Hometown Shower

Other than my walk down memory lane, the real reason for my trip home was a baby shower being thrown for me and Baby Boy Cline by my mom’s friends.  The party was thrown by three of my mom’s friends from school – Abbie, Pat and Melissa.  It included them as well as some of her other teacher friends, my “hood mommas”, my Aunt Patty, and two other friends of my mom I have known since childhood. 

Hood mommas – I should explain that one.  I grew up in one of those neighborhoods with tons of kids running around, where you rode your bike up and down the street to friend’s houses and were just as likely to eat dinner at a neighbor’s house as your own.  We played neighborhood-wide games of capture the flag and flashlight tag and each of my neighborhood friends’ moms were as in charge of me as my own mom.  Little did I know then that the friendships that the Moms all had with each other was as important – if not more – as the one their kids had.  Now that I’m getting close to the stage of having my own kiddo and I call up my friends-with-babies every other day to ask advice about sleep books, registry items and “is this normal” pregnancy questions, I can completely understand the importance of those friendships that formed as they were co-raising their kids together.  I absolutely love that the “hood moms” friendships have endured through their kids growing up and moving out, through each of them actually moving from the neighborhood and more.  I think about my friends who have babies now and I wonder what it would say about the test of our friendship if I am one day at their child’s baby shower.  I hope so!  (And can you imagine the types of baby shower gifts we’ll be giving 30 years from now?  Hopefully we’ll still be giving “Goodnight Moon” and “Brown Bear, Brown Bear.”)

Anyways!  It was an absolutely lovely shower.  One of my mom’s friend’s from school brought her 8-month old baby which provided a very welcome distraction for the shower guests as I tackled one of my greatest fears: opening presents in front of a crowd.  (Is it just me?  I get clammy and nervous and I rush through it awkwardly.  At least at my wedding showers I could have champagne to help me through it!)

But look, is this kiddo not adorable?

Baby Boy got spoiled rotten at this shower.  Since it was thrown by teachers, I thought it very appropriate that they requested everyone bring a favorite kid’s book so his library got a huge jumpstart!  There were so many of my favorites from childhood that I got to revisit – and some new ones that I am sure I will get very well acquainted with.  We also got squared away with some much needed essentials like the Ergo, video monitor, swaddlers, bottles….oh and of course, clothes!  Buying baby clothes is pretty much everyone’s kryptonite, isn’t it?  It is darn near impossible to resist the siren song of a 0-3 month onesie, I am learning.  This little boy is going to be one well-read, well-dressed baby when he gets here!

It was a beautiful shower and I was so very grateful for all the ladies who came to it – those who have known me since I myself was a baby and those who I just met recently but who have been great friends to the Grandma-to-be and were equally as excited to celebrate with her.  This little baby (and his momma) are already so well taken care of!

Hometown

Who said you can’t go home?*  I can always go home.  I’m a total homebody.  I love visiting my hometown and I especially love Pittsford in the spring.  There is such a happy light feeling about upstate New York when it starts shedding its winter coat around May (or sometimes June) and it’s my very favorite time to be there.  I haven’t been home since last June (!!!) for my sister’s wedding and I was already lamenting that this trip was going to be in an fly-in-Friday-morning, fly-out-Sunday-morning type of visit.  Too, too quick. 

(And I won’t bother to waste a whole blog post on how in-Friday-morning turned into in-to Buffalo-Friday-afternoon, but I will go on record to say that air travel lately has just become absurd.  Is there any other industry where you pay so very much money and get such poor delivery on promises and services?  Whatever… moving on… I made it home and so did my bag.  So there’s that.)

Pittsford!  In the spring!  It’s very beautiful.  My mom and I went into the village on Saturday morning for a coffee date and a hair appointment and since we were early for the hair appointment we just wandered around the canal area.  I was snapping pictures of my favorite sites - the boat I used to work on, the coffee shop I used to work at, the grain mill that had been reconverted to an office and my mom said to me “You really like visiting Pittsford don’t you?”  I do and I know not everyone in the world has the sense of contentment and peace that I have when I return to the place I grew up and I feel fortunate that my hometown memories are happy ones.

