Game On

We worked in our garage last weekend, on what were, I believe, the last two hot days of the year. Isn't that how it can go sometimes? The garage organization is really the last big piece to fall into place at the new house. In 2017, I stumbled onto a blog post that showed using The Container Store elfa System and fell in love with it. It then became a cat and mouse game of getting it designed and waiting for their fall sale that offers the discount on installation as well as the elfa shelving. We got to the purchase point and then installation day came and went, and we were left to work in the garage on our days off to get all of the items put into their new home. And oh my mercy, do I love my new garage storage system, or what? I may have gone out and just stared at it a few days this week.

But sometimes the getting to where you want to be from where you are involves a little blood, sweat, and tears. In this garage organization project, surprisingly, it involved two of the three. If I bled, I don't remember it. See, sitting in my garage, waiting to be gone through and dealt with for years now, were about 5 bins of memorabilia. These bins of memorabilia were in our last garage, so it's not like I haven't been avoiding the obvious for years now. But, right sizing the house has us dealing with things that a big expansive home can hide and handle. Less square footage? You prioritize and deal, and purge and divest. 

And while Steve triaged the bins of actual items to stay in the garage and sorted out what was already quasi-organized into a seasonal sort of semblance, I sat with my bum knee, and he would bring me bins to go through. I think one bin held both 4K and 12th grade for my oldest son, and some years in between. That bin was certainly one to go through. Not only did I deal with school and art work, I dealt with years and years of Christmas cards. It's amazing how the range of emotions can be connected to seeing a card from a long deceased aunt, or  neighbors from 1999, or high school friends from the 1980's. 

And while I sat in that hot, steamy garage working through all of these pieces of paper and the memories and emotions associated with them,  I actually had moments of just recalling and remembering our various homes and our various garages. Quite candidly I will advise you - never go from a home with a three car garage to a home with a two car garage! Those three car garages spoil you! We have had attached garages, detached garages, the old house in McAllen with NO garage {this was the worst!}; all of the garages were two car garages, with our prior home being the exception with that beautiful third bay. 

Some of these garages held two cars, and not much more. Some of these garages held tricycles and that battery operated Jeep the boys were so cute riding around in. Some of these garages held bicycles that we used to condition ourselves for the walking on our first trip to Walt Disney World. Some of these garages held ski equipment and golf equipment and lots of tools, all seldom used, but somewhat necessary to hang onto. And one of these garages momentarily held a ping pong table.

I will confess that I love giving surprises. I love giving what is on a wish list, but I like to throw in a little extra. And one year I got the brilliant idea that the boys should get a ping pong table for Christmas. This was exactly what they needed as a surprise gift! And ever the adoring husband, he supported my surprise. I envisioned lots of ping pong games, and laughter, and time together. The boys were still in middle school, and we were often the gathering place for their friends. This would be perfect, yes?

Well, in the mayhem that followed Christmas Day, we didn't get around to putting it together until New Years Eve {and by we I mean they}. ;-) And at the time, the only place it would fit was in the garage. It was a fun evening. I remember it was, of course, cold in the garage, but the boys were interested and helpful to their dad and the three of them quickly got it put together. 

They were funny to watch play. Steve and I both come from families that love to game and compete, and win. Competitiveness is bred into our sons, I guess. I especially love the grimace I caught on Philip's face in the photo on the right. Seems like he might have just been bested on that shot, or was working up some fierce serve. We played off and on that New Years Eve, and after Steve's schedule settled down, the ping pong table made its way up to the boys' retreat. It dominated the room. The boys at this point had taken over the family media room and watched their TV and movies and gamed in there, so the ping pong table commandeering their retreat was fine.

I didn't expect the ping pong table to be such a flop though. It was. It was a catch all for things. The electronics' siren call dominated the time, and it wasn't often that you could hear the cadence of the ball going back and forth, and ultimately bounding onto the hardwood floor and skittering around. Unretrieved ping pong balls became the cat's toys, and were often accidentally squished under the size 12 shoes that bounded around up there. If someone did want to play, it was hard to find those ping pong balls that had been neglected and more than likely squished.

