in our life, really. A day where we ran an errand. A day where we stumbled onto some good food and shared a meal al fresco. A day where we took in some of the beautiful soft hills of Texas. A day where we found some adventure and explored new places. A day where we loved simply being together.  And I have been blessed to have three decades of them. Yes, long ago, you had me at hello.

Fun in Forth Worth ~ Paper Diva Field Trip ~ October 2013

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Carta Bella

Font: EggCream

Finally, I want to remind you to check out my three friends, Laurie, Stephanie, and Tina, on The Scrapbooker's Blog Tour! Today they will have their blog post up for their turn on tour and I would love for you to check them out! 

From last week's post:

Laurie Danielle is something I'll never be - the mother to a little darling girl! I've never scrapped "girl pages" and I just love her bright use of colors and the fun layouts she does of her little one! I am always inspired by her artistic bend. Check out her work on her blog, http://lauriedanielle.com. I think you'll love it!

Stephanie Feltus is a sweetie that I have had the pleasure of scrapping with more than once. I am always envious of her having started scrapbooking so young, before being married. She will have her whole life scrapped! Her blog address is  http://craftyholidaygirl.blogspot.com and I would love for you to check our her work!

TinaGale Husong is another friend that I have had the pleasure of scrapping with. Not in my home state, and not in hers, but up in St. Louis! Tina is a Mickey fanatic, too, and so not only can we dish die cuts, but we can dish Disney. Her blog is  http://tiggersscrapplace.blogspot.com and it is another great blog to check out! 

Million Dollar Movies, Priceless Moments

Some of us are old enough to remember television on three network channels only...and maybe that fourth local channel that offered reruns, if you could twist your antennae just right and the wind wasn't blowing too hard. You know...the days when the children were the remote? And there was one television in the house and it might have been in a cabinet as big as your sofa?

Dad and mom had the most amazing television set. And boy was it ever a set. It was a long chest-like cabinet, with the television screen in the middle, and big speakers on either side of it. The fascinating part, though, was that the top of both speakers lifted, and revealed a turntable on one side and a tape player on the other side. Opening up those special cases was akin to opening Fort Knox. 

Every time mom wanted to move the furniture, the big question was, "Where will we put the TV?" You see, it had to hook up externally to the antennae that was outside the window, via a thin black cord that was the equivalent of the TV's umbilical cord. That TV could only go so far from the window. Otherwise, it really was just another big piece of furniture.

It's so funny to think back now to how we all circled around that square screen, as if it were the campfire. However, none of us could sit directly in front of the screen if dad was home, as our little heads would block his view. Of course, we could not talk either. We sat between him and the speakers and we couldn't - or didn't - dare override the important sound emitting from those side speakers that accompanied the grainy - and sometimes still black and white - picture off our  choice de jour from our four channels.

So, our little semi-circle on the floor each night was our "front seat" to the wide world of sports, olympics that occurred every four years, news that came on twice a day for 30 minutes, Mash, Sanford & Son, All in the Family, The Waltons, The Carol Burnett Show, and the crowning moment of any day, The Tonight Show with the inimitable Johnny Carson. {I was only old enough to stay up late enough to watch this when I entered high school.} As persnickety as all the TV watching rules were, we did do a lot of laughing over simple sitcoms and comic geniuses.

Afternoons of TV were much more relaxed. They usually included my brother and I settling in to our favorite set of reruns - Gilligan's Island, I Dream of Jeannie, Leave it to Beaver, The Addams Family, The Monsters, with maybe some Flintstones thrown in there somewhere. And oh, the Scooby Doo marathons that a Saturday morning offered! So many simple moments together on that oval rug that substituted for the highway of our MatchBox cars during antennae outages or program delays - or the dreaded news bulletin interruption.

Life was simple. Four channels simple. Amazingly, we got all we needed to off of those four channels. And, we didn't even get to watch everything they offered! Soap was off limits. I think Eight is Enough was also off the list. And we missed all of the Wonderful World of Disney broadcasts since we went to church every Sunday night. There are still, to this day, Disney classics I haven't seen. {Shudder.} ;-)

One of the best memories of all of the TV elements, though, is my memory of the daily movie. Every afternoon at 3 PM, the local CBS channel would run the MILLION DOLLAR MOVIE. It had such a hokey graphic. A case, shaped to hold a roll of movie film, decked out and completely covered in gold rhinestones, with simple black all caps lettering on it saying MILLION DOLLAR MOVIE. But, the fun part was that it was on a little turntable and it would slowly spin, as if that made the movie more compelling.