I worked as a deckhand on this boat, the Sam Patch, for two summers with one of my best friends, Jen.  It was the greatest summer job ever.  We rode up and down the canal every day doing lunch and dinner cruises and private parties. Jen and I were in charge of tying the boat up when we got to the locks for the ride up, serving meals, bartending, jumping down in the hold to find another bottle of wine or refill the snack bar, answering questions about the history of the Erie Canal, selling memorabilia and even occasionally – when Captain Rick wanted to come down and mingle with the passengers – driving.  (And if you have never been in a canal lock before, it is truly a marvel of engineering… a legitimate water elevator!) One of my favorite memories was working on the boat was on a 4th of July cruise when we took the boat from the canal down the Genesee River into downtown Rochester, and Jen and I climbed up on the roof to watch the fireworks.  We got great tans (a great job benefit when you’re an 18 year old girl), amazing tips on some especially boozey dinner cruises, learned how to tie knots and most important of all, our boss – Eric – imparted to us that he trusted us wholly as he often left Jen and I in charge of closing up the boat at night, running the credit card slips, calculating our tips, restocking merchandise and placing food orders for the next day.  Jen and I are both the type who completely thrive under being put in charge and to be so young but have that kind of responsibility – I think we both took for granted what it said that our boss thought about us but I look back on it now and I’m amazed at what he trusted a pair of 18 year olds to handle.  I’ve had few bosses since then that have empowered employees the way he did his staff.

I’m writing all this now because I found out a week before I went home that Eric had died unexpectedly.  He was very young – in his mid 40s – and he had a preteen daughter (who I used to babysit.)  Jen and I texted back and forth when we found out, expressing our shock and our sadness. Whenever I’ve gone home and visited the canal dock, I’ve seen Eric bustling around getting ready for the next cruise to go out and inevitably he’ll ask him if I’m home to stay and if I want to work a shift on the boat.  (I always do and yet I never had time!)  I kept half-expecting him to jump out of the ticket office while I was down there snapping pictures, but the canal cruise season hadn’t started yet and the dock was quiet.  He was a good man, and I’m sad for his family to learn of his passing.  He’s worked tirelessly for the non-profit that runs the canal boat for over a decade now, and I know the organization is going to be impacted by losing him too.  Very sad.

I actually intended to write this whole post about my trip home, but I sort of transgressed when I started writing about my trip down to the canal and little mental good-bye to my boss and a piece of my teenage years.  I think it’s probably better to end on that note and continue on with a second installment later to write about the real reason for my trip home, which was the beautiful baby shower my mom’s friends threw for me.

Oh and by the way, I googled it and to the best of my knowledge it looks like Thomas Wolfe said you can’t go home.  And Mr. Wolfe, I just want you to know that Jennifer Nettles, Bon Jovi and I whole-heartedly disagree with you.

Real World Palm Springs

I love going on vacation and staying in a home – you’ve got your own kitchen to make a mess in, rooms to retreat to when your vacation companions are on your nerves (what? it happens) and sometimes even a washer and dryer.  Plus, I just love houses – I’m addicted to Zillow and Trulia – so it’s fun to explore a new house.  We’ve always had good luck using VRBO even though it’s a bit of a gamble.  It’s like buying a house sight unseen – you’re going off pictures and descriptions and crossed fingers and hoping the place you’re calling home for a week isn’t going to end up a total lemon.

We lucked out again with the place my parents booked in Palm Springs.  It’s a cute ranch, very modern, lots of bedrooms and my favorite part – a kitchen that looks right out into the family room and dining area.  I love cooking on vacations when you’ve got time and energy to explore new recipes and I was very excited to see this layout.

We walked around like we were contestants on the Real World, claiming bedrooms, opening cupboards and exploring our new home for the week.  I took a handful of pictures of the house before we do what my family does – starts leaving books, flip flops, sweatshirts, computers, etc on every surface.  I actually wanted to pin some of these pics, so it served a selfish purpose.  But I do love this little house we’re calling home for a week!

