There's No Place Like Home

I unpacked the very last box on Sunday, and as of that day, we'd been in the house six days short of the seven month mark. I never expected it to take me that long to unpack, but there isn't anyone my age that doesn't expect life to throw you some curve balls, and to take them in stride is the best management plan. As I unpacked the box, I was acutely mindful of its contents: Demdaco angels that go on display in my scrapbook room. We knew when we moved in that there was no point in unpacking them, as we were going to have custom cabinets built. So when we came across that box, it and the box holding my crosses were set to the side "for later".

As I unpacked the angels and set them out on the kitchen island, I thought about the years of gifting they spanned. I think the earliest date that I saw inked onto the bottom of one was "May '01"...that would have been the first Mother's Day that we lived in McAllen, Texas. Steve would always take the boys to Quips and Quotes on North 10th Street to let them pick one or two out for me for Mother's Day, or Valentine's Day, or my birthday. And as I looked at all of them {I have 32}, I recalled little blonde-headed boys curling up on my lap, or, later, peering at me through awkward adolescent eyes, as we would sit around our dining room table over our family meal. And when I went to place them on the shelves in my now finished custom cabinets, I did not fret over running out of room. My collection fit perfectly, almost too perfectly, as if planned. But as it happens, it was just a serendipitous, organic moment of perfection. The angels fit perfectly, and I knew I need not worry about the collection growing any, or running out of room. Those little blonde-headed boys have of course grown up and gone away, and Mother's Day came and went this year without anything other than a phone call from New York, and a hug from my son who was with us in Florida.

Life goes on. Our whole exercise in downsizing, or right-sizing, and moving was in fact a testament to that, a full expectation that it would be just the two of us again. Steve and I have embraced the spectacularly mild May and June weather we have been having in north Texas, and he and I have sat out on either our new side patio or our front porch in the evenings as much as possible. As we sat on the side patio Thursday night, I asked him, now that we are basically completely settled in the house, and accustomed to most things around us and our new life, if he was content, or happy, with the choice we made to move. See, we are at the two year anniversary of "THE GREAT RIGHT-SIZING DECISION". ;-) You don't have to peer too far back on my cob-webbed and abandoned blog to see that this whole change began with a conversation on our Murphy front porch on Saturday, June 6, 2015, two years ago from today, the day I am "penning" this post. And as Steve and I talked Thursday night, we both came to the individual and mutual decision that it was the right decision, and we are far happier where we are now. Granted, it's been a long two years, full of lots of temporary situations, hard work, stress, and chaos, but unpacking that last box on Sunday signaled the virtual, and very real, end of it all. 

I've stopped binge watching HGTV. I started reading an actual fiction book Sunday night. The stress is off my shoulders. My level of internal joy is increasing and bubbling up inside me. I smile more. I hope more. I look toward the end of the day, the ensuing days, with possibility and positivity. I have resumed my walking at lunch. My Pottery Barn wish list has dwindled down to only some new bedding, {whenever they finally roll out something I like}. Steve and I have resumed our running. Sometimes I just sit down on the sofa and watch a show or take a nap -- because I can. {In fact, one night not too long ago, I sat on the sofa all night long and just watched TV for 3 hours. Unheard of!} He unloaded the box of a puzzle the other night to piece together. We've chatted with our neighbors. We've invited two couples over for dinner this coming weekend {our inaugural hospitality launch}. We've had our first full week vacation away from our new home. {I missed my home!} We've started our builders' warranty work list. And goodness, it's almost unfathomable to comprehend that we have almost been in the house for seven months, but it's true. I've been working on settling in almost non-stop that entire time, and my body can tell you it's true. ;-) Time does fly.  All these days here have been full, busy, productive, and they have flown by.

And in addition to settling down in the house, I'm settling down now in the scrapbook room. March, April, and May have been a crafty flurry of chaos, mayhem, and organizational rabbit holes. I've lived my life for so many months with a DAILY TO DO LIST, and my lists, for the house and the craft room, are nearing their collective ends. I don't know what I'll do with myself! Wait, yes, I do! I ordered some paper today for a specific set of photos, and I am itching to get to scrapping them! But not just yet, as this week I am seriously focusing on wrapping up the last of the moving in of my scrapbook room. I am down to the final items on my list, and that will mean I can finally live the life I designed! ;-) 

I am, admittedly {and surprisingly to me} suffering a little anxiety at finally being finished with everything, and I am internally adapting to no longer needing to search for ideas, research choices, make decisions, shop for things...but at the same time, I am very eager to re-define and re-shape a new normal! I guess after nearly two years of designing and deciding, it's normal that it has consumed me, and it's normal that it's ending, and it's normal, I hope!, to need to adapt to the change. I have scrapped some basic layouts in my new space during April and May, and I have to say the "test runs", or "soft opening", of the new room's custom configuration have gone very well and leave me longing, finally, to once again and un-abandonedly scrap! I am about to be once again where desire and feasibility collide, and yet in a new way, as I've never before experienced a personal, customized space!