Mom and I watched so many movies together. She was home until my brother started kindergarten, and then she was home in the summer. It would be a warm sunny afternoon, and she would sit on the couch folding laundry, and I would sit at her feet, and we would sing with Elvis, laugh with Bob Hope, and cry with Doris Day. It was a quiet time of the day. The movie would be over by 5, and dinner would be started during the commercials toward the end. And in those pre-dusk shadowy afternoons, movie magic happened. Life paused. Aside from the laundry, the to-do lists were set aside. Mom and I would sit there and watch the movies, happy to be together, happy to be entertained, happy to see the showcase of the million dollar movie.

I have always loved movies. Seeing a good movie throughout my life has always been a joy. Steve and I had many dates to campus movies. We still love to go today. Finding a new classic, a new favorite, is like finding a true treasure. I think it goes back to those afternoons with my mom. 

Sometimes in the absence of clothes clamoring to be folded, I could curl up on the couch next to her, settling into the soft crook of her padded arm. She was a good pillow. She was a good movie buddy. She is - and always has been - my great friend. While I have my memories of the million dollar movies, I am blessed today to still have my movie buddy, and our friendship is the real movie magic.

Reel Favorites ~ Timeless Movies I Love ~ 2009

The View from the Rockers, Above the Waves

I like to think of myself as an equal opportunity employer. See, there are two types of trips I love - the all out on-the-go non-stop kind of trip....and the trip where you just relax and go slow. True R&R. We have to balance our trips to hold everyone's interest, so we do mix it up. If I had to pick only one, I couldn't. I think that is why I like to cruise so much - it's the perfect hybrid: relaxing at sea, and adventure in the ports. 

When it comes to picking just the R&R vacation destination, I'll go first pick every time with the beach. Not much else has a chance unless I win the lottery and come into my own. ;-) I can never get in enough beach. Two summers ago we were blessed to plan for a week in South Carolina, right smack dab on the beach. The house we rented had an amazing location - and a full back porch that faced the shoreline. The picture below of the rocking chairs in single file, full of people I love, is one of my favorite beach moments ever.

It was like Beach 2.0 - the beachy experience I love, combined with a beautiful porch to veg on. See, I have a thing for porches, too. I have a thing for a lot of things, granted, but beaches + porches = some real bliss. When we were searching VRBO.com, when I found this house with the porch and rockers, it was pretty much a done deal that we would rent that one. 

And it turned out to be really a sweet, sweet time there on that beachy porch. It was the perfect perch for sunrise coffee and devotion, mid-morning conversations, post-dinner revelry, and late night deep thinking. When not on the beach, or inside for meals, we sat and took in the scenery - shrimp boats trawling, dolphins following in their wake, early morning exercisers, families strolling at dusk, the lights of Savannah across the harbor, coming on and twinkling as the day begrudgingly surrendered fully to the night. The chairs were almost always full. One could see the sense of urgency to get on out there and claim one of those rockers. See, there were 9 of us, and only 7 chairs. A true case of the early bird getting the worm. 

Speaking of birds and worms, one of the stories that played out on that porch while we were there was the battle with a momma bird for her time to feed her babies. Just above the door to the porch sat an external stereo speaker. And between that speaker and the house exterior, a momma bird had built her nest. We could hear those babies crying out in the morning for their daily feeding, and we could sense the frenetic energy of the mom as she waited for a safe moment to dive in and deposit the food delivery. It was, as both families were about to put a boy into his high school senior year, a poignant message to us about tending our nests, nurturing them, and becoming ready on all fronts for them to fly. 

We ignored that momma bird's badgering, as much as we ignored the message she chirped to our hearts. We sat rocking, resolutely, firm in our belief we were entitled to this window of family fun. We have had varying trips with different pieces and parts of the Kelly family over the years. This trip, though, was tender and such a gift, as it was the first time we all ever just went somewhere to be together and to take in the serenity of the ocean. On the porch, up above the waves.

They are an amazing family. So many layers to each of their personalities. We have been blessed to know them for 17 years. We have been blessed to have them praying with us, laughing with us, reading with us, crying with us, playing games with us, growing with us,  for all these 17 years. We have never been blessed, yet, to live in the same city. But, our bond reaches across the miles. And every so often, it happens to afford us coveted time together on the same piece of real estate.

I know we talked about much that week, but we listened, too. We sat and took in creation and listened. As I think about our Kelly grove, and our time together beside the ocean, I can't help but contemplate Hillsong United's song, Ocean. 

You call me out upon the waters,
The great unknown, where feet may fail.
And there I find You in the mystery,
In oceans deep, my faith will stand.

And I will call upon Your name,
And keep my eyes above the waves.
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace,
For I am Yours, and You are mine.

Your grace abounds in deepest waters.
Your sovereign hand will be my guide.
Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me,
You've never failed, and You won't start now.

