A Chef in the Making

I don't know if I should go back to the little boy that was quick to help me in the kitchen, or to the boy that made me a cookie that spelled MOM for my first birthday that I was back at work, or to the boy that was in his element as a food runner and expo at Top Golf, or to the boy that did not want to go to college and did not really enjoy college...These could all be starting points for the current chapter of his life, and I guess they are all touch points.

When Andrew was abroad for his semester in Lithuania, I did a layout about him and on that layout I used the quote:

"We must take adventures to know where we truly belong."

And while I struggle a bit with the expense of sending him to college in Colorado for one year, and then the expense of send him abroad for a semester, I know ultimately it was all part of his journey. I can't really complain. The child told me dozens of time his senior year that he did NOT want to go to college. I believe part of why he finally succumbed to going was the realization that he would get away from us, or at least get away from me. So, he did win in the end, and have his "gap year". And the $25,000 we spent on that "wasted" year and a half was - has to be - viewed as an investment in him. It's only money after all, right? ;-) It does no good to think otherwise....

So when Andrew set off for Colorado Christian University, he was going in as an English major, to become a teacher. And then before the first class began, he had shifted more toward a Sociology major. Or maybe I have this vice versa. {Who can recall?!} Then, during his semester in Lithuania - at least at the beginning of it - he wanted to major in Theology, and post graduation start church plants with his friend Chase. But somewhere along the way during that European semester, he got the bug about cooking, and found an online cooking class. He wanted to take it concurrent with his spring 2016 semester at CCU. And then it shifted to him wanting to only take the cooking class, and not enroll at CCU at all. And we debated and pleaded with the boy across the ocean to at least please just ENROLL for the spring 2016 semester, and then we could talk about it when he was back stateside mid-December 2015. We didn't win that contest. We haven't really won a contest with this kid for a few years now. Stubborn he is.

Now, you may recall that hubby and I had moved from our big home to a little apartment on July 28, 2015. So, said child coming home to live with us was really quite a factor, as there was very limited living space....And the second apartment bedroom we planned to use as storage soon became a bedroom that was going to need to be lived in. Andrew disregarded our advice and listened to his own heart and did come home indeed in December 2015, and did indeed take a "gap year". He did not move out until March 11, 2017. We had him at home for fifteen months and despite the apartment life, we really enjoyed having him around. And while he has long been a handful, I have missed him every day since he left. And I've only got the one photo of him in his new life, which hurts just as bad, and in a completely different way.

But, while he was home, he was busy making good use of his time: learning the trade, building his resume, pocketing his paychecks. Through a Walt Disney World photography club connection, I garnered the name and number of a chef at a local farm to table restaurant. That chef hired Andrew  in January 2016 to work in the kitchen, cooking on the line. Andrew worked at that restaurant until Christmas Eve. For several months during his Whiskey Cake stint, he would work the morning shift at a sister restaurant Ida Claire. He'd leave there at 3:30, after arriving there at 8 AM, and clock in at Whiskey Cake at 4:00 PM, working until close, finishing up around midnight. Then he'd get up again and do it the next day. He worked hard. He respected his coworkers and they respected him. 

After doing all he could do at Ida Claire and Whiskey Cake, he hopped over to another sister restaurant to work in their bakery and gain some different experience. It was amusing to hear him tell tales of his workdays all year long, and the change at the twelve month mark was good for him - he found out "for free" that he didn't want to pursue a bakery/pastry direction at culinary school. He said it was all too slow of a pace, and too repetitive. Working at the fast pace of the kitchen line had shaped him into someone enjoying the pressure of managing the tickets' meal prep.

The boy has always had an incredible work ethic and a strong moral compass. I was amazed at his energy level when he worked at Top Golf - always bounding out of the house, ready to go to work. At Whiskey Cake, Ida Claire, and The Ranch he was the same way, even though his work days were many times in excess of 12 hours, and he was on his feet that entire time, working non-stop, without breaks, water, food. I watched him "feed" his passion during his gap year, and I watched his passion feeding him, in the literal and physical sense of course!

We were trying to diet when he was home and it was so incredibly hard! That boy was always finding a restaurant for us to try, or wanting to go try a new dish at one of his faves. We frequently caved because we knew our time home with him was limited, and that upon completion of his culinary degree and his entering this industry full-time as a career that his time off will be minimal, and our odds of being home together for the holidays slim to none. But, ponderings aside, if he wasn't working and we weren't eating out, we might be found watching the Netflix series, "The Chef's Table"  while playing a game of Catan. The industry as a whole is fascinating, and I soaked in all of this information, using it as my primer to morph into "mom of a chef". ;-)

And during this gap year, while we were crammed in an apartment, building a house, having a son living at home, I watched not only the episodes of a chef in the making on the Netflix series, but I watched it happen to my boy. The longer he worked the line, the more he found himself refining his skills, defining his tastes, discovering his dreams. Around December 2016 he decided he was finally ready to formally apply to The Culinary Institute of America. He had the experience, he had the credentials, he had the recommendations, and above and beyond all of that, he had the refined and honed desire. The dream was still in his heart.

