Book Wreath - or - She's No Crafty Clara

Here's my truth: I am not a crafty girl.

Please, hear me out. Don't leave me, just yet.

I have big ideas about being crafty... I paint with my kids! I collect fabric! Don't leave me.

It's just that I can't thread my sewing machine and I'm deathly afraid of the bobbin. I've never used spray adhesive. I hate painting furniture.
Don't. Go.

Can you tell that I have deep seated abandonment issues?

What makes it all the more mysterious is that I've never been abandoned.

I take that back - A crappy high school boyfriend once momentarily left me at Wal Mart.

Uh-oh - my pre-midlife-crisis Typographical ADD is kicking in again. For all of you who have teenagers who do well in high school and don't cause you much grief - you might as well know now that all of that concentrated effort will eventually give way to the inability to remain focused for longer than 1.35 minutes at the keyboard.

Honest to goodness, I have a point.

And it is this:

I did a craft. This craft. I bought the tawdry romance novel and dug out my glue gun. I have the blisters to prove it.

I watched the heart-wrenching update on Amanda Knox while I glued. I have followed it closely since the beginning and I believe that she is innocent. And I have an undisputed knack for these things. I think I missed my calling in life. I shoulda been a judge. (That doesn't require a long attention span, does it?)

I'm quite pleased with this first effort. It speaks to my heart.

Maybe it will even re-inspire my waning love for fiction.

A Story in Two Parts

I make a Christmas list for Cory every year. 10 years of wedded bliss have taught us that it's just better for everyone if I jot something down - and make it specific. This was difficult for me, because, as you know, I'm a girl who loves a good surprise. I loved the idea of Cory finding me the perfect thing that I never even knew I wanted. So romantic, right? Trouble is, Cory's not like me. He doesn't enjoy "the hunt". He has made some valiant attempts though, including 2 Christmases ago when he hacked into my Etsy site and ordered something for me that I had saved in my Favorites. I cracked up when I opened it, one - because it was a "World Traveler" charm necklace that I had in mind for a friend of mine who is an avid, overseas traveler; and two - because it looked rather gangsta'ish. And really tacky. You don't believe me? Take a look.

Cory's response? "I thought it was very odd that you wanted that."

Truly though, he scored major points for effort. It wasn't his fault that the etsy listing was a tad deceiving.

Fast forward to this year. I had two items on my list:
1. fun knee socks (Gap, TJ Maxx)
2. personalized charm necklace (with kids' names, silver)

Then, we found out that we are both flying to Korea in a month or so, and we canceled Christmas altogether.

For the two of us, I mean.

Fast forward another week or two and I found this in my mailbox:

I was so excited that I almost opened it up while I was driving. Then, I remembered the time that I totaled my beloved Sunfire just as I was pulling up for a job interview and I thought better of it.

I'm telling you - I love the feeling of anticipation. It's one of my top five favorite states of being.

When at last I pulled safely into a parking space at my Nose Job doctor's office, I ripped the lid off the box and saw.....

This.

My friend Nicole made it for me, for no good reason. Just because she likes me, I guess. She and I lived right next door to each other our Sophomore year of college and it pains me to say that I don't think we ever exchanged pleasantries. Now, years later, here we are. We are cyber pals. We are passionate about some of the very same things and I, for one, feel like I have been gifted with a very fantastic surprise friendship.

Nicole and her husband are embarking on some very exciting territory of the adoption genre. (You didn't know territories are classified by genres???)

Her Etsy shop is stocked full of her beautiful artistry, which will help pave the way to bring home their child - the one that Jesus chose for them from the foundations of the earth.

Thank you, Nic, my crafty, mind-reading friend. I Love it.

Best $15 I've Ever Spent

I'm happy to report that the tree is lit. Ornaments are sure to follow, right?

Baby steps, folks.

I wouldn't want to rush the process or be too timely.

I haven't been entirely unproductive, though. Here's what else I did:

A couple of weeks ago I became suddenly and perplexedly obsessed with finding large 3-D tissue paper snowflakes to hang above the table. It's more difficult than you'd think...

But, find them I did.

And they were cheap. And speedy.

I'm the type of gal who likes a decoration that doesn't expire after a month. There's no need to revisit my track record for this sort of thing. Just trust me.

All I know is, I'm LOVING these flakes. And when the kids puttered downstairs this morning I heard, "Holy Moley!". I smiled in my bed.

That's right, the kids are our personal wake-up call. Can you imagine anything better? Not me.

Snowflake shadows. Swoony.

And now, my dirty little secret, which perfectly illustrates the point I really didn't want to make in the first place.

