Yesterday, as I perused the veggie department at the grocer, I overheard a couple talking. They were bemoaning the expense of the fair. “It’s just ridiculous,” said one. “I could take my kids to Disneyland for that price,” said the other. “I don’t even allow my children to go anymore.”
On the one hand, I see their point—it has become rather pricey. Much like everything else.
And yet I’m so thankful my parents did not take that viewpoint. Sure, it wasn’t as expensive back then. But for our family, it wasn’t cheap. All the same, each year we’d load up the Chevy Malibu wagon and head for the fair…
We’d eat deliciously greasy food … create splatter paint masterpieces … and visit all the barnyard animals. My dad and I would ride at least one wild ride … waving to my mom and brother, waiting below. When it was all said and done, we’d walk back to our car—elephant ear in hand—dusty, tired, and oh-so-happy!
Some of my most treasured memories take place at the fair. What a pity if I had to miss out …
{poor, poor fellow; so pitiful ... and yet, so very tasty}
We attended a luau at “the home.” My grandma and her friends performed the Hu Ke Lau during happy hour, followed by Hawaiian dancers, and a hawaiian themed dinner–complete with roasted pig. I must say, it’s always a bit disconcerting to look my dinner in the face. Never been a fan, myself. Fish with eyeballs? No thank you!
If I wasn’t such a carnivore, I would totally be a vegetarian. Sigh.
And so my wish for you, dear friends: may your days be as beautiful as a Hawaiian afternoon, may your nights be full of song and dance … and when you look upon your food, may it not look back …
{I do so love Sundance Catalog Company}
I’ve been a bit of a hermit crab lately … or, more to the point, a crabby hermit. Working myself into a dither wondering when, for the love of Pete, invoices will be paid, does nothing to liven conversation. Invariably, someone will ask, ”How’s the freelance gig?” At which point I stutter about, shrug, and say “So … {exasperated sigh} … you know …” as I stare off into obvlivion.
It’s not pretty, my friends.
So while I have gone out here and there, I haven’t invited anyone in for months. Until Tuesday.
Tuesday evening my friend Mandi came over for dinner. Considering my track record, I did fairly well. I did forget to put the walnuts in a bowl; and since I didn’t want the salmon to get cold while I found a bowl, I simply plopped them on the table … in a Ziploc baggy. Even better, I did so while asking, “Wanna nut?”
The way I figure, there’s a reason I’m not rich, famous, or married to a politician.
All things considered, it was a lovely time–a good reminder that I need to do this more {and not just because Mandi brought me a wee book that just happens to be 102 years old–squee!}.
It also reminded me of how we’re all different. I recently heard of a woman who hosted a family gathering, but refused to let anyone in the house for fear they would ruin something.
The funny thing is, the older I get, the less importance I place on things. Don’t get me wrong; there are things that warm the cockles of my heart {as you may have noticed}. But more than anything, I want to surround myself with meaning. I don’t want to collect something simply for the name, the price tag, or the prestige associated with owning it. The things I find most worthy of my investment are those of sentimental value … those I can build a memory around … those I can share with others.
Sure, it may not make me worth more, but I feel rich all the same …
{my brief, and most unofficial, stint as a model; Göteborg, Sweden, 2009}
Did you hear the news? According to a British survey {conducted for QVC, U.K.} women peak in beauty at thirty-one. Thirty-one, my friends.
Now that’s just rude.
Thankfully, the lovely Maddy … of The Maddy Chronicles … tagged me on a challenge: post six things positive things about yourself and post a picture. So without further ado, my own personal affirmations …
I have curly hair. True, give me a short hair cut and I turn poodle; color my hair a tad too red, then plop me in a rain forest, and I take on an eery resemblance to Ronald McDonald, but other than that, it’s all good. It disguises the fact that I have extremely thin hair; and I can mousse, scrunch and go in a pinch.
I laugh. A lot. Some may say too much; even I will agree there are times when it’s not-so-very-helpful. Like getting tickled in church … or the time I was COMPLETELY struck hilarious with the “sharted” bit on Along Came Polly on a first {and, oddly enough, last} date. All embarrassment aside, laughter has seen me through many a blue time.
I love me a party. A good theme makes me giddy. And I believe all of life’s events–both big and small–are worthy of celebration!
I’m an oddball. Sure, this may seem a strange positive, but it’s true. I’m the kid who’s favorite toys included her baby doll … and her little green army men. I’m the introverted-extrovert. I’m a nut, and totally serious. I’m a little bit, of a whole lot–which may seem strange to some, but it’s a huge help when I relate to others.
I’m an optimist. Okay, in all fairness, I’m probably right down the middle on this one too. I can think of every possible scenario … including the really, really bad ones. Yet, I always seem to settle on the side of optimism. That’s one reason I keep trying to learn French … because, by George, one of these days it’s bound to stick!
I have the best family & friends. Pretty sure. Not only do I credit them for strengthening my positives, but making me want to grow and better myself … to be beautiful on the inside and out … even if I am past my so-called prime. They make me the luckiest girl EVER.
***
Now, the thing with tagging is you’re suppose to return the love. But try as a I might, I could not think of a single blogging friend who would join the fun. SO, tag … you’re ALL it. Post on your blog {and comment to let me know you did so} or simply comment. Six positives, my friends … six positives; saying them aloud, as you look in the mirror is optional …
The sun is shining, the temperature boiling, and the sound of the ice cream truck fills the air. Summer is in full swing. Since summer vacation is out for me, I’ve been reminicing of years gone by…
Like the summer of 1980, when my parents and aunt decided to take a trip to visit my grandfather in South Dakota. We loaded up my aunt’s 1975 Pontiac Bonneville –three adults, five kids, luggage, cooler, a high chair– and hit the open road. Looking back, I could swear the car was red; looking at photos, I realize it was white. Apparently I recall only the interior …
{cousins--Heid, Mags, and me}
Which, I might add, was a tad stifling with an air conditioner that continually blew hot air and refused to be shut down. It was, however, the perfect excuse to cool off with the best of summer…
{Mmm...ice cream!}
{kickin' back with those you love}
Parking lots became our diners and Point of Interest markers our excitement…
{learning and having fun--who knew?}
Old Faithful was kinda cool, staring at faces carved in rock took ENTIRELY too much time, and the “wild Indians” running amuck in Cody, Wyoming totally FREAKED ME OUT. Museums, on the other hand, were a highlight … especially if they had gift stores and sweet shops.
After many an adventure, we did finally make it to our destination…
{who are those people?!}
Where we spent some time with my grandfather and his new family … my brother split his chin open … and we experienced life “on the farm”…
{my brother moves on whilst us girls contemplate the turkey}
Three adults, five children, one car, some 935 miles, and we made it there and back with little incident. My dad didn’t even throttled the two “backseat” drivers sitting alongside him.
Guess it just goes to prove, adventures don’t have to be grand to be great. Sometimes the least perfect holidays are the ones that hold memories that float to the top…