He was of course quickly accepted and elected for a March 27, 2017 start date. {New groups start every 3 weeks, if you can believe that!} My boy had made the cut and was headed to "the Harvard of cooking schools". The countdown began. My mom heart got heavy. We ramped up our Catan games, knowing they would all too soon end. We shopped for some things. We got the financing in place. And on March 11, he and hubby headed out to Nashville to spend some time with our oldest son, and then from there Andrew would continue on to upstate New York for dorm check-in on March 26.

The picture below on the left is him the night before they were to head north in March. He was all smiles - so happy to finally be going, to be heading to his new beginning. I appreciated the irony of him wearing a Colorado shirt - a perfect farewell tribute to his old path - with the cheek to cheek smile a fitting accessory for his new adventure. And on the right, the one photo I have of him since March 27: his first day of class, clean shaven, in chef jacket and toque, for some reason serious as all get out, ready to head into the class kitchen. Right in front of my eyes, a chef in the making. I know he's doing well. I know he's showing up every day and giving it his all. I know he is making the cut.  

Making the Cut ~ Beginning Culinary School ~ March 2017

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: My Minds Eye

Title Font: Pacifico, Times New Roman

My Little Punkin Head

I think Steve and I have adapted fairly well to both boys spreading their wings and launching to college campuses that are 600+ miles from home. I think we really have. I love that he and I have time together, and I am naturally one to crave peace and quiet. Goodness knows we have both of those now in plenty. All in all, life is fairly good presently for all four of us, and we are all enjoying where life's path currently has us placed. I will say, though, that it is hard on me to miss celebrating my April birthday boy's big day with him on the day. Oh, yes, I am that girl. I believe in a birthday day. I was raised with it. Growing up, it meant we had a chore free day that started with being sung to in bed, and it ended with a home-cooked family meal around the formica table that was one of our choosing. Good times, those childhood birthdays. 

As I grew up, I was for the evolution of the birthday day to a birthday week, which gave way to a birthday month. Oh, the birthday month is only in my head. Dear hubby won't play along with it. {I guess I am already far too big of a brat for his indulgence.} ;-) But, birthday month nonetheless do I have. And my Philip ascribes to the birthday month notion as well. It is nice to not be the only one in the family as such. :-) So now this April birthday boy of mine has turned twenty and twenty-one without me, celebrating his day in Nashvegas among his college friends.  Without me there to celebrate with him. He ought to be ashamed. ;-) It's just another measurable moment that gives proof to his emerging adulthood. 

This past April, that little adorable baby boy of mine turned the big twenty-one. Now, our sons enjoy our company, but when it got down to it, it just didn't seem like us visiting him on campus that weekend would be how he would want to celebrate his big day. Steve and I are not that hip. ;-) So, we sent Andrew from Denver to Nashville in our stead. Andrew doesn't have Friday class anyway, so he flew over on Thursday evening and was there on the big birthday day, on Friday, April 10, when Philip Edward turned twenty-one. 

He's a long way from that little punkin head now, isn't he? Somehow both of my tow-headed blonde little boys turned into redheads. Redheaded young men with big red beards. Yes, he is older, and yes, every day is a gift. It has been my absolute joy and pleasure to have a front row seat in the metamorphosis of little blonde Philip to big tall red-headed Philip. 

There are parts of him that have remained constant throughout his life, the chief component being his strong and undying affection for all things Star Wars. He was collecting the little figures before he could even properly pronounce them, and somewhere in storage right now are the remnants of his Star Wars Micro Machine collection, including the big Death Star. He has always been a reader. He has always been a gamer. He has always loved traditions. He has always loved for the four of us to be together. He has always laughed heartily at the antics of his brother. He has always loved animals. He has always been quick to smile, and quick to frown, ever expressive, letting us know quickly and easily where he stood on things. He has always loved fruit and sweet drinks, travel and adventure, trying new things, and having some stay at home downtime.

He is developing an affinity for photography. He secretly nurses the skill of writing. He yearns for a life of purpose. I cannot see past the curve in the earth, and neither can he, and so we wait expectantly to see how his life fully unfolds, and to see what fork in the road God will lead him to. It is such a gift for me to continue to see him grow, even though physically he won't get any taller. His growth now will predominantly be on the inside, as he continues to be molded by life choices and his burgeoning adulthood personal decisions.