Sometimes you try something and it isn't what you expect, or it doesn't turn out like you planned. When I was younger, guessing incorrectly would have bothered me more. While this ping pong table reality didn't leave up to my fantasies about it, it's no big deal. The times we used it and had fun with it were worth the hassle and inconvenience of carting it upstairs, and ultimately back down. 

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. You can never know until you try. And if modeling anything to my sons was paramount, it was that it was okay to try new things. And succeed. Or fail. It was okay to adapt and adjust. And in life, you sometimes need to just roll up your shirtsleeves and try. You might win or you might lose, but you get one shot at this thing called life. You may as well go for it. Game on.

Ping Pong ~ Garage Gaming ~ December 31, 2009 

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Simple Stories

Title: Silhouette cut file

Ready for Happily Ever After

It seems only logical to follow my last blog post up with a post to showcase some engagement photo layouts. I do envy today's generation that reaps all the benefits of living in a digital age. Marybeth and Philip have more engagement photos than were taken at mine and Steve's wedding! And they are all stunning. I had fun with my favorite 4, printing them out as 5 x 7's, and I completely went off the engagement grid by pairing them with a camping line. But I knew when I saw these photos that Simple Stories Cabin Fever would be spectacular. 

I want to share here some words I penned for Marybeth on her January birthday:

I met Miss Mary Elizabeth Perry of Memphis, TN on May 12, 2016, but I had first heard of her two years earlier. Sometimes good things come to those that wait. I have never had a daughter, and have never regretted having only sons. And for years I have prayed for the women my sons would date, and court. On May 12, 2016, I knew that God had answered my prayer with Philip. It was love at first sight. Steve and I waited anxiously, albeit nervously, in the lobby of the Grand Floridian as Philip and Marybeth drove down to Walt Disney World from Nashville. When we got the text that they were getting close, we moved outside to the porte cachere. The first photo below is the first photo I ever took of MB, and what followed were four days of together time, of family fun, of getting to know one another, of staying up until 3 AM, of laughing hard, of sharing meals, all while we traipsed around the Happiest Place on Earth.

It was a gamble for me to invite her to join us. It's a little unnerving, on both sides, to meet someone for the first time and feel the weight of potential future commitment. MB is a delight to be around, and she offered me several gifts over those next 4 days. The first gift was just the absolute thrilling joy of having another girl on the family trip, someone who would break out in song with me, someone that would race to see the princesses with me, someone that always smiled and jumped INTO the selfie. The second gift was seeing how much my son loved her. That first day we stayed at Magic Kingdom until after 2 AM. We made it to our hotel about 2:30 AM and as we approached the hotel door, I heard my son say, "Babe, give me the keys. I want to go to the car and get your hairspray." Somewhat silly you may say. But I knew in that moment that the boy that would walk quite aways into a parking lot at 2:30 AM for a can of hairpray was a boy that was in love with this girl by his side. And, seeing how they interacted together over the next 4 days, it was endearing to see such a bedrock of commingled friendship and affection, of tenderness and jesting, of loving and of liking one another. The third gift that she gave me was just the gift of being herself. It was easy to see that she was a confident and fun girl, and completely comfortable being in her skin. She embraced all experiences and enjoyed the adventure. She said yes to trying new things. She was up and at it early each day, and went hard all day long, enjoying every moment of it all. I still chuckle when I recall her pushing back at Andrew's teasing of Philip by jabbing her finger toward him and spurting, "QUIT IT." The fourth gift that she gave us was of loving Steve and I. It was such an honor to meet her, to spend time with her, and to see her wanting to get to know us and opening up her heart to us, and inviting us to open up our heart to hers.

