Once upon a time (not too long ago) we held summer school at our kitchen table. As much as I loved the freedom of summer, I also realized that a complete break from academics for a 2-3 month period was not the greatest idea. It was very informal, but at least for an hour in the morning we read, studied, talked about art or history, did a little math (bleck), and kept a journal.
I miss those days, especially when I go back through their summer journals. This morning I found this and had a good laugh. Evidently, summer school continued even though I was in Italy ...
Yesterday I mentioned how our son, Jonathan, was involved in an accident on I-75 in downtown Atlanta. The accident totaled his car, the impact knocked his glasses off, the crash sent contents in his car flying everywhere. Here's the rest of the story ...
When the boys started driving, I gave each of them a medal of St. Christopher (the patron saint of travelers) to keep in their car. This was something I learned from my Nonna--who touched the St. Christopher medal on her dashboard and said a quick prayer before driving anywhere--and as a mom it was comforting to share this faith tradition with our sons now that they were venturing off on their own.
So last week our son was involved in an accident, and he wasn't injured. When we went to the tow yard to look at his car and collect his belongings, we couldn't find the St. Christopher medal. Timothy and I climbed all over that car, looking under seats and shining a flashlight into crevices, but no St. Christopher. I was a little disappointed, and yet I knew without a doubt that Jonathan had been under St. Christopher's protection during the accident.
Then, this weekend a good friend pointed out something that I hadn't even realized: Jonathan's accident occurred on July 25 ... the Feast Day of St. Christopher.
Thursday evening Jonathan was involved in a car accident on
I-75 downtown Atlanta.
He’s fine. A little shaken up (a wreck in the middle of I-75
is no joke) but not injured. (Thank you, God.) (Thank you St. Christopher medal
on the dashboard.)
What wasn’t fine was Jonathan’s 2001 Hyundai Elantra.
Immediately following the accident Jonathan did everything
we had taught him to do: he called 9-11, he called home, and he called our
insurance company for a (free) tow. They told them they had someone on the way
and should be there shortly.
The police arrived, and within seconds so did another towing
company. And while Jonathan was filling out paperwork this tow company loaded
up his car and towed it away. He wasn’t given a choice.
Evidently, this tow company has a contract with the city, so
they hover like vultures to swoop in to tow your car (for $220) and then stow
it in their lot, after which you are charged $25/day until you have it removed.
So Friday morning , Joe and I (and Timothy) drove to A Tow in south Atlanta while Jonathan, who has
one week left of his summer internship, was working. Before I describe our
experience, let me describe the place: there were bars on the doors, the
receptionist sat behind thick glass (bullet proof?) and passed paperwork through
tiny slots, the chairs in the waiting room were covered with mysterious stains, there was no hand soap in the women's bathroom, and Timothy said the urinal in the men’s bathroom had blood on it.
We were there for THREE HOURS. We found Jonathan’s car, took
photos of the damage, and removed Jonathan’s things. (Rescued: one Eagles
baseball hat.) (Side note: Timothy and I crawled all over the inside of that
car, and we could not find the St. Christopher medal.) (Mental note: get
another St. Christopher medal for Jonathan.) There was no doubt the car was
totaled so we assumed that A Tow would salvage it. Huh. Wouldn’t you know
that A Tow doesn’t do salvage anymore—only towing—so in order to remove the
vehicle (which was un-drivable) and avoid the $25/day lot fee, we would need to
HAVE IT TOWED. Again.
It was so ridiculous. Joe was hopping mad, while Timothy and
I tried to smooth things over all while not touching anything in the place.
And they weren’t helpful. Oh, they offered to tow the car
(Ha!) but they couldn’t give us any helpful advice as to what salvage yard to call. So Joe, who was still hopping mad, made a flurry of phone calls and
arranged for our own tow and we got the hell out of Dodge.
Okay, that’s a tad dramatic, but after three hours in that
place we were so done. We followed our tow truck driver, Josh, to Pull-A-Part where
they paid us the grand total of $280 for a pile of scrapped metal. Afterwards,
we dropped off the van with Jonathan at work, spoke to him for 15 minutes while I poked
and prodded to make sure he was really and truly okay (he was), gave him a huge bear hug (or two), and then we
started the drive home.