Return Trip

My trip to DC was a bit of a whirlwind. A friend of mine was having a wedding shower and since I'm in the wedding and unable to attend her bachelorette party, I decided to make a quick trip up 95 to be at her shower. I love me a good road trip. There was a lot I wanted to see in DC, including my 5 year old cousin and my favorite Eastern Market cheese vendor, and with some careful planning and a newly loaded up Metro card I managed to make it happen.

Friday I arrived, white knuckled after having come through the can of worms that is 495 meets 395 meets 95, at my Aunt Jennifer & Uncle Jon's house. Walking into their house is as comforting to me as walking into my parent's house in NY. This was my escape from grad school stress, my home base during coach training. It feels like only yesterday that I would get off the orange line at Ballston, see my uncle waiting for me, walk the quarter mile home to their house and be greeted with a chilled glass of white, my Aunt’s hospitable smile and a sweet newborn to hold.  The wine and my Aunt’s warm welcome remain the same, but that sweet baby is now a smart, chatty adorable 5 year old.  I can't get over it.  Our time together was wonderful – dinner was scrumptious, the company even better and the time with my little cousin was priceless.

Saturday morning, I met my friend Jen for coffee.  Jen and I went to high school together, and while we probably have not seen each other in real life since then, our shared love for all things interwebz means we've been following each other's LiveJournals, then Facebook statuses, then blogs and now Twitter feeds for the better part of the last decade.  Despite the fact that we were in different graduating classes and share only a handful of mutual friends, I feel like I know Jen better than 75% of the people who were at my 10 year reunion this summer.  So to sit down for our first IRL date was literally like picking up a conversation trail we had just left off that morning.  And of course, the first thing she asked me was “Did you check in yet?”  And of course, I had not, because I was waiting for her to get there so our check-ins would sync.  See?  We know each other.  (Check in to FourSquare, for those of you who actually have a good real life/online life balance and don't use every social media app out there.)

After our coffee date, I headed over to Arlington for Sarah's shower.  The shower was lovely and a nice chance to catch up with some Wake friends, including of course the bride and my college roomie, Britta.  I hadn’t seen either of them for awhile, so we filled in the gaps that our emails and phone calls and texts hadn’t covered as best we could in between the gift exchanges and the shower games.  Although I am sure I did this at my own showers, it always makes me chuckle how brides exclaim over their gifts as if they are delighted with the gift giver's taste.  "This bowl is  so cute!" "Oh my gosh, I LOVE these!"  Well of course - you picked them out!  But I know I did this too, if only for the awkwardness of having a roomful of people staring at you as you open presents and not knowing WHAT to say.

Although in my defense, since my husband took over our Pottery Barn registry, many of the items WERE a delightful surprise to me.  Including the candleholders that I thought (hoped) were margarita glasses.

The bridey & gifts, and me with apologies for only bring my phone as a camera to such an event.  Oof.

Back to the hotel (repeating the white knuckled traffic grip again and getting lost TWICE even with my GPS... did I really live here once?), I cracked open a bottle of wine to have my own little happy hour while making plans to meet my friends Karl & Sarah out for dinner.  They chose a place and sent me directions, and I crossed my fingers that I still knew how to ride the Metro.

My Happy Hour.  Relaxing before diving back into the city life..

I did, and dinner with K&S was wonderful.  The place they picked - Ceiba - had a great lounge area that we ate dinner in, the food was delicious and the mojtios top notch.  I have known Karl for literally half my life, and I don't think the universe could have found a better match for him than Sarah.  They are two of my favorite people to hang out with, and I hate that it only happens for weddings and the rare occasions that we both end up in Pittsford for holidays.  So it was great to spend time with them that didn't involve yelling at each other over the music at Pittsford Pub.  They took me out after dinner to a bar where their friends were converging, and I had total non-city-girl culture shock when I had to pay $3 for a PBR and was yawning my face off by 11:00 pm.  I am so not cut out for city life anymore.