If I could wish anything for him, it would be to live in his skin comfortably, to own completely all of his gifts, and to set about to use them with the greatest purpose imaginable. I feel like he can do this. I feel like he will do this. And I aim to sit and watch and enjoy the show for as long as possible. We had an absolutely wonderful time celebrating his birthday during our May family vacation. I know that our time together is less frequent than any of us would like, but I am forever grateful that we do all enjoy being together, and that we have such fun together. It may have been his birthday, but celebrating it together in May was my gift.

Look who's 21! My little punkin head, that's who. Happy Birthday, Philip. Thank you for being a gift in 1994, and every day of your life since then. 

Look Who Is 21 ~ Philip's Birthday ~ April 2015 ~ as seen in CREATE by Scrapbook Generation

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

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation 

Paper: Carta Bella, Jillibean Soup, We R Memory Keepers

Chipboard: Cosmo Cricket

Stickers: Simple Stories

A Fresh Pot of Coffee...Come On Over

She taught me to invest in others. She taught me to give generously, and then give just a little bit more. She taught me to laugh loud and often, at myself and with others. She taught me to listen - to my heart, to my intuition, to the person sitting next to me, to my spouse. She taught me to believe in my children, to defend them, to fight for them, to protect them, and when appropriate, to spoil them. She taught me to entertain graciously - to have an open hearth and a ready home, and to light it up with the love of others. She taught me to put my best foot forward, and that said foot should be in sporty shoes and have a matching handbag. She taught me how to fight for myself and to win graciously. She taught me how to shake off the naysayers and be true to my own path and my beliefs. She taught me the beauty in unrelentless love, that spans decades, for your family. She taught me how to love a best friend, and to not be afraid of having him for your husband. She taught me how to cultivate an enduring marriage, and to shine the light on your mate from the twinkle in your eye. She taught me how to find joy in the little things, and that there are no little things. She taught me that it was better to live the gospel than speak the gospel, that Jesus was bigger than our problems, and that God was our father. She taught me that it was okay to love coffee, chocolate, fritos and puppies. She taught me that - in all things and times and places and spaces - people mattered most, and loving them was the best work a woman could do. She was a beautiful soul, and my life is blessed beyond measure for having had her in it for all of my life, and yet not near enough of my life. Heaven has been waiting for her for awhile, because who could not be excited about the chance to sit on the couch next to Barbara and catch her up on life, and whisper secrets, and giggle over coffee about the best shared things, the stories we hold dear to our hearts, the love for life and family. Every person she loved here will carry a piece of her in their hearts, in the giggle of a story, in a shared devilish grin, in a wink across the room, in a knowing glance of empathy, in the holding of a hand, in the telling of a story. And I think she would like that. You were loved beyond measure. And you will be missed beyond reason. Thank you for being such a beautiful soul, and for sharing yourself so generously with the world. You were a gift to us all. You were a gift to me. And now you are a gift to heaven. Save me a seat, dear one, and put on a pot of coffee. I will be there sometime. And I will want to sit next to you when I get there. 

I wrote the above today, this Sunday morning, about 24 hours after I got the horrible phone call, and about 26 hours after her actual passing. Even though we age, and life's end is inevitable, there is never really a time, a moment, a second, when you are willing to acknowledge and concede the end. At least not this gal. I want every second to count, and then I want them to count again.

Barbara was a gem. She was a sassy women in an age and time when sass wasn't always necessarily accommodated. She had two daughters older than me, and she was gracious enough in her love to allow others in, including little me, and in my mind I liked to think of her as more than my mom's coffee buddy, more than an aunt, more than a friend. I explained to others that she was my "second mom". She loved me enough to want the best for me, and knew me well enough, and knew my family well enough, to guide me with wisdom, tenderness, and love in any and every situation when I sought her counsel. 

Early memories include sitting on her lap while she shared coffee at our kitchen table with my mom. There was hardly ever a time when my mom could get away with going to Barbara's without me begging to come along. I knew her favorite slippers, I knew the kitchen drawer that held the Fritos, I loved the step up in her bedroom into the "secret area". There is no telling just how many secrets were shared within the dark rich paneling that ensconced her family room. I adored her Christmas decorations each year in her dining room and living room. Each time I would visit, I was prepared to move the newspaper out of the way, be ready to catch up on life, and would delight in seeing what treasures she had picked up lately. I loved how she loved her husband, and I marveled at how deeply he adored her. If there was ever a moment when I thought a perfect marriage could exist, I would say it would have happened on 310 Cedar Lane, in one of the moments I was blessed to be in their company.  

Barbara loved the saying, "If you don't have something nice to say about someone, come sit next to me," which she would always finish off with a tilt of her head, her deep raspy chuckle, a twinkle in her eye, and a sheepish grin. But the truth of that was that while she loved to hear the latest in your life, she was quick to offer wise counsel, and having had many siblings, she had a life perspective that countered brash youthful ideals and helped me stay grounded. Through all phases of my life. There probably has never been another soul with which I have been so painfully honest. I would tell her anything and everything, and I knew she wanted to know because she loved me, and wanted to help me ferret out the ups and downs, the highs and lows of life. I was her Penny Rooskie, her Penny Renny. And she was charming enough to let me think I was her favorite.