Last Sunday, in Damascus, Virginia, we were driven to the top
of a mountain (going from an elevation of 1900 ft. to 3600 ft.) and left there with
only a bike, a water bottle, a map, and vague instructions to follow the trail.
There was no cell service.
While this may sound like the latest installment of Survivor, we were actually there to bike the Virginia Creeper Trail. Originally a
Native American footpath, and later a railway line, today the trail is part of the Rails
to Trails program in which old railway lines are converted to National
Recreation biking and hiking trails. The name, Virginia Creeper, refers to the
early steam locomotives that struggled slowly up the steep grades, as well as
the vine that is prolific in that area.
It was a beautiful 17-mile bike ride as it meandered
alongside a stream, through dense woods, along farm fields, and over countless
trestle bridges. It took us several hours to get back down to Damascus, only because we stopped often to take photos, climb rocks, walk up to
lookout points, and explore.
Being abandoned on top of a mountain was ever so fun.
Of course, since the boys were raised on Scooby-Doo,
I have always believed that I don't want to so much age gracefully as to confront it head on. So I moisturize those wrinkles, walk away those extra pounds, and color those gray roots. Additionally, I eat clean, exercise daily, and try to keep a healthy balance of mind, body, and spirit. I do all this and yet ...
And yet it is an irrefutable fact that things change as we age. Our bodies change, and I'm beginning to understand that "aging gracefully" actually means not to complain or lament the natural progression of aging, and instead be graceful in accepting these changes while striving to create the best version of myself at this moment in time; that is, not how I was ten years ago, or how I wish I could be in the future, or how the media suggests I should be, but the best version of me today.
But what is the best version of myself? Lately things have been a little muddled in this area--especially when it comes to my wardrobe--so I decided to get a little help from my friend Liz Klebba, Personal Style Coach and founder of Closet Play Image.
The Preliminary Session
Before contacting Liz, I browsed the Closet Play Image website to familiarize myself with her various services--Personal Style Consultation, Wardrobe Audit and Planning, Closet Inspiration, Personal Shopping, Travel Planning & Packing, Special Day Styling, Personal Color Consultation. I had an idea on what I needed, so I emailed Liz a few questions and she suggested we meet informally in order to better gauge my needs.
A few days later, Liz and I sat at my kitchen table enjoying a cappuccino while she asked me questions about my personal style and gave me a little personality assessment. Because I have a "little" trip to Italy coming up in late September and I want to coordinate my outfits and look put together, we agreed to start with a travel packing plan (just the wardrobe planning since I didn't need help with packing). A few days later she sent me an estimate and we set a date for our next meeting.
But First ... Some Homework
Before our styling session, though, I had to do the following:
1- set aside heavy winter clothing from my closet so we can focus on fall clothes
2- share any Pinterest boards defining my style
3- pull from my closet five of my favorite pieces
4- pull from my closet five of my travel go-to's
5- email the dates, itinerary, and activities of my upcoming trip
The Styling Session
There is a certain amount of vulnerability involved when inviting someone into your closet, so the morning of our styling session I was admittedly nervous. I was also worried that I would receive a lecture on the amount of black clothing in my closet (something for which I am always teased) and that Liz wouldn't have enough to work with (since I am not a clotheshorse and what I have ... is black).
The first thing we did was go through my five favorite pieces and five travel go-to's, and with each one she asked me why I liked it and how it made me feel. One adjective that kept coming up was "free" and when she asked me to elaborate I explained that, in regards to my wardrobe, "free" meant free to move, free to be myself, free to know I'm wearing clothes and that the clothes are not wearing me, and free to be confident that I'm wearing something flattering. She also became my new best friend when she validated my penchant for wearing black (it works for you, it goes with your coloring), but she also suggested colors that I could add (such as olive, brown, grey, and splashes of coral) to stretch my travel wardrobe.
Working on that basic color scheme, we delved into my closet (including shoes, handbags, and jewelry) and for three hours Liz (miraculously) pulled together travel outfits into flat lays on my bed. She mixed and matched, I took photos, and we kept a running list of "gap items" that would augment the items I already owned. She showed me how to do a Kimtuck to change the look of a top. By the time our session was over I felt confident, empowered, and excited about my wardrobe. I was blown away with how Liz was not only able to capture my personal style (and elevate it), but also how she created entirely new outfits from what I already had in my closet.
a Kimtuck (rubber band trick)
A week after our session Liz emailed my Travel Packing Plan, a PowerPoint presentation containing three boards with my travel wardrobe pieces, including the pieces I already own and shopping links for any "gap item" I may want to consider adding. Everything we talked about, and all that we envisioned, was right there for me to reference as I shop and pack for my trip.