After my night life adventure, I was so ready to get home and see my boys that I thought about just getting up at the crack of dawn and hitting the road.  But Matt had to go to work and Buddy was at daycare, so I stuck with my original plan of going and exploring my old neighborhood before I left.  When I lived in Capitol Hill / Eastern Market, I had always wished I had a fun camera to walk around and play with.  So I owed it to my 22 year old self to backtrack.  Eastern Market looked like I remembered it (even though it has been rebuilt since the fire), and most important, my cheese vendor was still there.

*Currently enjoying my hunk of sage cheddar as I write this.  So good.

I snapped some pics, admired some produce, petted a dog, longed for some coffee (it was cold, but my hands were full with my camera and I'd have to dump it before the Metro), and found myself out of things to do after about 10 minutes.  I walked down the street and found myself standing in front of our old house.  It was a bit surreal to look up at it, and feel that weird time-space warp where it somehow felt like forever ago that the 3rd floor front window had been where the sun streamed in on me each morning and yet so recent that I could walk up to the door right now and step in.  After lingering there just long enough to look like a creepy stalker, I headed towards the Metro - realizing before long I was tracing the steps of my every day commute.

I always get twinges of nostalgia about places I've lived in the past - I take it to be an indication that those experiences were positive ones in my life and I miss the cities provide the context for those experiences.  As I headed down the escalator at Capitol South, I picked up a stray copy of the free metro newspaper that I used to read every day and settled into the familiar orange seats.  Besides the nostalgia though, there had been some other emotion nagging at me throughout my entire trip.  It took me reading the first page of the metro paper - an update on the goings-on of the government events which immediately caused my heart to start pounding with (real or imagined?) the stress and bustle of this city- before I could identify it.  It was: relief.

Relief that I was visiting this busy city, and that I no longer lived here.  No offense DC and residents of it - because trust me, I liked it too and I know it’s a wonderful place to live.  In fact, I greatly miss having easy access to public transportation, the networking opportunities, and the plethora of restaurants and bars to choose from.  But I'm simply not a big city girl.  I'm happy that I lived there, on my own, for 2 years.  I learned so much then, and I could feel that "heck yea I can do anything" attitude an d independence permeate me as I power walked to dinner through the busy Penn Quarter on Saturday night.  But along with the independence, when I lived here, there was a certain feeling of being unsettled, transient and temporary that colored my life.  Today, I feel so rooted and so nestled in my  cozy life that waves of contentment wash over me as often as waves of loneliness or stress did then. Is it just the difference in zip code?  Of course not.  I know this. Of course a major difference is that I am married to the person who I was then dating, but had 500 miles of distance between us and I have had 2 jobs here that I greatly loved that have allowed me to make wonderful career connections, and an incredibly supportive and wonderful network of friends. But I think it's more than that – I’m a person who is influenced by my environment. I love my "small town city" that I live in.  I drive around Winston, and it just feels like home.  I think I've always known that I'm not a big city girl, but it took revisiting it to confirm that.  I was happy to visit - overjoyed to see my lovely friends & family - but ever so happy to come back home.

This was supposed to be a post about my trip, but somehow it turned into a post about my home.  Funny how that happens.

The Most Wonderful Time

I just love walking through my house seeing little touches of Christmas.  Whenever my house is decorated for the season, I wish it looked like this all year round…. but then it wouldn’t be as special, would it?

Snow Place Like Home

We had our first snow fall of the year! It started Saturday night, and the snow actually stuck around Sunday to make it really feel like a winter wonderland.

You’d think after 18 years of living in upstate New York, snow wouldn’t really phase me anymore but since we only get it a real snow fall maybe three times a year here, it’s always pretty exciting. When you don’t have snow all the time, the few times it shows up you still get that magical, hushed world feeling like a little kid as opposed to the grown up version of snow which is just being annoyed at how winter weather makes traffic bad, cars salty and hems of jeans permanently ruined. I drove around Sunday running some errands and felt a teensy bit homesick seeing the snow covered trees and thinking about not going up to Rochester this year or Utah for New Years and getting my real snow fix.