So the last box is unpacked, and the last stack of things to put away sits on my built-in desk, and all the collective lists are nearly done. It finally, finally is about over. The dream we launched 24 months ago, the dream we agonized over for 16 months in an apartment, the dream we have been working on in the house for the last nearly seven months - the dream has now come true! I'm really, really about to live the life I designed. And the house, somewhat like the angels fitting on their shelves, fits us perfectly right now. It's been a serendipitous, organic process, and it feels like perfection. It feels like home. Home Sweet Home. There's just no place like it. 

Home Sweet Home ~ Our New Home ~ November 2016

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Lily Bee, Simple Stories

Title: Silhouette File

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 Life in my Years

I've always done a big Christmas card letter mailout thing. In the 90's, it was something of infamy. I've tapered its production off a bit, trending with the current penchant to abandon paper for any other type of media available, electronic preferred. My early letters were simple word documents, tucked inside of the Hallmark card chosen for the season after careful deliberation. There was one year where I lucked out and found the cutest card set, that offered matching stationary and envelopes, so that they coordinated perfectly with the card. It was like they were made just for me, as the house window on the front looked like one of my windows.

As the boys came along, I added the obligatory insert of the photograph. For the longest, I added a photo only of the boys. Wardrobes were planned, days were blocked out, family alerted - all systems go for THE CHRISTMAS CARD PHOTO SHOOT. I will confess I may have been a little too serious about it all. My guys were always fairly good-natured about it. I am consistent enough that they can predict my behavior. Time will certainly tell if my boys need therapy. 

I love my arsenal of cards and photos sent from years past. I can recall so many of them in my mind clearly. And for those that have slipped through the aging crevices of my gray matter, I have only to glance at the card or the photo and the memory rushes back to me. Good times. A good life.

At one point during the annual Christmas card exchange extravaganza, I received a letter in kind from a college buddy who I knew was taunting me with his barb about family cards with missing parents. I took his point at its merit and decided henceforth that we would send a family photo. I am not certain off the top of my head which year we first began our family photo, but I remember clearly the taking of the 2006 photo.

We had been in our north Texas home only about a year, and I knew our wooden staircase would be the perfect backdrop for the photo. Sunday afternoons are the go-to photo session timeframe. Hubby works every Saturday during the Christmas season and I've never been one of those gals that took the family photo outside of the season. The photo has to be current to feel right to me. And I need a little winter daylight.

In 2006, the boys were in 5th and 6th grade and Steve and I were in the early, kind stages of the 40's. Of course, finding decent clothes for the boys at this age that they were willing to wear and be photographed in - and that I approved of - was the biggest challenge. Once we had established a detente on what they would wear, Steve and I worked our wardrobes around them. Harry was a last minute addition to the photo. He ran up into the photo and I scooped him into my arms. I loved my little Yorkie and it seemed only fitting he be included.

About 10 snaps and I knew I had a keeper among the jpegs. When I sent the family photo out with the cards, I ended up doing a filter, so that the tone of the card was close to sepia, but the wash of the jeans was a lovely blue. I loved that we were all in our jeans and barefoot. That was how we lived at home - comfy shirts, comfy jeans and comfy toes. I love the bright smiles of the young pre-teen boys - their sweet spirits shining out, unencumbered.

This photo from December 2006 sits on my desk and I see it every day. It's one of my favorites. I loved it so much that on the beginning of the last full calendar year that we would be a family of four, I re-created it. I did the much ballyhooed scrapbooking project that year called Project Life - snapshot a day - and I wanted a photo of the four of us for the launch of my year long photography essay.

I grabbed us on a day that we were a) all home and b) wearing complementary clothes. Heaven forbid I have wardrobe requirements of my busy teenagers. It was just a simple blessing for my heart to capture us all at the beginning of that year that I knew was momentous for us all...that year that was going to go too fast for my beating heart.