After her December 2012 fall, where she broke her shoulder, we were so thankful she recovered. When she fell the following December, breaking her hip, it was too hard to believe that fate could be so cruel, and it was harder still to concede that she would never fully bounce back from that. I saw her twice in her nursing home, taking Steve with me once, and my sons with me the second time. Her face lit up both times when she saw me, and as she greeted me, I just knew she was telling me, as she had for so, so, so many years, "Well, look who it is. Don't you look cute. Come sit next to me." Her brain couldn't make all the words make sense, but the woman I loved was there in her expressions, in her smile, in her eyes, in her hand gestures, and in the love for me that I could still feel. I still chuckle when I think about her going right for those brownies. She did love her sweets. After all, what better companion could a cup of dark, strong coffee have? 

Barbara, you will be missed. There will never be another you for so many of us. I pray sweet Carlton enough -- enough to get him through his remaining days here without his beloved bride of 61 years. My husband, my sons and I will always remember you, and we will love every memory we are blessed to have of you. Oh, to hear the phone ring, and the voice say, "Are you home? Put on a pot of coffee, I'm coming over," or "What are you doing? I've got a fresh pot of coffee. Come on over." Oh, honey. I'd love to. I'd truly love to.

Barbara ~ Remembering a Gem ~ September 19, 2015

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation 

Paper: Carta Bella

Title:Rochester

Happy Birthday, Mom!

The absolute best part about moving and now having a 30 minute commute, instead of my former 10-12 minute commute, is that I have my daily momma time again. For the 7 years that I drove across town to west Dallas, I would spend that hour driving on the phone with my mom. And when I left that job and started my wonderful job that is 3 miles from our house in Murphy, I sorely missed those long chatty drives I took with my mom. Now, serendipitously, I get back just enough chat time to hear all the good stuff. And since my older sister retired, I am banking on keeping all of the days for me instead of splitting them with her, as we did last school year. ;-) We will see Monday when that east Texas school bell rings how my retired librarian sister manages her phone time with mom. I'm thinking early bird gets the worm. Ha.

One never knows the stories you will hear when one talks to my mom. On the last three phone conversations I have had with her {Thursday morning, Thursday evening, and Friday morning} I have heard the same story about her big decision on whether or not to get a perm now, or wait until October. It's cute, because the story stays identical almost in each iteration, and I chuckle inwardly at her quandary over the long lasting durability of her perm, and timing it just right for our next Girls Weekend, which is in December. In Florida. {Yes!! But, that is another story for another day.} See, mom is trying to time her perm so that it will be "just right" for our next Girls Weekend together. I always tease everyone that my own hair issues have deep roots. They stem from my mom being a beautician before she was a mom, and all of us girls having hair situations regularly while growing up. But I cannot fault her for deliberating over timing. Durned if I don't still do it myself, even with my short carefree and easy cut.

Today's phone conversation started with me wishing my mom HAPPY BIRTHDAY. She rejected my wish, stating matter of factly, "Well, today is the day I was born, but it's not my birthday." See, about 10 years ago, mother needed a copy of her birth certificate for some legal matter, and in the procurement of that, my dear sweet mom, youngest baby girl of nine children, discovered that she was in fact born on August twenty-FIRST. For over 50 years, she had celebrated her birthday on August twenty-SECOND. And she decided on that day of discovery that she was keeping her celebration day on the 22nd, and just let that 21st day remain on the ignored list. I have teased her most years since then on the 21st. But this morning's response was by far one of the best ones I've ever received. I told her, "Well, mom, just how many people can say that?!" We both had a good laugh. 

{And mom, I am writing this ON the 21st and setting it to post just after midnight today, which will be on the 22nd, so that you will get the email ON the 22nd. So, I am saying Happy Birthday on your birthday, and you will get it on your birthday. And I know you will think about all of that for a little bit.} ;-)

And mom, even though I gave you your gift earlier, I meant to send you a card, but I, in my full fledged 50-year-old mind could not remember to do it, still being in the swirl of getting Andrew off....But maybe this will make up for it. This is a poem I found by Debbie Burrous and it makes me think of you, and it makes my eyes leak a little, too.

A Poem For Mom

You are the sunlight in my day,
You are the moon I see far away.
You are the tree I lean upon,
You are the one that makes troubles be gone.
You are the one who taught me life,
How not to fight, and what is right.
You are the words inside my song,
You are my love, my life, my mom.
You are the one who cares for me,
You are the eyes that help me see.
You are the one who knows me best,
When it's time to have fun and time to rest.
You are the one who has helped me to dream,
You hear my heart and you hear my screams.
Afraid of life but looking for love,
I'm blessed for God sent you from above.
You are my friend, my heart, and my soul
You are the greatest friend I know.
You are the words inside my song,
You are my love, my life, my Mom.