Four days went all too fast. Since that May trip, I've had the absolute pleasure of seeing MB again in August in Dallas, in September in Nashville, in November and then again in December in McKinney - a handful of days - less than 30 in total. But she is never far from my heart, I miss her every day, and I look forward to having the rest of my life to spend time with her and to continue to get to know her. This is the first year that I've been able to celebrate this beautiful joy of a woman on her birthday. Steve and I are so thrilled that she is now a part of our life. Happy Birthday Marybeth Perry! May God pour out His lavish grace on you every day, and may this next year of your life be one full of joy, of wonder, and of adventure! I love you and you are such a blessing to us!

And now Miss Marybeth Perry has been Marybeth Grimsley for one whole week! Yes, the engagement photos have turned into wedding photos. And I love that I have another girl in the family. I am no longer the only Grimsley girl! The last seventeen months of their dating, courtship, and engagement have been such a time of happiness in our family. 

We are just thrilled to have a front row seat to watch them live out their very own Happily Ever After. They are so happy together.

Philip & Marybeth, Happiness Found Togther, True Love, Ready for Happily Ever After ~ Engagement Photos ~ April 2016

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Simple Stories

Titles: Silhouette Cut Files, Ballerina Script, Arial

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

Grace Wins Every Time

At the age of forty-eight, in October of 2012, I started this mental challenge with myself called "Fit by Fifty". Steve and I joined 24 Hour Fitness on October 31, 2012, and we both began working twice a week with personal trainers. At the same time, we were eating Nutrisystem diet foods {which tasted awful}. This focused stretch lasted until about June 2013. I did not have a good relationship with my trainer: she regularly had me crying, and so I decided that leaving for our Florida vacation was as good a time as any to quit. Now, I weigh myself just about every day before showering and I log it. I can tell you my weight on any given day for the last several years, going all the way back to 2006 when I began Jenny Craig {for the first time} after moving to the Dallas area. I'm not obsessed with dieting. But I'm probably obsessed with eating, and being married to a curious and persistent Foodie doesn't help my cause. It's highly unfair because said Foodie walks ALL DAY for his job and self sits all day for hers. The deck is stacked against me. Hence my campaign for Fit by Fifty. 

Well, fifty came and I wasn't "fit" yet, so I changed my internal slogan to "Fit AT Fifty". Still had quite a nice ring to it, yes? I did a bout with HCG drops. And then I enrolled in Jenny Craig again. I started walking at lunch. I tried changing all the variables, looking for that magic answer to getting the scale on the downward slope that would match my aging trajectory. Nothing seemed to work permanently. It's all too painful really to recount in detail, as I have basically dieted my entire adult life. I've done all the food diets over one time span or another: Weight Watchers (three times), First Place, The Grapefruit Diet, Adkins, Jenny Craig (three times), Nutrisystem, Slim4Life, BistroMD, and I've done a couple of plans that involved pills. Remember "Fit and Trim", Sheila?.... Suffice it so say my working slogan is now "Fit IN my Fifties". Ah, the sliding rule of middle-aged sedentary working life, with a genesis of slow metabolic genes....

I'm clinging to that quote "You never really lose until you quit trying" which is attributed to Mike Ditka, or perhaps you prefer "You never fail until you stop trying" which is attributed to Albert Einstein. Either works for me, as in it works to keep me trying, but I still haven't "won", because I cannot fully lose. And I'm not miserable, and I'm not seeking a pity party....I'm just determined in a comfortable way. I'm not willing to live and breathe and die for a fitness regimen, for instance. But I've stopped binge eating ice cream and cookies and chips. I'm exercising, more or less, regularly. I'm embracing salads now. Small, incremental steps. Lots of little steps of progress along the way. I see it as a math equation that can be solved if I work at it long enough. It's a challenge to be sure. And there is nothing more addicting to me than a good challenge.

For what it's worth, I did lose the baby weight from both boys. I was a size 10 for my brother's wedding. I remember that navy dress well. And I was holding baby Andrew on my hip. So, whatever I've got going on is all food addiction related, and not maternity pounds gone awry....And there was one point when my eating got really out of hand, and again, without too many details, I battled depression while living in McAllen and ate my way through the pain, and got up to a size 20. I was at that size, or just below it at an 18, when we moved to Dallas in 2005. Oh, the pictures do not lie, do they?