I love these two photos side by side - one taken at the end of our first full year together in this home, and one taken at the beginning of our last full year together in this home. Classic juxtaposition. I love thinking of the boys, through all of our north Texas years, going up and down those stairs countless times in a day. I love envisioning them at their different heights and growth stages. I can see them in my mind's eye, growing up and up and up, rising in height just as certain as the wood planks themselves do.

I love knowing they are home - by their bounding of the stairs...or even sometimes sneaking on the stairs, as if the stairs will absorb their weight and won't reveal their passage. From where I lay in my bed, I can see the foot of the stairs. Many a time have I lain there in the AM and PM, watching for their descent or ascent.

I know that I cherish the noise of them being in the house. I know when the stairs are quiet that I am home alone. I walked up the stairs yesterday. Over eight years of traffic on them has them scuffed at the edges. I can polish them, but the paths of these boys are marked on them and I would not undo that for the world.

As I searched for elements for my page, I happened upon the little sentiment that seemed perfect for my page:

It is not the number of years in your life that count, it is the life in your years.

These boys, and our life all together, have been some of the sweetest life in my years. Sunday afternoons all together, in comfy jeans and chilling at home, is absolutely my kind of happy. 

My Kind of Happy ~ Family Photos ~ December 2012

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

Paper: October Afternoon

Fonts: Honey Script, Chaparral Pro

He Grabbed My Hand...and My Heart

The second week of January this year marked the thirtieth anniversary of the day that a skinny red-handed Yankee wondered into the dorm lobby at Cathcart with my friend Mark. He was a transfer student and -- back in the pre-internet day when you had to go to school to register for your classes, buy your books, and stand in line to garner a chapel seat assignment -- we always arrived 3 days before the school semester began to handle this big college chores. 

We all learned to get it over with quickly on the class and book thing, and to go together to end up sitting with someone you actually knew in chapel. It certainly made the 5 day mandated attendance a little more palatable. Big semester plans out of the way, we had a little precious time to kill before the semester began its onslaught of assignments and papers and readings and projects. 

It was in that pre-semester lull of the second semester of our freshman year that I met Steve. Cathcart was the freshman girls' dorm and the big lobby right in the middle of campus lent itself to many a gathering. Clusters gathered around the TV to watch one of the 3 channels. Groups lounged in the overstuffed chairs and sagging couches, chatting about all of the important events. Couples sought some level of privacy in a room full of anywhere from 10-30 given the time of day. Cathcart's lobby was also the mecca of knowledge. 

In the pre-cell phone days, it was where you went when you couldn't find someone, because there would always be at least one person there that had seen who had come in and gone out and in what grouping of students. I still love to see in my mind the swinging door that residents passed through to go to their rooms and that same door serving as the barricade in a non-coed dorm. The Resident Assistant on shift sat at the desk near that door, daring any trespassers to appear, and keeping guard on all the activities in the lobby as best as she could. Her perch three steps up gave her a nice lookout and those very same steps served as a warning to any non-resident, specifically male, who might approach that swinging  door.

There was a whole big bunch of us that ran around together. We didn't date per se - we did bunches of people to bunches of events. It was almost as if you had a family that was made up of 50 people at any given time. It was wonderful. When Mark finished his registration, he headed our way as Cathcart Lobby was the unofficial gathering spot for our bunch activity planning, and he brought with him a new transfer student he had met in the process. Steve and I became fast friends, and it was an often occurrence for him, Mark and I to go to the cafeteria together or the campus movie or the student center.  We were all three business majors, so our schedules and routes followed the same circuit. We became our own little mini-bunch within the greater bunch, so much so that people often quizzed us to see if we were siblings.

The three of us rocked along in this friendship thing for 2 years, over 4 semesters. I remember fondly setting Steve up for dates with girls in the dorm. I remember talking to him in the lobby about who he would like to go out with, and me running to the girls to see if the interest was mutual. I remember calling him out of the blue one July during summer school for his birthday. I can still hear his dad's sleepy voice, as I had not allowed for the central to east coast time change.

It was in the middle of the fall semester of my third year that things began shifting. He showed up on the patio of my dorm more often. And alone. He would walk me to my classes. He would be waiting for me in the student center near the mailboxes. He would angle to sit near me in the cafeteria. It seemed we were out of the big bunch more than we were in it. I took it all in stride until one afternoon, as we walked from the Mabee Business Center back toward Sears Dorm, that he grabbed my hand to hold and forever sent things sliding in a new direction.