I love you more every day, and I am so excited to celebrate your 78th year, in my 50th year to be in existence on your birthday. I can't wait to hear about your day and I'll even be happy to hear the perm story again. But even beyond that, I am looking forward to our big trip together in December, while remembering fondly our weekend together in April. 

I am blessed by you, and the gift of my sisters. It is wonderful to be in the presence of beautiful souls, and it is phenomenal to know that you are all my family, my friends. I love every day spent with you, and like weekends, there are never enough of them to satisfy me. I love you! Happy Birthday, Mom!

Beautiful Souls ~ Girls Weekend ~ April 26, 2015

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Echo Park

Title Fonts: Lavenderia

Buzz and Woody

I have on my lofty To Do list the project of scanning all of my film negatives into jpegs. I know it sounds crazy, and it's not an easy task and that is why I haven't yet started it. But, it's moments like the one above that make me want to. I have a big stack of negatives and would never have the patience to ferret through them to find that photo. I ended up popping it out of one of my albums from 1998 and scanning it. It's grainy, and that makes me sad, but in a pinch it'll do. The memory comes through. Maybe one day I can reprint this picture in its full glory.

We were never too big on Halloween. I told my husband the other day that I was really glad I wasn't living in the Pinterest-DIY crazed days. These gals today really are under the pressure to put out the dog, so to speak, on anything children related. I saw on my Facebook feed last month some amazing over the top Valentine boxes. I don't think I could have held up under the pressure! Now, the first Halloween for each of my sons my mom did sew the costumes. But, after that, I was walking into brick and mortars, like everyone else, and looking for something halfway striking on the shelves.

The year that Disney rolled out the Buzz and Woody play suits, I knew to snatch them up. I don't recall so much the night of Trick or Treating, per se, but I can tell you that the costumes stayed around for awhile and the boys played in them countless times. Andrew had this funny deep voice he developed to talk to Buzz. And when Philip was wearing the costume, Andrew only called him Buzz. Boy, did he stay in character. I think that hat is still in my attic. I'm not entirely sure. I have a hard time letting go. In my mind, I never would have said yes, but sometimes Steve vetoes me based on the condition something is in. So, if it's not up there, he pitched it. I put that hat away many a time.

The boys have always played well together. We moved them four times - four cities, four houses - and they are 16 months apart, so it was natural for them to have each other to play with, and those bonding moments when we were somewhere new and knew only each other were pivotal, I think. There was a short span of time here and there where they took some breathers - time they needed to adapt to the ever changing person they were becoming. The end of the middle school years got a little rough. But, they were rough on us all, and I am so glad we all got through those years, intact and still loving each other.

When they were younger, they were tow-headed blondes. As infants, you could see slight traces of red at the roots, but it gave way quickly to blonde, and I never dreamed they would both be redheads. I loved them as little blonde boys, and I love them more as redheaded young men. The oldest is in Nashville now, about to wrap up his second year of college, and the youngest is in Denver, about to wrap up his first year of college. We are all adapted now to this new normal, I think. Oh, of course, I wish I saw them more. I try with grace to accept the time we are together, and I try with grace to accept the big lulls in between communication and not take personally the unanswered texts. I keep thinking they are working their way through another phase, finding themselves in a new normal, and they'll come back around. {They will, won't they? Someone please say yes.}

Philip is headed to Chicago and Toronto for spring break, and Steve is flying up to do a Colorado road trip with Andrew. See, they are in different schools and have as such different calendars, and their school breaks are off by one week. Philip got home one week before Andrew at Christmas, and Andrew was home one week without Philip, and now, of course, their spring breaks are one week apart, too. I think that is one of the worst facts - that the week we all had together in the spring is no more. But, we have our family vacation planned for May, and I am looking forward to that.

The one 4x6 photo below, the photo of them walking arm in arm, was taken on our family vacation in 2013. It was impromptu, unstaged, in fact I'm sure they weren't aware at the time that I took it. They usually walk ahead of us. I can't keep up with their youth and their long legs. And the other day I was looking through these vacation photos and stumbled upon that one, and knew that I wanted to tell a story of my own Buzz and Woody, and so I went looking through time to find the pictures. 

There is a picture of them at every house they have lived in. They are washing cars at our home in The Woodlands. The Halloween photo was our San Antonio porch. The bluebonnet photo was taken while we lived in McAllen. And that little photo where they are peaking out from the quilt was a moment in this house, when they built a fort upstairs and laughed when I found them. At each phase of their lives they have been there for each other. It makes my heart smile to remember the shows they put on for us, the times I would peer through a window and seem them deep in play outside, the times they would head out to Bible study together, or run to the comic book store together. 