It was equal parts vanity and health that drove me to Jenny Craig for the first time in early 2006. And that same formula has been corraling my gains and had me fighting for losses ever since. {It is equal parts freedom and humiliation to write this out.} As a companion to my dieting manueuvers, and in pursuit of the health aspect, I have of course had varying attempts and successes with exercise. I was never athletic as a child and when I wanted to pursue junior high volleyball, my father forbid it because of the uniform. Additionally, in the sixth grade I was diagnosed with supraventricular tachycardia and put on heart medication, and developed a mild fear of over-exerting my heart. So, the metabolism of a highly sedentary person began its formation long ago, and I have been, as an adult, working that angle of the equation as well. 

When I revisited Jenny Craig in October 2015, I did simultaneously begin a regular if modest workout: I would walk for 30 minutes each day during lunch. At first I did this begrudgingly, but over time, it became something I really looked forward to. By April 2016, I was walking twice a day: at lunch, and then again in the evenings with Steve. At this point in time, I loved walking. Loved it. I loved how it made me feel. I loved our end of day talks as we made our way through our mapped out path. I could tell it helped me handle my stress, and I could tell also that it was a great way to unwind the days' troubles.

So 2016 rocked along as a pretty good year of victories in the weight loss war. From October 2015 to June 2016, I lost 24 pounds and then I stalled in loss with my Jenny Craig plan around June, and went off of their food plan because it was too expensive to be used as a "maintenance" plan. We did keep up with the walking. Well, by July I had put a few pounds back on. Between June and mid August, I had put 8 of those pounds back on. And in mid August, we saw for the first time in over a year some dear friends of ours from Knoxville, Damon and Lea. Damon and Lea had begun the Fast Metabolism Diet by Haylie Pomroy in February and we could see before our eyes their incredible changes in body composition and in weight loss. After spending the weekend with them, we came home convicted to try this new program that would repair our metabolism.

I will tell you that it has been hard. We have gone off and on Haylie's 28 day cycle plan. We have basically been off of caffeine, wheat, soy, dairy, alcohol, and refined sugar since August 2016. Oh, we have had our "cheats" here and again, but we haven't enjoyed how we have felt afterwards, and we have slowly been falling out of love with things like pizza, Mexican food, hamburgers, Italian food, desserts of all kinds....a whole host of former faves. The tragic downside of this drastic change in eating is that the social avenue of eating out basically dies a slow death. So many restaurants that we loved are out of the rotation for the meager nights we brave eating out. The inability to eat out, or grab a quick bite anywhere, has been the hardest aspect of it all. 

During the course of this new way of eating, I was FaceTiming my friend, Lea, and we were talking about the three phases of eating and cardio and weight training came up. She was talking about how they were running for their cardio and casually mentioned, "You know, if there's ever a 5K at Disney, we'd be up for it," to which I replied, "Well there IS, so are you trash talking me, or serious?" Before the conversation ended, it was rather apparent that I had committed to running a 5K, and she had committed to going to Walt Disney World with us. I think we were both equal parts elated and mystified. ;-) Thankfully, all of my walking combined with my weight loss had equipped me to mentally and physically take the next step. In November 2016, I was actually only one pound higher than my lowest Dallas weight from October 2006.

On August 28, 2016, in the heat of the Texas summer, I set my Apple watch to track my first {pitiful} effort of my running workout, implementing a 5K training plan of timed walk/run intervals that Lea had shared with me. Steve was in this with me. We were all signed up {both couples} for the February run, and the training gauntlet had been thrown down. Steve and I did really well on our training until the time to move in our home on November 10 arrived. The pressure to get settled for the holidays superceded any race training and before we knew it, it was January and I was nowhere near able to run 3.1 miles. 