Saturday night we put a big dent in our Christmas decorating, which of course includes testing all of last year’s lights to see if they work. Buddy is good at that. I just love the way our house looks at Christmas time. There’s nothing like the glow of twinkly lights and the fireplace flickering. I remember sitting on the couch one night last year during our big snowfall and looking around at my glowing, warm home and having it really sink in that this is our home. When you’re in your 20s, it feels like you move every single year. I haven’t had the same address for more than 18 months since leaving Guilford Way on August 21st, 2000. It hit me last year, in my Christmasy home, that we bought this house and it’s ours. Provided the job hunting gods are good to Dr. C next year and no other unforeseen circumstances arise, I can go ahead and order the large roll of return address labels. That’s a good feeling. After all, there’s no place like home for the holidays and we’re fortunate enough to be about to spend our second Christmas in our home. With this little guy. Merry Christmas to us.

Where Are They Now?

I made a bit of a last minute decision and bought a flight to go home to Pittsford for my ten year high school reunion.

Ten years!  It doesn’t seem possible.  Imagine a decade from now…. 2020.  Doesn’t that seem like eons from now?  Like, we’ll have flying cars and self-cleaning houses (oooh!) in the oh so futuristic ten years from now, right?  Ten years goes fast.

The reunion was so much fun - it was an odd mixture of people who came, I guess since it was in the middle of summer, and a fairly small representation of my class.  Maybe forty people?  I think we graduated with about 250.  It was kind of nice that nobody seemed to have their entire high school posse represented so we all just sort of floated around and visited with each other.  Or maybe it was just after ten years, no one remembered or cared who belonged to what clique anymore.   No one seems that different from ten years ago, but everyone seems to be doing good things with their lives.

 

I only took one picture the entire time, and it was in the cab on the way there.  This is my best friend, Krissy, and I.  We met in eighth grade, in a class called Enrichment.  I don’t remember what we were supposed to actually do during Enrichment, but if passing notes was the point, then we were top of the class.  We originally bonded over our musical preferences.  While everyone else was listening to either Pearl Jam, Dr. Dre or Dave Matthews Band, we had both (separately) discovered a love for the oldies station.  We had certain songs we’d call each other when we heard them on the radio: Little Red Riding Hood and Snoopy vs. The Red Baron stand out in my mind.

In other words, we were pretty dorky.  But we managed to turn out okay. 

10 years ago: Spring Break in Myrtle Beach, April 2000.  My sister, Katie, and friends Jamie, (me), Krissy and Tamara.  And a waiter who wanted to immortalize himself in this shot too.  I don’t think we’ve changed too much in ten years, except that no one parts their hair in the middle in the anymore.  So late 90s. 

I feel like the advent of Facebook (and the ease of keeping in touch over instant messenger, email, texting, cell phone/no long distance) has made reunions a little bit anticlimactic.  I’ve kept in good touch with my closest friends from high school through these mediums, but I also have the ability to spy on almost anyone I’m slightly curious about from high school or other past stages of life via Facebook.  There were very few people who I saw at the reunion who I didn’t have some semblance of what was going on in their life already.  In fact, I found myself in conversations mentioning something about someone’s life and realizing I only knew that because I had seen it as a Facebook status.  Since it happened back to me, I think that’s okay.  For example, congratulating someone on a baby they just had when you probably haven’t had an actual conversation with them since sometime around graduation day?  Thanks to Facebook. I obviously love the connections that internet/technology allow me to make and keep, but it certainly ruins the “where are they now” moments that reunions are supposed to have.  I know exactly where they are; their Foursquare check in just told me. 

What was the last reunion you had?  Did you attend? 

The Dash

Last Sunday, Jamie and I had plans to go peruse the new shops along Burke St – Gusto and Re-Tale.  However, our plans were a diverted when we got there and realized both were closed on Sundays.  Girl Scouts that we are, neither of us thought to look online or call ahead for hours.  We scrapped our shopping plans, and decided instead to go chill at BrewNerds and catch up over some coffee.

As we zig-zagged our way from Burke St over to Fourth St, a little thought popped into my head: I love this city.

