SNEAK Peek: '90s Party Invites

Here's just a little glimpse of the '90s-themed (yes, you read that right) birthday party invitations I'm working on for my BFF's upcoming day of birth! I have to say, I've had a blast making these. It's been so much fun reliving the TV shows of my high school days. (And a good excuse not to do homework). HA! Now it's onto finding the perfect ensemble that fully expresses all things '90s. Maybe some Docs, cozy flannel, or this insanely awesome vintage floral bodysuit. The possibilities are endlessly atrocious! I can't wait!!! 

Oh and one more thing...

"Whoa!"
-Joe Lawrence

ENJOY: A Weekend in Pictures

This past weekend, the Pacific Northwest was blessed with sunshine...lots of sunshine. And I can't think of a more fitting way to enjoy the beautiful weather than a day trip to Whidbey Island with my hubby and in-laws. It was filled with all things lovely: 2lbs of Penn Cove mussels, a walk through a rhododendron garden, drinks with a stunning view, a scenic drive through the countryside, and making memories; for those quintessential Northwest rainy days ahead, when we just need a little reminder as to why we trudge through the nasty weather year after year. 

But, of course, it's all worth it once the sunshine comes. Because there's really nothing quite like summertime in the PNW.

VISIT:

Meerkerk Gardens

LUNCH:

Toby's Tavern

DRINKS:

Captain Whidbey Inn

xoxo

CRAFTERNOON Delight: Sweatshirt Redesign

A couple of weeks ago, my lovely girlfriends and I got together for an afternoon of crafting, or a crafternoon, if you will. And it was peachy, as usual. This has become something of a regular routine for us.  We pick a date, we pick a location, we pick a craft.  All we have to do is show up with the necessary tools and accoutrements and craft our little hearts out. (There may also be vino drinking involved. Maybe. Okay, usually. Most of the time. Okay, always.) 

We've crocheted, mod-podged, et al. But this particular occasion called for a little sewing and a bunch of winging it.  I had found a tutorial online for repurposing an old sweatshirt. The reason I wanted to do this particular craft was the fact that I'd been carrying around an old, yet never worn sweatshirt for years!  Like literally, lots of years; over 20, actually. I'd gotten this late 80's fantastically awesome sweatshirt when I visited Seattle with my family a couple of years before we moved to Washington state. We moved here in 1991; so you do the math. Remember in my last post when I said I keep everything? Yeah, I was being serious. Pathetic, I know. But in this instance, I am so freakin' happy I've lugged this giant sweatshirt around all these years! Why I picked out an adult sweatshirt when I was 9 years old, I've no idea. The damn thing didn't even fit me at 34! Well, it didn't used to fit me; it does now, though. Thanks to my very favorite friend, Pinterest. The tutorial we used was a little hazy with the directions, so we all kind of did our own thing with it. And by golly, I'm diggin' it. 

Here's the before with my bestie, Ellen, and me: 

And here's the AFTER:

In a nutshell: I cut it down the front, took in the sleeves and the waist. Added ruffles along the opening, which was just the bottom of the sweatshirt that had already naturally ruffled when cut. I put in three button holes/buttons for closure. Along with a small snap at the neck to close it entirely, if I wished. I also shortened it and hemmed it! I knew the "Seattle" would  no longer line up on the front once I cut it, but I was going for that abstract, art deco (insert inside joke here), kind of vibe, so it works.

And bam! I've got myself a new favorite old sweatshirt. 

And no post is complete without a little Duck face. 

Cheers! 

xo

FIND of the Week: A Poem Written by my Teenage Self

I save everything. Like, EVERYTHING. I have boxes full of snapshots from my past; literally and figuratively. Old photos, movie stubs from 1993-1997, concert posters, letters to friends, letters from friends, cards from every birthday I've had, crumbling old flower corsages (yes, the kind we'd wear on our wrists for dances..do the kids even do that now a days?), invitations from parties that were thrown 20 years ago...yeah, you get the idea. Sometimes, when I'm in a particular cleaning frenzy, the one that takes hold of me twice a year, I think about throwing all this crap out. Why, oh why, do I have to be reminded that I watched Romeo and Juliet 900 times or that I once saw The Goo Goo Dolls in concert? But there are other moments, when I stumble upon one of my boxes by accident, and I happily reminisce of some cherished memory that I had long forgotten; one that had been hiding out in the back of my noggin for years, waiting for its shot to be remembered. It's in those moments that I'm SO HAPPY I didn't give in and toss all this stuff out years ago. Because all this "crap," is really just my past in physical form. And if the day ever comes when my memory gets a little hazy and I really do forget some of the scenery from the path behind me that has been my life, I hope I can look through all this "crap"...and remember. That just the physical touch of a concert stub in my wrinkled, old hand will bring the song Iris floating back into my head. And I'll remember; being young, carefree, with my whole life a wide-open field before me, a blank canvas waiting for paint...and I'll smile and think how lucky I've been to have had a life well-lived. Then I'll probably take out my teeth and go to bed at 7. So until then, I'll keep all this "crap" safely stowed in the depths of my closet. I do, however, think it's safe to throw out all these old movie tickets, as I'm pretty sure I'll still be dreaming of Leonardo DiCaprio....even when I'm 80. :)