So I will call upon Your name,
And keep my eyes above the waves.
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace,
For I am Yours, and You are mine.

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders.
Let me walk upon the waters,
Wherever You would call me.
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander,
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior.

This week together on Harbor Island was a week that stands out so in my heart. A snapshot in time. A snippet of togetherness for our hearts. A serendipitous pause from life to gather, cherish, nurture, explore, rest. No matter where life's tides take us, our families are knit together and we thank God for the Kelly family, for time together in creation, for the calling to stand with them on this side and ponder and remember and tell. Above the waves.

Life may have its borders, its challenges, its upheavals, its questions. So thankful for together time and for the community we have that helps us remember our faith is without borders. No matter life's tides. 

Family Fun ~ Harbor Island, South Carolina ~ August, 2012

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation http://scrapbookgeneration.com/index.php?route=product/category&path=213

Paper: October Afternoon

Font: American Crafts Kinzie

These Smiling Faces

I am a hopeless patriot. I'll never apologize for it. I can cry every time I watch Mel Gibson and Heath Ledger battle in The Patriot. I get goosebumps on the high note of America, The Beautiful. I loved singing, "This land is my land, this land is your land....this land was made for you and me," along with Mrs. Collins and her ukelele in elementary school. When I watch Les Miserables, I can lay the solemnity of that redemptive revolution over the grid of American history, and weep on both behalf's. 

I love America the Beautiful. Old Glory waves from my porch column more days out of the year than not. I can see her flapping in the north Texas breeze from the chair in which I sit and type. I have a tiny bound copy of the Declaration of Independence - in love with it's little book form as much as the words it proffers. I sing along with the national anthem any chance I can, and probably often when I'm not supposed to. I can watch the National Treasure movies over and over, enthralled by the history thrust into the plot.

It was chance that landed us with an anniversary on the birthday of our country. A chain of events involving more than ourselves led us to that day. And I'll tell you - it does not offer much in the way of romantic interludes and recollections of courtship. We have been teased relentlessly about giving UP our independence ON independence day. No matter. We did what we could, and picked the date in the summer of 1987 that worked for so many of our family, and we married on an incredibly hot, humid, summer Saturday afternoon in July. And it happened to be the fourth.

The upsides: we are off together every year on our anniversary, and if we are lucky, there are fireworks. We usually conspire some getaway, or even an extended vacation, during our anniversary. It is special in that we are always together as a family, and we are usually doing something fun together, and we also get to embrace the celebration of the land that I love.

When we contemplated celebrating our 25th, cruising with the boys, and our lifelong friend, Mark, that introduced Steve and I way back in January 1984,  aboard the Disney Magic seemed so appropriate. After all, anyone knows that hitting the 25 year mark of a marriage comes with plenty of fireworks, requires a fair bit of magic, needs the ability to stay afloat in any kind of weather, and has the goal of sailing in smooth waters. ;-) 

Steve and I have been extremely blessed. I always say that every marriage that stays together is one that consciously decides to stay together. Exit doors will pop up all along the way. We have seen those doors. We have pushed past them. We have reached the phase in our life together where we are deep friends and gentle companions. We miss each other when not together - not in the earnest sorrow of an eighteen year old, but in the sincere affection of wanting to share a moment, a memory, a word, a thought, with your most prolific friend, with one whom has seen all of your life events spanning, as of this writing, three decades.

I loved celebrating our 25th anniversary on July 4 in the waters off Alaska. I loved seeing the boys get excited over the dinner that night in Animators' Palate. I loved that Mark was with us to experience his first Disney cruise. I loved that all five of us embraced adventure and were equally mesmerized by the wildly extravagant beauty of Alaska. I loved that we ran into Americana Mickey. I loved that those silly shipboard photographers captured some of all of it for me. 

I can sit here and remember each moment in these photographs below - and I can remember a lifetime of moments spent together across our country. We have pieced together a story that is as rich as the colors in our flag. We have been blessed with a bountiful tale - a tale I love - our life, our liberty, and the pursuit of our happiness. You have only to look at the faces below. You can see it plain as day. I love all these smiles, and the stories that go with them.

It's always my joy to hear Happy Anniversary...and say Happy Birthday America. "This land is my land, this land is your land...this land was made for you and me." Chasing life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness freely in the land that I love is a rich gift, one for which I am forever grateful. Just as much as I am grateful for the life I have with these smiling faces.

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness - Disney AK Cruise, Fourth of July - July 2012

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation http://scrapbookgeneration.com/index.php?route=product/category&path=213 This is actually a Generations Kit by Debbie Sanders. She is an amazing talent and I only add a few trinkets here and there to complement her incredible layout.

Paper: We R Memory Keepers