I’m surprised to say this, but I think I’ve fallen in love with Winston.  I was not very excited to leave DC in 2006 to move down here and had there not been a handsome, funny and lovely medical student residing here, it’s safe to say I would not have relocated to the Dash.  I didn’t have the fondest memories of the city from time at WFU, but then again I rarely left the “Bubble” except the rare venture to Daytona’s (now gone) and Burke St.  Not exactly Winston’s finest.

And, in my defense, many of the things that I love today about Winston didn’t exist, or are even still “in the works.”  I adore 6th and Vine and Noma – both of which are new additions since I’ve moved back here.  I’m excited about a/perture, and Barnhills (wine + bookstore, opening soon on Burke St) and the gorgeous baseball stadium that will have opening day in just a few weeks.  I love that tonight’s agenda includes a for-charity fashion show (at Level 23), a Prosecco tasting (at Cafe Pradda) and boutique shopping (at Gusto and Re-tale).  Excuse me, fashion shows and Prosecco?  This isn’t the Burke St Pizza and Rose’s Deli Winston I remember from college.

(Although, to be fair, I still love Rose’s.  Give me those seasoned fries and a chicken fajita wrap on a sunny Saturday morning on the deck anytime.) 

I love the small-town feel in a city with, arguably, many things that bit cities have – arts, sports, awesome restaurants.  (My only major complaint: incredibly poor cab services and bus services.  Leaves no choice but to pick a DD every weekend, and often means we’re more likely to convene at a friends’ house than try to coordinate multiple cars going downtown.)  

I love that after 8 years of driving and running here, I finally get how downtown, West End and Ardmore all connect.

I love the white office that’s been restored on the corner of Reynolda and Northwest Blvd.

I love the Krankies airstream coffee place, Reynolda Farm Market and Mostly Local Market.  I love that the slow food movement is gaining speed in Winston. 

I love the plans for The Olio.

I love that half the people I follow on Twitter are local Winston-Salem businesses – and when I mention that I’m visiting them, they respond like a good friend would.  I love that Southern hospitality can be found anywhere you look.

I love that every time I drive by Corpening Plaza I remember pulling up there in a big limo and seeing a huge white tent, my smiling groom and all my favorite people in front of the waterfall backdrop.  I love that we decided to get married in “our” town.

I love that the gorgeous modern looking ISP building is diagonally across the street from my creaky floor, exposed pipes ceiling yoga studio.

I love that where tobacco once thrived, now vineyards flourish.

I love that I live “out in the country” but it still only takes me 25 minutes to get downtown – with bad traffic.

I love running through Buena Vista, and seeing the variety of architectural styles, time periods and new construction built to look like old.  I love that it has sidewalks, and big trees, and dogs being walked every hour of the day.

I love coming back from the Greensboro airport on business 40, and seeing the most infamous building of the Winston-Salem skyline.  It’s always at that moment I think “I’m home.”

It’s a good place to call home.

 

(Photo by Ryan Bumgarner, my wedding photog.)

Home

Visit to Pittsford, The Highlights:

Seeing Avatar in 3-D.  Wearing 3-D glasses the rest of the week, whenever deemed necessary.

Cooking together as a family.  Sweet potatoes, which every single person added something to.

My husband added the marshmallows, of course.

Watching the men do the dishes.

Listening to my brother play piano.  He is absurdly gifted.

Example: I fell asleep one night listening to him play the most melodious song I think I’ve ever heard.  I made a note to ask him what it was, because I wanted to download it on itunes.  Turns out he was making it up as he goes along.  Insane.

Coffee with my mom.  Sitting by the fire with my Daddy-o.  I love my parents.

Time with my Grandpa.

Realizing my “little” cousins have become grown up girls. 

Christmas Morning.

Project Doorway

“Well, um, actually a pretty nice little Saturday, we're going to go to Home Depot. Yeah, buy some wallpaper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that. Maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond, I don't know, I don't know if we'll have enough time.” – Frank, Old School

Six years ago, that quote was just funny. Today? Funny because it’s true.

