What to Wear? What to Wear? What to Wear?

I started blogging two years ago on a whim. What started as a road trip journal, became something I thoroughly enjoyed. To make a long story short, when my Dad became terminally ill with cancer last year, I did not have the heart or the time to invest in maintaining my blog. I simply "let it go". I did however, continue reading other blogs that I enjoyed. They inspire me, make my eyes leak, and cause spontaneous fits of laughter at 3:00 a.m. when I can not sleep. I love the blogger world!

In November 2009, I ran across an advertisement for a Blogging Conference (Blissdom '10) in Nashville, Tennessee, and immediately knew what I wanted for Christmas -- A ticket! Santa, was very kind to me, although he had no reason to be. In two weeks, I'll be on the road headed to my first blogging conference and I am giddy with excitement. My hope is to be inspired and get clear direction as to where I want to go with this social venue.

But I have a conundrum! What to wear? What to wear? What to wear? The age old question for every woman!

For the next few days I am going to post different ensembles I have chosen from my closet. I desperately need your opinion....good or bad....I am tough, I can HANDLE the truth! First, let me make it very clear I am NOT a size 8 and the mannequin in the following pictures in no way represents my body type. I have ASSETS people! So you will need to envision a bigger bust with more cleavage and more curvaceous hips. I am just being honest.

I need to take three dresses with me. I've picked out five that I like...please help me narrow it down to three or tell me to toss them all out and start over......

Dress 1: A dark chocolate little number with an A-line skirt. It is very flattering but is it dressy enough?

Dress 2: Red Hot Mama! Too much? I promise the breast pockets will NOT be empty and drooping when I put this on.

Dress 3: Cheetah! I love this dress. It fits me perfectly and the wide belt gives the illusion of a smaller waist. The wrap is brown, not olive green as the picture makes it look.

Dress 4: Classic black. I know that I can never go wrong with the classic black dress. This one is very straight with a split side (not too deep) and I have accessorized it with a silver belt and lovely wrap a friend gave me for Christmas. Yes? No?

Dress 5: Classic cut, modern print, feel good dress. Not too short, not too long. Feels very good on. Simple. Too plain?

So choose your three favorites and post it in the comments or feel free to tell me your thoughts on any of the dresses. Really, I NEED your help!

Thanks for reading, Rosie.

A Year of Loss, A Year of Learning

So here I am, January 3, 2010. It has been over three months since I have posted on this obscure little blog. I am a blogging drop out. No diploma for meeee! Not to make excuses but 2009 was a beast of a year and I can honestly say I’m glad it is in the past. 2009 will be journalized as a year of loss. Beginning with the tragic death of Carter’s friend, the unexpected death of a dear high school friend, Carter moving out on his own and the death of my dad in September. Life became an emotional roller coaster; however, I learned a lot in the process. At least I guess that is what I am supposed to say…I learned a lot. And I did….really.

I needed to write about my dad’s death. I could not. Words would not come. Neither would grief or tears. My body went numb. How is that possible when I knew death was present? I witnessed his decline; I said good-bye. I was wracked with guilt for feeling a sense of relief…not relief that he died…relief from the time consuming doctor’s appointments, the constant anxiety, the long sleepless nights and the never ending dialogue that comes from family members about his “condition”. Gone in an instant. Then began all the stories of how this holiday season will be so difficult when in reality, the holiday season was not too difficult. “How are you doing?” questions everywhere with “I am fine” answers. Then out of the blue while washing dishes of all things, I begin thinking about the pain my dad was in the last few days of his life. His body shook with pain and the truth is, he was probably in severe pain for several weeks and kept it to himself. And I think, “How could I not see this and request stronger pain meds for him earlier? He suffered and I did not do anything!” And there is where Grief found me. Standing in the kitchen with my hands in soapy water. Finally tears came in torrents. Wailing sobs of grief, anger, relief, guilt, and even some foot stomping and then simply missing my daddy. Missing his, “Hey, Rosie” greeting and “How are the boys?” question, his firm grip of affection that he gave me by squeezing the back of my neck and even his terrible Irish temper that I inherited (something I never thought I would miss).

I am learning what grief really is - a tricky emotion that treats everyone the same but causes as many different reactions as there are people. I am learning not to judge someone for their lack of outward grief. I am learning not to try and tame grief. And I am learning how to live without my Dad.

Thanks for reading, Rosie.

Happy 13th Birthday Isaac!!!!!

Thirteen years ago today, I gave birth to a strapping 8 lb. 14 oz. baby boy! What an exciting day for our family. It had taken a long six and one-half years from the birth of my first son to bring another baby into this world. We were more than ready for this new little guy and welcomed him warmly. What a tremendous blessing he is to us and what entertainment he brings to our lives.

Aaah – the memories of that day...if I could bottle that feeling, I could make a million.

3:00 a.m. September 30, 1996…I am dreaming and in my dream, there is a lot of pain. Suddenly, I wake up and there is still a lot of pain. I am not dreaming; I am in labor!

No need to panic, it took me three days to get my firstborn into this world. I will not wake MDH up until I think I should go to the hospital. I will time my contractions for a bit. I go into the den and turn on Turner Classic Movies.

Contraction. Breathe.

I find the 1957 version of Peyton Place just coming on. I have never seen this movie, maybe I will watch for a bit.

Contraction. Breathe.