Here's one of the memories I found today. A poem I wrote when I was 16. It's kind of silly and super sappy...my favorite kind of memory. 

Us

I sit here. And I write.
I write because I can't speak the words
my lips won't form them
But I guess it doesn't matter
because there's nothing left to say
And at the same time,
there's a million words I could speak 
but...
they would be directed at you.
Only you
won't listen. So...
I guess it doesn't matter
And I write.
I write about love.
What I thought was love, what I wished was love,
what I hoped was love.
But...
I guess it doesn't matter
because whatever it was...
is gone now.
Maybe it's been gone
but only now will my heart recognize it.
And I write.
About loss and hurt.
Two things
I have, am, and will experience.
And I write.
About hope. 
And I hope. But...
I guess it doesn't matter or...
Does it?
Do you care?
I wish I could answer that question,
my only question in the world.
If I had...
A chance
to speak into your eyes
I probably wouldn't know what to say.
Because, you know me, always at a loss for the perfect words.
You know me.
And I used to know you.
We used to sit in the sun and talk about life.
About you. About me. About us.
I have so many words, sentences, paragraphs.
All I can do...
is write.
And I write.
About forgiveness.
Will you ever feel it? But...
I guess it doesn't matter,
because I'm me and you're you and...
there is no us anymore.
But...I dream.
of sunshine and chats that lead us to nothing.
And walks that don't take us anywhere
except tunnels with invisible bats,
but we're together,
so it doesn't matter.
And I hope.
For silence, with smiles that say a million words the lips can't speak.
I hope for love.
Again.

That was me...then. 

READ this Book: The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

Sometimes, a book comes into my life by accident. Or fate (if you're one of "those people."  You know the kind...that believe in...fate...or have ESPN or whatever. Yeah, you get the idea). Sometimes, the books I end up loving the most are those that I never knew I wanted to read in the first place. As if, maybe the book itself was looking for me instead of the other way around, and was quietly waiting until the time was perfectly right to make its grand entrance into my life. Yeah, sounds implausible (not to mention cheesy as Hell). But still, this is the way I feel about The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. I happened to be wandering around in our local bookstore, the wonderful Village Books, on my most recent thirty-something birthday and there it was; just sitting there on the shelf, all pretty and fancy and lovely looking, like a little cupcake of crimson and black, all for me; I just HAD to have it (much like the pricey jeans and 5,000th dress I had purchased moments earlier). And like the title character (and yes, the circus itself is a character, a wonderfully rich, equally enchanting and haunting setting, that speaks quietly without saying a word), this book popped into my life without any warning (kind of like a bladder infection, but that's another story and one which is confidential between me and my doctor), and I loved every second of it (the book; not the bladder infection). 