On January 10, two months after our move-in, Steve and I knew we were up against a wall and we resumed our race training, which was running 3 times a week. Forcing myself to prepare for this finite deadline, and simultaneously confronting the reality of running {in public} with my husband and our two dear friends, was some of the hardest truths and experiences I've ever faced. I could not quit. I had to finish. I had to keep going. I did not want to, though. I did not think I could do it. Here is an excerpt from an email I wrote on January 24:

Last night as I was running I contemplated the verse, "With man nothing is possible, but with God ALL things are possible" and I thought about getting the word possible tattooed on my wrist. No joke. I need the daily moment by moment reminder that Papa is BIG. I did not have a good run. I am feeling very much like a failure at it. I am full of doubt and feeling very foolish for even trying this. I am the oldest, I have the heaviest % of body fat, and I have a heart problem to boot. "WTH was I thinking?" kept running through my mind.

In one last desperate attempt, on January 25 I Googled some 30-day 5K Training Plans and, mustering gumption and grit, on January 29, we increased our 3-4 day a week running regimen to running every day. Every day. Work, eat dinner, change clothes, lace up shoes, run, die on the couch. The 5K was Friday, February 24. I had a finite amount of time, and what seemed like an infinite amount of distance to cover in my running.

I would spend the next twenty days trying, trying, trying to get to where I needed to be. See, I just was unable to run continuously for 3.1 miles. But, what I realized on February 11 was this was a mental hurdle, and not a physical one. Let me share with you another email excerpt from February 13:

Steve and I continue to be PRESSED into the nuttiness of eating FMD (and ALL that entails) and pairing that with the last minute prep for the 5K. I WILL BE HONEST and tell you I DID NOT THINK I WAS GOING TO BE READY. I WILL BE HONEST and tell you that the progress I have made CAN ONLY BE SUPERNATURAL. I alternate the breath prayer of POSSIBLE with IMMEASURABLE AND IMMENSE daily, moment by moment, as I slog through our route. GOD IS SO MAJESTIC AND OMNIPRESENT. WHO ARE WE THAT HE IS MINDFUL OF US?

I praise God for giving me the idea to SEEK OUT a 30 day training plan, and I praise God for also whispering to me to evaluate the elevations that we were running. We were basically running an uphill circle, where the downhill wasn’t long enough to equip me for the uphill, with an accumulated climb that equated to a 74 ft climb over the course of running for 30 minutes. (The Epcot course has a cumulative climb of 42 feet. We ran that looping uphill route that way for the last time on 1/31. On 1/30 we made the adjustment to push ourselves to hit 3.12 miles per night, whether we were walking OR running to begin to transition our bodies for the distance. (Another God whisper.) Papa has guided me relentlessly, helping me to adjust. After 1/31, I felt so FOOLISH and defeated. We took a couple days off, did some weight training, and went back to running on 2/5 - hitting 3.12 miles successfully for the first night. On 2/5 and 2/6, I was able to run nonstop for about 6 or 7 minutes total before needing to stop to walk. On Tuesday 2/7, I stretched that to 8 minutes running before stopping. 

Every night during this time we are adapting our route, trying to even it out, adjusting some each time, thinking where we can turn to hit some flats…? On 2/8 and 2/9 we rest from running. On Friday 2/10, we head out to run and I push myself - God helps me - to run for 16 minutes without stopping to walk. I DOUBLED MY TIME FROM ONE RUN TO THE NEXT. PRAISE GOD!! On Saturday 2/11 we go run and I tell myself I’m going to make it to 20 minutes without stopping. Hit 20. Okay, go for 25. Hit 25. Okay, for for 30. Hit 30. Okay, go for 35. At 35, I know I’m struggling, but I know I have the gas in me to go ahead and finish. On Saturday, 2/11, I RAN A 5K FOR THE FIRST TIME WITHOUT STOPPING ANY. I was filled with joy, elation, disbelief, doubt. MY PREDOMINANT THOUGHTS WERE, “I DID IT!” FOLLOWED IMMEDIATELY BY “CAN I DO IT AGAIN?” 