(Do you see what I see? I'm a mess...)

Annual Cookie Bake-Off

So, today was cookie day. The ladies of Cory's immediate family gather for this event every year, and even though I show up 20 minutes late every year, they keep inviting me back.

I'm actually starting to think they'd be lost without my late arrival. If everyone showed up right at nine, who would bring all of the stuff that was forgotten? (At least, that's what I like to tell myself...)

For the ins and outs of the annual event, check this out.

By now, we work like a well-oiled machine.
And oil is, after all, the lifeblood of the internal combustion engine.

The problem is, there is a certain participant who chokes each and every year under the weight of this heaping load of festive pressure. She just can't quite get her act together. Last year, her pecan fudge bites turned into a giant batch of slop and ended up in the circular file. (Did any of you have "clever" high school teachers that used this term as though they were the wittiest and most amusing person on the face of the earth?)

This year, we had high hopes that she might produce something edible. We crossed all our fingers and toes. Her secret-recipe molasses cookies sounded SO good... She watched them like a hawk and baked them to soft, chewy perfection.


This year's lesson: Crisco can spoil, ya'll. Who knew??? Not this girl.

Those cookies emitted the most noxious fumes. And they tasted even worse. Some of the girls tried to be nice about it, and others knew there was no use and nearly spit them back in my face.

So...Merry Christmas, dumpster rats. Hope my rotten cookies don't give you the runs.

As you can imagine, these perfectly turned out candy canes and the charming gingerbread men and the oodles and oodles of chocolately yums did nothing to soften the blow of my third consecutive failure.

Hey - maybe when things slow down after the holidays you could all email me the recipe for the nastiest cookie you've ever tasted. At least then I would know the outcome going in.

Not that I don't already.

Ho Ho Ho.

Farewell, Louie.

Here's something I already knew, but it bears repeating: There is beauty to be found in every corner of America. Whenever I visit a new place, my heart feels just a tiny bit sad upon leaving. Louisville was no exception.

We discovered the coolest little area of small, independently-owned restaurants (The most phenomenal Italian and Greek meals I have had in ages...) smack dab in the midst of rundown shotgun houses and a school for the blind.

We passed a semi truck hauling tobacco bales and (cigarette industry controversies aside) it just struck me as beautiful and almost foreign. I have never seen that before. Have never even considered it. Yet to the man in the truck, it's all in a day's work.

All of that to say: Louisville was a hit, but we are home now and it feels so nice. I'm ready to slow it down. I've already been to the grocery, so I have that contented, "cupboards full" feeling. Now, it's time to decorate the persnickety tree and dole out some Christmastime fun.

For Mr. and Mrs. Flower Patch Farmgirl and their brood, the season has finally come.


(The next time you see Cory, please, please refer to him as Mr. Flower Patch Farmgirl. I just know he'll love it!)

Who Says Brevity is the Soul of Wit?

OK, in hindsight, my post from yesterday may have been a bit lengthy. A bit "prosey", in the words of my much-revered former boss.

Ya'll are saintly to have read it, though I'm no Spring chicken -- I know it was more of a "scanner" than a "reader".

Let's face it - sometimes "scanning" is a handy and necessary skill. Like today, when I realized that I don't really like the book I'm reading. I had hope that it would improve momentarily, so I skimmed. I scanned. My eyes flew over the text, cherry-picking only the key words and phrases.

I still didn't like it. Even though my best girl Sarah did.

Oh man, she's gonna book-break-up with me. I've already begun to notice the warning signs. She thinks I'm becoming too picky, and maybe I am, but what's a girl to do? It all started when I read Clarence Thomas's autobiography over the Summer. I don't know how it happened, but the fiction I've read since then has been bland. And unnecessarily complicated. And annoying.

Joyce Carol Oates, can't you just write in coherent sentences? Might there be another way of emphasizing the emotional maladies of your protagonist? Shish.

This is what happens, friends. I have such good intentions of brevity. I promise myself that this post will be different.

But the proof is in the pudding - I'm a word junky. When it comes to typing, I can't shut my trap. Maybe I need to talk more in real life? Maybe that would bring me balance and you relief?

I'm open to suggestions.


Now, an experiment.

My day, in 10 lines or less:

1. My leg and butt "muscles" are crying out.
2. I want to take up semi-permanent residence in a Chop Shop salad restaurant.