Their running days are limited now to when they are both back here. I know they wouldn't easily admit it, but they miss each other. The day before I stumbled upon that 4x6 photo, we had a text from our younger son, asking to go see his brother on his birthday weekend. And the day after I printed this photo, my oldest son changed his Facebook cover photo to a picture of the two of them playing in the Destin sand in 2007. I didn't even know he had access to that photo. Both incidents warmed my heart, and let me know that, across the miles, through time, and space, they are there for each other.

They have the gift of a natural friendship, the bond of two shared decades, the mix of some common interests and ideas and quirks. No matter what, I think, they will always be that grown up version to each other of Buzz and Woody. You know those two had their strong personalities, too, and made it just fine. I know my boys will, too. Friends from the beginning, and friends to infinity and beyond. They have been my favorite boy story now for two decades. And there's no end in sight for that either.

Boy Story ~ Friends for Life ~ Photos span 1997 - 2013

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: October Afternoon, Monbonbon, Kika Digital

Title Font: Gil Sans, Slapstick Comic

It Was All Started by a Mouse

I think, for the first time ever, that this year on MLK day, I was off. Back when I worked the big corporate world before, it was a floater, and we had to pick MLK or Good Friday. I changed jobs last May, and picked up 3 holidays in the transition: Martin Luther King Day, Presidents Day, and Good Friday. There is just almost nothing better than a 3-day weekend. Getting three more a year is like a huge boon for my heart. Of course, having a retail hubby means I often spend them somewhat alone, or quasi-alone, but I am okay with that because I can scrap.

I am part of a closed group, an online community of scrappers, 300+ women that I interact with virtually daily on message boards, about topics ranging from paper for a college drop-off, to the best movie we've seen lately, to venting about work, to whether or not to get the Amope. They are a huge blessing to my life. I have probably met about 75 of them in real life. {I need to do an album!} They are my peeps, and you can find me hanging with them regularly here in Scrap Central.

We have a cheerleader, a ringleader, an enabler extradoinnaire, a gal that is just the sweetest bundle of energy and ideas that I may have ever met. I think I can get a decent amount of things done, but man, she makes me look like a slacker! She's our Cherrypicker. This is a big year for her, but I won't go down that rabbit trail right now. Well, Cherrypicker decided that we needed some fun, and organized an amazing online crop, full of challenges - TWENTY-FIVE - and games - three - and prizes too numerous to count! So many gals stepped up and created challenges and decided to hostess them, and/or offer prizes. It's really, really amazing. And our online crop was to be held on MLK weekend. Perfect!

I think I was able to knock out about eight of the twenty-five challenges, and I was okay with that, since I was actually sick with the flu during MLK weekend. One of the challenges I just loved, though, was called "Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue", and we were given a Sketch Savvy sketch by Susan Stringfellow as our "Something Borrowed". {Susan's Blog with the Sketch} Our Old was to be an old photo, our Blue was an element on the page, and our New was supposed to be something new to us. Well, when I saw those heart images on the sketch, my mind saw little Mickey heads. And then I started thinking about just what "old" photo I could use, and I decided I would go waaaayyyy back. 

When I started scrapbooking, my mom started scrapbooking with me. And one of her first projects was take her two banana boxes of family photos, and divide them into four piles. And she then preceded to make each of her children an album of their portion of our family memories. You know, memories and photos from the days when you *might* shoot 3 or 4 rolls of film on an annual basis. Well, somehow mother knew back in 1995 that I would want the Disney photos. I have one album page with 6 photos on it. I love them! {I keep meaning to check with my sisters to see if their albums have any, or if there really were just 6 photos taken that day, which is probable, and highly likely, and so foreign a concept today.} 

So, on that MLK weekend Saturday, I popped those photos out of my childhood album, scanned them in, did color restoration as best I could with my feeble skills, and began to work on the layout. Looking at these old photos makes me so happy. It was the summer of 1972, the first summer that DisneyWorld would have been open, knowing it opened October 1971 like any true Disney fanatic does, and the photo of us in front of the castle just mesmerizes me. The trees and bushes are so small. We are on the bridge to Tomorrowland, and our feet are actually on the bench, and we are sitting up on the ledge of the back. {I know today they would tell us to get down!} The lamps for the Rose Garden are to the right of the photo, and you can see so much of the castle walls. 

I do not actually remember this day, per se. I do not remember going. I would have been almost 8. Dad says we went only for one day, and it was on the way home from a trip to Biloxi. {I know that Orlando is not on the way home to Houston from Biloxi. So, this was a big detour.} I can imagine my dad having heard about this new place, when DisneyWorld really just consisted of Magic Kingdom, and having the wanderlust in his heart for a road trip that he does, and having us all captive in the car, I can just imagine him deciding to drive east to Orlando "on the way home to Houston from Biloxi" - just exactly the kind of fun, surprising adventure he'd bestow on us.