Liz helped me more than just with my wardrobe. She challenged me to try new combinations, did a color analysis (dark, smoky, warm), explained the psychology on why I was drawn to certain styles, and inspired me to approach style a little more broadly. Most of all, she validated my personal style by not trying to change me, but by celebrating and understanding who I was and going from there.
In other words, she helped me discover a better version of myself.
One of the
hardest things in life is watching someone experiencing such a difficult challenge
(illness, death, loss) that good intentions of a dinner, a phone call, a note,
or a novena seem like a grain of sand in comparison to the desert they are
facing; the kind of challenge in which prayer is the only thing left to do; the
kind of challenge that makes one question if prayer really does anything at
a sweet Bible study I belong to, we talked about this very topic of answered
and unanswered prayer. As we shared our stories and read the reflection on how
unanswered prayer can be a testament to our faith, I was reminded of the
following quote from the musical, Hamilton:
“A legacy is planting seeds in a garden you don’t get to see.” While this quote
refers to the legacy Alexander Hamilton wanted to leave our young country, I
realized that replacing the word ‘legacy’ with ‘prayer’ is a way to see how every
prayer is a seed, planted with faith and watered with hope as we wait to see
what it grows into.
But just as
there are many answers to prayer—yes, no, yes (but in a different way), no
(because it isn’t what you need), maybe (but you have to be patient), not now
(there will be a better time)—there are also many ways for that seed to develop.
It can blossom the way you envisioned, or bloom into something entirely
different, or take root in ways you never thought possible. The key is remembering
that the seed always turns into something.
There is so
much we don’t understand about prayer, but if we acknowledge that God’s ways
are not our ways, that his ways are more imaginative and always perfect, then
we also need to remember there is no such thing as unanswered prayer.
We may not always
see the fruits of our prayer seeds, but the garden is still there.
Yesterday, I posted on Facebook a photo of a bottle of Woodford Reserve Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey and casually mentioned that I would be using it to makeGrilled Chicken with Chipotle-Whiskey Barbecue Sauce. WELL.I was duly chastised. By many people. Including the DEACON of our church.
Evidently, this is some good stuff (perfect for two fingers over two ice cubes) and it was a TRAVESTY to use it for cooking.
Yikes. Who knew? (We drink wine over here and that bottle of Kentucky's fine bourbon whiskey was left by our Masters guests.)
But, I only used a 1/4 cup and let me tell you it made some mighty fine barbecue sauce. Thank you Alex of The Defined Dish for such a great recipe! It fact, it was so great that despite the Facebook tongue lashing I received I will link the recipe and include some of the substitutions I made.
But you'll have to use your own whiskey. I'm not sharing mine ;-)
Never have we EVER been to Hilton Head Island in June and experienced such lovely weather. After the first two days which hovered in the low nineties, the rest of the week remained in the upper eighties. We could eat lunch outside, in the shade, without dying of heat stroke. In Hilton Head. In late June. It was GREAT.
Who says going to the beach is all about relaxing? We walked A LOT. We stayed in my parents' timeshare (a third floor condominium), and while it is not on the beach it's an easy 15 minute walk through the grounds and over a beautiful boardwalk which meanders through the trees. That is, it WOULD be an easy walk if we weren't lugging wagon, beach chairs, beach umbrellas, and boogie boards. Then, after setting up our beach umbrellas on the sand, we usually went for a long walk.
And speaking of walks, the day after we arrived the elevator broke down, so we walked up and down (and down and up) three flights of stairs again and again (and again) the entire week. All this was in addition to those bike rides ...
the bike rides
Hilton Head + never-ending bike paths + gorgeous weather = 1-2 hour bike rides most afternoons
We were SERIOUS about this game. We showed no quarter and you had to get the answer EXACTLY right or it didn't count. One epic game lasted two hours.
Timothy and his cousin, Thomas, taught Nonna how to do the floss dance. And I have the video to prove it.
nonno at the beach
This is how Nonno does the beach: socks and sneakers, a beach umbrella, and a good book.