We had a busy weekend here in the Cline household with some projects around the home – most notably, putting a storm door on our house. This was Matt’s birthday present from both our parents. (See? We're Exciting!!) Although you should note when I say “we”, I technically mean “him.” If I’m being honest, my involvement in home improvement projects is usually fairly minimal. Trust me, this is in everyone’s best interest.

The install seemed to go very well, and we can now sit and watch the world go by our front yard. (Thanks Parents!!)

Welcome to our house! (We saw you coming.)

Ready, Set, MOVE!

So hey internets, guess what... we are MOVING!

After about a bajillion saved entries on listingbook, endless Sundays spent going to open house after open house and creating price per square foot excel sheets like it was my job (or, you know, at my job), we finally found "The One." Kids, here's a tip you should know about house hunting: it is nothing like the HGTV show. You do not go to 3 nearly-perfect homes in one afternoon with your endlessly perky relator, you do not have to narrow down your decision going "hmm, do I want the granite countertops or do I prefer the extra big garden tub?" and you do not sit patiently in a coffee shop and wait for the counter offer to come after one commercial break. In fact, if you just take all those things and apply the opposite rule to them, you would have home buying.

(Although, we did have a very patient and wonderful realtor. And I'm not just saying that because she might follow my blog.)

Once we settled on the house, the process of mortgage application simply required turning over every piece of information about yourself including a DNA sample, your childhood pet's name, and how many visits to Starbucks you make each month (too many!! i'm sorry!! I'll stop if you'll give me a mortage.) via fax machines to strangers. So you know, just more FUN. I suppose this is the backlash of the former free for all mortgage industry, and I am thankful that change is so very transparent, but SHEESH....

While we were at the beach we got word that our mortgage was approved. We are all set to close on WEDNESDAY and move next weekend. NEXT WEEKEND! Holy crapballs.

So I came home Thursday from the beach, and I had already taken yesterday off to do a wellness workshop at a staff retreat for a company here. I'm glad I had that day off, because we started packing yesterday. It's been a whirlwind.... but we should be in our new house next weekend! We've got friends and some family members coming to help lift heavy things and unpack next weekend; then another friend arrives the weekend after that to stay for the week ---> graduation. Graduation Saturday we should have approximately ~15 people here for Matt's grad party. So you know... nothing like hosting a party in your house 2 weeks after moving in to force you to figure out what box you packed the napkin rings in. NTS: LABEL THINGS!!

Welcome back from vacay. Time to get moving. Literally.

Bed In Progress

I mentioned awhile ago that Matt was drawing up plans to build a bed with his Pa, who built our dining room table (seen below). Just 2 months ago this bed was a mere sketch on a bar napkin from Charleston and today there were three pieces of beautifully grained walnut planks being fed through a radial saw about to become our headboard. Amazing. (All sawing done by Pa, who claims he's never seen a doctor without fingers and won't let Matt near the blades. Good looking out, Pa.) I'm amazed at my husband's knowledge of carpentry - it is such a cool thing to disocer a side of your spouse you had no idea even existed. I hung out in the shop for about an hour on Saturday while they discussed how the headboard would be joined together and it was like they were speaking a different language. The precision and careful planning it takes to requires a depth of patience I can't even BEGIN to claim that I possess. Matt grew up hanging out with his Pa in his wood shop and helped him with many projects, but it's just incredible to hear his complete competency and knowledge. I just can't wait for our bed to be finished and have this heirloom piece we have for the rest of our life. Already, I imagine our children fighting over who it will get willed to someday. (Yea, I don't get ahead of myself at.all.) It's amazing to see these rough planks of wood and hear Matt describe how they will all come together -this one a paneled headboard, that one a wide solid foot board,these a strong bold sideboard. I'll tell you one thing - whenever we match and start looking for houses somewhere, criteria numero uno is going to be "ginormous bedroom" because this thang ain't gonna fit in our 11 x 13.

Working the radial saw.

Unassuming planks now, paneled headboard later.

Examining the future panels with Pa.