I love seeing the clothes we were wearing. I know, from examining the whole of the 6 photos, that I am wearing the same sandals as my two sisters. I imagine we got them at Weiner's on Sheldon Road. My two sisters are wearing bell bottom pants and baby doll tops, all of which my mom would have sewn. I am wearing red plaid bell bottoms and a coordinating shirt, one of the two beloved Garanimals outfits that I owned. I can still remember wandering through the fixtures at Sears in Denton, looking at all the choices, picking out what outfit my grandmother was gifting me. Oh, I loved that outfit. And I love that I know I have loved red all of my life. Mother says her outfit was a gift from Metropolitan Life and it had been given her in Biloxi at the convention we had just left. My little brother is wearing Garanimals, too. I guess Granny bought him an outfit, too. She did try to be fair.

I love my big smile on the carousel! Yes, I was born to love a good ride and a fun time! When I saw this photo, I recalled the scene in Saving Mr. Banks, where Tom Hanks, portraying Walt Disney, hops onto the carousel and declares it his favorite ride. I think that is cute to know. I did actually ride the carousel in November with Steve and mom. Everyone should ride a carousel when they are 50 and 77! Nothing like watching the world go by from the back of a pretty white steed, while keeping your bearings by lightly grasping the brass pole. 

And mostly, I love that I am being tickled by Dale. You can see my little brother standing to my left, watching, and you can see my sister watching, too. I think this is going to be in Town Square, but I am not certain. I want to take this picture with me the next time I go to the park and ferret out where I was standing. I love knowing the characters roamed the park freely, and that it was okay to grab a little girl and give her a hug and a tickle. I love knowing that it was fun for me to be hugged by Dale. I have told Dale subsequently of this event, and I will someday have to show him the photo, so he can smile, too.

Ah, little memories. Lots of thoughts and recollections from three small, old photos. So much joy in remembering. Family vacations, idiosyncrasies, rituals, traditions. Six people. One day. 958 miles from home. One Magical Kingdom that was all started by a mouse, and a man from Merceline, MO with a dream in his heart, and some pixie dust in his pocket. So much to remember across the miles, as I look back on the day when the magic began.

Back When the Magic Began ~ One Disney Day ~ Summer 1972

Beaches and Peach Cobbler

Squeaky flip flops. Crisp, cotton baby doll pajamas. A worn Monopoly board. A banana seat on a bicycle. Cereal for breakfast, lunch, and sometimes dinner. Lazy afternoons spent under the shade of the massive oak tree. Dusty evenings spent in my shed with my Barbies. Summers in the '70's.

Summer workshops. Trips on school buses. Long lists of reading books. Weeks with granny. Odd jobs. Extra babysitting. Cut off jeans. Reruns of Gilligan's Island. Walks to the Lucky 7. Late night games of Hide 'n Seek. Summers in the '80's.

Hot panty hose. Hotter car. Quiet Saturday mornings on the deck. Long-planned vacations with suns that set far too fast. Late night walks. Early morning bike rides. Peach cobbler. Friday evenings on shaded patios. Summers in the '90's.

Paper plates. Pop-tarts. Blackberries. Icicle pops. Pool floats. Happy Meals. Park picnics. Blanket forts. Beach trips. Dirty floors. Kool-aid smiles. Shade tree swinging. Watermelon bellies. Summers in the '00's.

Beach camp. Sonic Happy Hour. Chacos. Ben & Jerry's. Summer Blockbuster Premiers. Destination vacations. Open Door. Patio dinners. Weekend coffee on the porch. Firework extravaganzas. Saturday pancakes. Media room marathons. Summers in the '10's.

Aside from college, I have lived in five cities. All in Texas. Some would call that isolated. I call it lucky. I love a hot summer. Every part of it - from the breezy early morning through the heat of the day to the still dark heat of a starlit night. I love that school is out. I love that vacations transpire. I love that life slows down. I love that company comes by. I love that crazy schedules dissolve. I love hot cars. I love cold drinks. I love relaxation. 

There was a song on the radio when I grew up. The opening lyrics captured so much of how summer's definition in my heart came to be, as I played outside with my brother and my neighbor:

Goodbye to you, my trusted friend.
We've known each other since we were nine or ten.
Together we've climbed hills and trees,
Learned of love and ABC's,
Skinned our hearts and skinned our knees.
We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the hills that we climbed were just seasons out of time...

I think as I grew older, and we raised the boys, I tried to hold on to and then share with them the joy and the fun of a simple summer afternoon spent playing Clue or swimming with dad after work. Summer can be the best part of life.

As my life marches on and I age, I am more aware of the season in my own life. As much as my heart wants to stay planted in summer, it does always give way to fall. Seasons out of time are words for a song. No matter my age, though, I think in my heart I will always live for summer. Kind of gives new meaning to the phrase "I Heart Summer."