Um...sorry about that...moving on. The Night Circus is set in the late 1800s. There is something I find very intriguing about that moment in time, sexy even; maybe it's the opulent dresses women wore (I like big bustles and I cannot lie) or the overall decadence of the wealthy; over-the-top ballrooms with sparkling chandeliers, four course dinners with expensive, world-class wines. I'm not quite sure why (might have just been the wine. I like wine), but I find myself daydreaming that my husband would wear a top hat and tails whilst carry a cane, for no other reason than the fact that it looks cool. It might be that much of the story takes place in London, my most favoritest city EVER in life.  Also this "circus," is nothing like the average circus we've come to know. Screw those red and white striped tents; these tents are black and white and had me seeing green that Ms. Morgenstern came up with such an intriguing and magical idea before I did. Because magic is a big part of the story, as well. And who doesn't love a little magic? (Communists. They hate that crap). But I di-jest...ha! The Night Circus is, in its heart, a sweeping love story, that eclipses space and time (quite literally). It involves two rival magicians, who stand on the sidelines while they let their pupils, two students whom they've mentored their entire lives, take the stage to duel it out. This brings me to Celia and Marco, who are not only the stars of this duel, but the star-crossed lovers of our tale, pitted against one another before they knew the other existed, who have no choice but to go along with the wishes of their mentors. While their "teachers" may have passed on to them all their knowledge when it comes to magical arts, they've left out the part where only one can win on this stage. And the stage? Well, the stage is the circus, of course! I'll admit, if you're expecting an epically magical fight like Harry and Voldemort, you'll be a bit disappointed; you just might want to re-read Harry Potter for the 100th time, because this duel is much quieter, a lot more subtle, and like I said, takes a REALLY long time. I know all of this sounds quite vague, and I'm probably pissing off the one reader that I have of this damn blog, but I'd hate to ruin any part of this story for you. I went into this book after getting hooked from having read this opening paragraph on the very first page: 

"The circus arrives without warning.
      No announcements precede it, no paper notices on downtown posts and billboards, no mentions or advertisements in local newspapers. 
It is simply there, when yesterday it was not."

If that doesn't intrigue you, then you must be dead (or a Communist). Either way, how about I appeal to you with another sentence, one that transcends race, class, religion, sex, life and death, something we can all relate to, regardless of our place in this world:

"Wine is bottled poetry." 

Ah, indeed. 

"The finest of pleasures are always the unexpected ones." 

-The Night Circus

“You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words. That is your role, your gift.” 

-The Night Circus

Shout out...

....to my MUM! It's her birthday today. And aren't I just the luckiest girl in the WORLD to have her as my mother. She is everything I hope to be someday...and more!!!! LOVE her to the moon and BACK! xoxo

Eight months.

Yesterday morning as I sat in the comfy blue chair downstairs and drank my daily quarter cup of coffee (right before I decided to have just a little more, also a daily occurrence and one which I always regret), I Facebooked.  Yes, in the action verb sense. I was checking out the NaNoWriMo Facebook page whilst simultaneously listening to my new favorite song by Mumford and Sons. What's NaNoWriMo? Well, I'll tell you. It's National Novel Writing Month, of course! Also known as November. How to explain....Each November, thousands of folks out there take pen to paper or hand to keyboard or stone to cave wall and spend the whole of November writing a novel.  You have to start it and finish it all within those 30 days.  Seems impossible? Give it a try. Many people do it. Have I? No. But I think good things come to those who wait.  Which basically means: I can't write that fast. I edit. Then I edit some more. Then I start over and edit that. Then I go back to the original and stare at it for a few days. Then I just think about how to edit it. Then I edit it. Then I'm done.  Just kidding, then I edit it again.

And that's just the first paragraph! 

So you see what I mean. It's a neat idea, though. Anyways, point to my story is, they always have these little writing prompts.  I don't usually partake, but yesterday's writing prompt was this:

Look around. Find someone nearby. Maybe it's a family member, maybe it's a coworker, maybe it's a stranger in a coffee shop. Describe them to us. But not just their appearance. Give them some backstory, some pathos, some motivation. Make us care about this person here in your Facebook comment.


I was alone. Caleb had just left for work.  I didn't have anyone around to write about. And I wasn't going to write about myself because that's just...creepy. But then I spotted my absolute favorite picture of my absolute favorite pet in the whole history of the world sitting nearby.  Mr. Pekoe Bean.  And I realized that it had been eight months to the day that my sweet little kitty passed from this life into the next.  So, I thought it would be a fitting tribute to my sweet Pekoe to write about him.  I didn't think. I just wrote what came to me. I may have edited though, a little. I just can't help myself. 

And here it is. :)

For Pekoe.

I'm staring at his picture. Because he's not here anymore. He had the most lovely green eyes I'd ever seen. Big and beautiful and green as the sea. When he looked at me, I could feel his love. Like a distant hug.  He could calm me with that stare. And his ears. Oh, his ears. They overwhelmed him, but they were perfect and stood out. 
Like he did.
He had gone grey, the years painted on his face; varying shades of time passing too quickly.  But those eyes. They told a different story. Of youth, of happiness, of always being there no matter what.  And I feel his love still. Even through the glass of the frame, staring out at me from a different time.
I feel it.
I miss those eyes the most. 

Miss you, Boo. Love you, always.

xoxo