So caught off guard was I that I stopped dead in my tracks, pulled my hand out of his, and said in a not too friendly voice, "What in the world are you doing?" What I know now, looking back, is that he was falling in love...and so was I. We had a relationship that easily and quickly slid from dear friends to casually dating to seriously courting in the span of about 4 months. By the time Thanksgiving came, I knew enough to tell my mom that I thought I was dating "the one". 

There was never any doubt in our love, never any heated argument, never a break-up one. We laughed together, we talked together, we walked together and we enjoyed each other's company as much while we were dating as we had while friends, if not more so. We learned to finish each other's thoughts and sentences, we found out favorites, and we realized that we had been given a true gift - a friendship that grew into a romance that seemed destined to last the test of time.

We are far today from those skinny college freshmen that first met in January, 1984. But, we have spent the last 30 years together building a life full of moments - memorable times, everyday mistakes, chaotic mundane. It has been truly a great gift for my heart. He is my partner like I could never have dreamed. He has pulled out of me the greater part of myself that I would never have had the courage to reveal. He has rounded out the rough edges that I would never have had the humility to conceal. He has buoyed up a heart that was fragile and wounded that I would never have had the tenacity to feel.

30 years, 5 cities, 2 sons, endless memories. As much as I like my alone time and my privacy, my heart always yearns for this man to come home at the end of his work day and light up my life with his twinkling blue eyes, his infectious smile, his spontaneous belly laugh. Of all the places I have been and all of the things I have done, anywhere with him is my favorite place. And doing anything with him is my favorite thing. Thanks, baby, for walking into that lobby and my life thirty years ago, and for grabbing my hand on that fall afternoon in 1985. Today and always, you are my favorite thing.

You Are My Favorite Thing ~ 23rd Anniversary ~ July 2010

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

Paper: Websters Pages

At The Foot of the Bridge

Both of our boys are their own unique person. While they have many similarities, they also have many distinct differences. And while we live in a school environment that clearly points to college in a pragmatic and homogenous fashion, both of the boys have approached the fork in the road quite differently.

We sat back and watched as Philip began his junior year and we were full of ideas and wonder as he processed his thoughts and sought clear direction - from everyone but his parents. :-) By the spring of his junior year, he was ready to officially begin the college hunt. God providentially set up for us a visit to Bryan College in Dayton, TN, along with some dear friends of ours who also had a junior that was beginning the college hunt.

It was a tender time for our hearts. It was a true gift that we were able to shadow our friends on our first legitimate college preview visit. They, having a son already in college and ahead of our sons on the curve, have always been so faithful to share ideas and thoughts and information with us over the span of more than a decade. For me to be able to begin this hard mom journey in the presence of my dear heart friend was just truly an amazing gift. 

We flew into Knoxville and then the following morning, a band of eight of us took off in two cars to Dayton. We traversed the campus and the emotion of the event was ever at the back of my throat. Being in a posse with seven others was ever so helpful as - in the company of 6 males - you could be easily diverted by a silliness, a joke, a witty comment, or just the sheer exercise of keeping up with everyone.

After our whirlwind Friday/Saturday trip to not only Bryan College, but also to Covenant College on Lookout Mountain in Georgia, we landed at the foot of the old bridge in Chattanooga. Having consumed Urban Stack burgers, Darling Donuts and all of the information and statistics from the two college campus visits, we were ready for a little fun.

The guys had a football with them and began an immediate passing game. The two of us girls sat and watched and laughed and were amazed at the young men cavorting in front of us, where boys in super hero capes had once stood. Just as dusk settled in, we paused for a moment in our family clusters and took turns photographing our families for each other.

The old metal bridge and lights in the background offer up a message to my heart - as we stood at the bridge of our son's life, of him beginning his journey into adulthood, we gathered close, hugged tight and knew in our hearts that the Light would be the only way we would bear the crossing of the bridge. 

Life of late has been a whirlwind. We are halfway into the kid at college scene now, with one child there and one child at home. Our oldest is in the middle of pledging at college. I have not had Face Time with him in four weeks. Our youngest is in the middle of waiting on scholarship information for college and reveling in his senior year, his job, his church work, his friends. 

When I went to title this layout, I did not have to search long or hard for an apt and fitting title. At this time in our life, any time that the four of us are together it is time that is so very treasured.

So Very Treasured ~ Family Trip, Chattanooga ~ April 2012

Paper: Pebbles

Fonts: Honey Script, Chaparral Pro