I Heart Summer ~ Summertime Faves ~ July 2013

Sketch Credit: Simple Stories blog post by Gail Lindner http://simplestories.typepad.com/simple_stories/2013/08/summer-friends.html

Paper: Simple Stories

ABC Stickers: Simple Stories

We Come From a Long Line of Love

We got a glimpse of the new normal today. It's Sunday, Father's Day, and one boy is in St. Louis and one boy is in Houston. We have known this day was coming. There's just not really enough preparing for it. I know it's normal. I know life goes on. I know it's a good thing they leave the nest. Yes, yes. We have been told all of this. We agree. It's just going to take a while for the heart to process what the head has acknowledged.

We made plans for the day for the two of us, and both of us headed into the day with a mind determined to enjoy the day and find some good in it, even though we were home alone. At some point this morning, Steve and I came to the same conclusion while we were at different places doing different things. I think that was a God gift - each of us working out to the same point on our own. 

See, our oldest son is working at eight different camps all over the country this summer. We will see him for the July 4 weekend and for the week before the fall semester starts. He is acting as a counselor to boys at camps, while recruiting for his college. Our youngest son left on Saturday for a week, working in Houston with a team from church, reaching out to refugees. Who could have known last year on Father's Day that it would not be the same this year? Who could have guessed that both boys would be away from home, leaving Father's Day traditions in the dust? Who could have known that when you truly give them roots, you also give them wings?

And that is sort of the realization I made this morning. If you think of Father's Day, and the whole art of raising children, and how a father molds and impacts his children in a way distinctly masculine, and totally different from a mother's love, there is no greater acknowledgement of maybe having done the job well than to have your children off serving. 

People love my husband. I've never argued with "the better half" statement. He is clearly the stronger people person in our partnership. My husband has an amazing servant heart. He is patient. He is thoughtful. He is kind. He is forbearing. He is insightful. He is careful, in the sense that he is full of care. He is funny. He is tender. He is generous. He is compassionate. He is contemplative. He is truly such a gift to  me. 

As the boys age, I love seeing the imprint of their dad on their hearts and how it has been shaping their lives. I believe it is only natural that both of my boys would be out in the world serving today when they have both witnessed from the front row their dad serving on a daily basis - to his family, to his co-workers, to his neighbors, to people at his church. When I ponder that Philip is out serving at youth camps and Andrew is out serving at a refugee camp, I am thankful that Steve has poured into our sons the seed of caring and serving. It has been a blessing to me to be a part of the team that has been nurturing those seeds and helping to water them.

We have had a good day. It's been different, but it's been good. Steve heard from both boys yesterday, and Andrew left a card and gift behind for today. We both have talked to our dads. We have spent time together today celebrating Steve, remembering lots of Father's Days gone by. He's done some of his favorite things - riding his bike, drinking coffee on the patio, seeing a movie, taking a nap, eating some seafood and having ice cream. It's been restful and relaxing. But, it has been different.

As I thought this morning about the boys being gone, out serving others, it made me realize that perhaps the best legacy a father can create is children that love to give to others and to serve others. As I contemplated that today, it brought to mind that it must mean that our fathers long ago felt the same way - that they were okay with us leaving the nest and sharing life with others. And then I remembered that old song by Michael Martin Murphy, "We Come From a Long Line of Love."

I bought a beautiful diamond ring I offered it to the sweetest thing I know
And she said she would take it
We started making some wedding plans she looked at me and she took my hand
And said are you sure we can make it
I said my grand dad's still in love with my grandma
I said my dad still thinks my moms the sweetest thing he ever saw

I come from a long line of love
When the times get hard we don't give up
Forever is in my heart and in me blood

You see I come from a long line of love

Years went by and we had a son now he thinks he found someone for him
And they're planning a wedding
He called me up on the phone today just to see what I had to say to him
Did I think he was ready?
I said what his grandfather used to say to me
Its been handed down for ages it runs in our family

You come from a long line of love
When the times get hard we don't give up

Forever is in your heart and in your blood
Son you come from a long line of love
We come from a long line of love

I guess we do. I know when the times get hard, we don't give up. I know forever is in our heart and in our blood. To my sons I would say today, "You come from a long line of love. We come from a long line of love." Happy Father's Day Steve. It's not just one day around here. It's never been just one day a year that I marvel at how you craft our boys to men. Every day I celebrate that you shine your light before our sons, showing them how to serve, how to love. 

Life with you, with them, through the years has been some kind of wonderful. I am thankful for you as a father and friend to our sons. Life will continue to be some kind of wonderful. When the times get hard, we don't give up. I love that we come from a long line of love.

Some Kind of Wonderful ~ Father's Day ~ June 2009

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

Paper: My Minds Eye