Well, we ran Sunday 2/12 and yes, yes, praise God I COULD DO IT AGAIN. And my times were a little better and it was incredibly windy at that. I document all of this because in the span of FIVE DAYS I go from being able to run for 6 minutes to being able to run for the whole distance…the time of that varies from 41 to 48. I ran for 48 minutes on Saturday and 41 minutes on Sunday….My paces are improving. My heart rate is getting steadier and stronger…My breathing is getting better. SUPERNATURAL PROGRESS. PRAYERS ANSWERED. I pray that I can continue to get faster and I am not relenting on my training until the race day arrives!! Thank you for your prayers and support. It means so much.  

{There were too many details to try to recount that, so the email sharing was the easiest.} 

I say all of this backstory to say, to quote Walt, "If you can dream it, you can do it," or to quote my scripture, "With man nothing is possible, but with God all things are possible." I feel like if I can run a 5K, anyone can run a 5K. When race day came, we were ready. The race began at 6 AM. We had to be at our corral by 5:30. We had to be on a bus to Epcot by 5 AM. We set our alarms for 4:15 AM. We all quickly got up and got dressed and, thankfully, a bus was there waiting and we walked right on. It was surreal to see so many runners. Over 7,000. We were slotted in corral D. They released 4 times from each corral at 2-minute intervals. We were the first release of our corral, and we began at 6:26 AM and finished 44 minutes later. 

My husband and my friends were so kind to run slowly with me, at my pace that would keep my heartrate at an acceptable level. We started in the parking lot. We ran in the dark. We played frogger around those that were walking already at mile one. Navigating the crowds was the hardest. We entered Epcot at the backstage entrance near the Mexico pavilion, where Donald Duck has his meet and greets. The race went so fast! All of hours and months of training -- for this brief 44 minute run. We tried as best as we could to stay together. There were moments where we were tightly together, and moments where it was just me and Steve, and sometimes I was at the back by myself. I just kept running. I had trained for this! This was the moment! 

The Photo Pass photographers on the sidelines of the race path, in their little green huts for safety and visibility, were proof of that. There was one moment in the breaking dawn when I was clearly by myself as I approached a photographer. It was after mile one, and before mile 2. I know this because towards the end of mile 2 is where I always struggle, until I push through that barrier and get my second win that takes me to mile 3....I know this because the pose I gave the photographer was my moment. That photo of me captures the essence of it all! I was here, I was doing this, I was running in a 5K, I was doing something I never before thought possible!!

I know all of this was a gift to me from God. I know I'm not measured by my body weight, or shape, or size. I know I'm not fenced in by them either. I know my ability to break through that mental barrier on February 11 was my gift, far less tangible than my race medal, but so much more visible in my mind. From August to February, the four of us had a slogan, and on race day we owned it. We crossed the finish line together, holding hands, arms up over our heads. Victory. See, grace wins every time. I'm not done with my "fit in my fifties", but this story, this moment, this race, this medal is a capstone. And every time I doubt my ability to succeed, I tell myself "Anything is possible if you believe," and I recall a sparkly crown, a blue tutu, Epcot in the breaking dawn, 7,000 runners, my husband and friends cheering me on, and I remember grace wins every time.

Anything is Possible if You Believe ~ Epcot Royal Family 5K ~ February 2017

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Echo Park

Title: Silhouette file

Story Central: Simply Amazing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

story1

  [stawr-ee, stohr-ee] 

noun, plural stories.

1.

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

2.

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

3.

such narratives or tales as a branch of literature:

song and story.

4.

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

The characterizations were good, but the story was weak.

5.

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

6.

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

the story of medicine; the story of his life.

7.

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

The story goes that he rejected the offer.

8.

news story.

9.

a lie or fabrication:

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

10.

Obsolete. history.

verb (used with object), storied, storying.

11.

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

12.

Obsolete. to tell the history or story of.

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

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

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

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

Story Central ~ Documenting the Design ~ April 2017

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Simple Stories

Title Font: Watermelon Script