3. Goat cheese is my love language.
4. Never trust a person who can't appreciate a roasted beet.
5. I enjoy walking in a misty rain.
6. I'm SICK of hearing Tiger's alleged voice mail.
7. I successfully averted a wardrobe crisis of catastrophic proportions.
8. I hate explaining my job to people.
9. I love watching Cory in his element and am willing to sit through extraordinarily boring dinners to do so, as long as I'm fed really well.
10. I have wanted to try puttanesca sauce ever since reading Belong to Me and finally had the opportunity to do so.

Dang. I'm out of lines. And this is the most important one, so just read my mind here. Go ahead, rub your temples. I've heard it helps...

What I wish I could say but will not say has to do with these two little sweetie-pies. I haven't seen them in 2 days and it's been great and all, but, well, you know....Just read I between miss the them lines.

Our Exotic Get-Away

My Honey took me on a fancy trip. You know the kind....the suit-wearing husband jets off to an exotic (or at least warm) locale and brings the wife, along with the garment bag.

He's never done this before. Then again, he really doesn't travel very often. Especially to fancy-pants destinations like...

Louisville, Kentucky.

Seriously, friends, envy is a sin! Get ahold of yourselves!

All I know is, I'm here, in an unfamiliar city, and I'm kidless. It's a strange feeling...a very wayward, irresponsible feeling. In a good way. Five separate times today I momentarily thought I was in DC. No, there are no similarities among the two. It's a sensation I can't quite put into words. Suffice it to say, I don't often find myself kidless in the city, but when I do, it's typically DC.

I packed 2 books and a magazine. I couldn't get the internet to connect this morning and I didn't give a rip. I decided weeks ago that I would be as lazy as possible on this exotic get-away, and so far, so good.

Cory left our room this morning at 6 a.m. looking smoking hot in his new tie.

Which brings me to this: Who are the people who spend $50 on a tie at a department or men's store when there are equally dapper ties to be found at TJ Maxx for $8?

Should I ever strike it rich, I hereby do solemnly swear that I will continue to buy Cory's ties at TJ.

Amen.

So, my day.

I woke up around 10 (fa rills), read for a while, then went down to the workout room.
(Everyone who knows me in real life is now howling with laughter, but just ignore them and they'll go away...)

I came back to the room and watched some of my favorite news channel (Have I ever told you that I secretly aspire to be a political talking head? Call me, Shep!)

I showered, grabbed lunch, then meandered the streets of downtown Lowllvoll.


I spent an hour in Borders and bought The Snowy Day for El Rubo and a spiral-bound reference guide on the 50 states for Little C. Both from the bargain section.

I read a magazine article on Fergie where she bragged about her fantastic marriage to Josh Duhamel and I felt bad for her.

I strolled into Starbucks looking for a lemon bar. The trendy, frat-boy barista called me "Ma'am" (note to self: practical shoes and laugh lines make for a woeful combination) and informed me that "we haven't had those for quite some time". I felt so uncool. I might as well have been wearing wide-legs in the age of peg-legs.

I opted instead to pick up a cup of fruit and a toffee nut cookie at Panera (that haven of familiarity) and head "home".

On the way, I paid window-shopping homage to the Colonel.

Back in the room, I... read some more. I told you, I'm the Queen of All Things Boring. One of these days you'll believe me.

The truth is - I like quiet. I like solitude. It fortifies me.

It is this very self-awareness that prompted me to change my personality from "extrovert" to "introvert" years ago. I had always assumed that since I enjoy public speaking, I must be an extrovert. Tweren't so. It took a while to change all of the necessary documentation and it cost an arm and a leg, but totally worth it.

I urge all of you to spend some time in careful consideration over your fundamental personality type. It's more important than knowing your blood type and your skin type. You can't imagine the freedom.

I have also come to learn, over the years, that I have a peculiar inability to stay on topic...I blame it on the disorienting effect of isolation-inducing introversion.

Say that 5 times fast.

Eventually, Cory grew weary of schmoozing and found his way back to me. Then he took me to dinner at Ray Parrella's Italian Cuisine. It was out-of-the-way and divey and divine. I would have happily dined soup-style on a bowl of marinara. (TMI?)

I almost ordered a slice of the Dreamsicle cake, to-go. Then I chickened out. Then we left and I regretted chickening out. Then we passed a dessert shop and I made Cory turn around. Then we went in and looked at the options and small-talked with the Girl, but nothing looked good. (I'm more of a pie girl than a cake girl and that's been the truth long before the extrovert-introvert conversion, so I have reason to believe that it's not going to change anytime soon.) I felt bad for not ordering anything, but my good sense told me that the Girl wouldn't hold it against me and we walked back out the door as cakeless as we had entered.

Tomorrow I have big plans to do a whole lot more of nothin'.

Wish me luck.