The movie is good and I wonder why the 1950’s are traditionally considered a chaste decade. Lana Turner is beautiful. Why do they not make bras like that anymore?

Contraction. Breathe.

I am hungry. Maybe I should eat something. NO! The last time I gave birth, I ate something and vomited during a hard contraction. Never mind, I will just finish this movie.

Contraction. Breathe.

Gee, four minutes apart. These things are coming fast. Maybe I should put on my makeup and shave my legs. I looked terrible the last time I gave birth. I want my makeup on this time. Off to the bathroom.

Contraction. Breathe.

Thirty minutes and four contractions later I look somewhat better. Let’s see what Lana is up to now, the tramp.

Contraction. Breathe. Contraction. Breathe.

Maybe I should wake MDH up. Naaaaah!
I want to see the end of this movie.
Only, about thirty more minutes.

Contraction. Contraction. Contraction. Pant. Pant. Pant.

I crawl to the bedroom.

WAKE UP!!!!!

Get your clothes on and take me to the hospital because I am in labor!!!

How long have you been in labor?

About four hours.

How far apart are the contractions?

About a minute.

Contraction. Pant.

Why didn’t you wake me sooner?

I was watching the 1957 version of Peyton Place. I have never seen it before and I wanted to see what happened to trampy Lana Turner.

Contraction. Pant. Pant.

We find ourselves speeding to the hospital. After I am checked in and situated in my room, I am attached to fifteen different monitors. By this time, I am almost dilated to six.

Where is my epidural!

Please bring that large needle and shove it into my spine!

Aaah – that feels much better. No more pain. I actually fall asleep for a bit.

It is time to push!

I hate this part!

Push! Push!

3:55 p.m. September 30, 1996…I push twice and am handed a gorgeous baby boy!

Easy as pie!

Can anyone tell me what happened on Peyton Place?

Just kidding, I read the book.

Thanks for reading, Rosie.

King's Crown Cranberry Glassware

So I found myself in Rural Retreat, Virginia, a few weeks ago in an antique store. A random stop on a day trip for pure personal enjoyment. I rarely purchase anything in an antique mall. I enjoy looking, but most of the time items are simply priced too high for the loose change I carry in my pocket. This particular day was no exception. I enjoyed looking, touching and gasping at the prices but made no purchases. One item did catch my eye that I had not seen before and I immediately desired to own it, until of course, I checked the price. $12.00 for one 6 oz. King's Crown Cranberry Sherbet Glass. I had never seen the King's Crown pattern in the cranberry (red/white) design before and it really caught my eye as I am a lover of red and white. And every one knows, "Virginia is for Lovers". Needless to say, I coveted the set. As in "thou shalt not covet" coveting. The Biblical kind of coveting. The "wakes you up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat" kind of coveting. I wanted that set! I needed that set! I shalt have me that set! Alas....I could not afford that set; I let it go. I never verbalized to anyone the burning passion of that day when I first saw and touched the glassware. No one knew the smoldering embers that lay beneath my poised surface. It was my secret and burden to bear. Three weeks came and went. I put the thought of the glassware out of my mind because I could not eat, sleep, or concentrate on anything. Those glasses had possessed my very being and I had to rid myself for sanity sake of the curse known as "King's Crown Cranberry."

Thursday, August 27, was a day like most any other day; school, guitar lesson, a stop by the post office to pick up mail. In my PO box lay a yellow postcard marked "package pickup". An item too large for the PO box had been shipped to my address. What the heck? I had not ordered anything! The postmaster brought out a gargantuan box and set it on the counter. The return address showed it had been sent from Illinois. My Yankee Aunt was up to her shenanigans again. What tiny little thing had she packaged in this monstrosity of a box. I could visualize her filling it with Styrofoam packaging peanuts (bad, for the environment, BTW) and chuckling with an evil grin as she addressed the box. Yankees are always playing jokes on Southerns thinking they are so clever! I was way ahead of her this time.

"That is a very big box," said Delores, "can you get it to your car?"

I tested the weight. It was not heavy.

Yep, filled with Styrofoam, I thought to myself.

"No prob," I winked and smiled.

"Have a good day!" and I carted the object home.

I love "real" mail! Especially large boxes; even if they are filled with environmentally bad junk. I took my trusty kitchen knife and sliced across the packaging tape. I slowly opened the lid, slightly wary, yet excited. Sure enough, packaging peanuts! Would this Yankee never learn? I slipped my hand below the surface and felt bubble wrap. I admit I really like bubble wrap. Tell me, who would not like popping those bubbles? Slowly, I pulled out the small, fragile object. Hummmm. A dish of some sort? I proceed to take off the bubble wrap.

Have you ever heard an angel chorus sing? Really, just at random? They sang that Thursday in my kitchen!!! Several times I put my hand in that box and pulled out an object and every time I unveiled a new piece, the angel chorus grew louder. By the time the box was empty and Styrofoam peanuts were blowing all over my kitchen, I was down on my hands and knees weeping from the pure miracle of it all. Inside that box were four goblets and seven sherbet cups of the King's Crown Cranberry Glassware!!!! Holy mother of all things vintage how had she known that I coveted them? I had told no one of my secret desire from that day in Rural Retreat and here in my kitchen floor sat I with these beauties among bubble wrap, Styrofoam peanuts and a chorus of angels. Let me just say, "Miracles Happen!"

Apparently my prayers were heard and God caused some Yankee to put these in a yard sale for $1.00 each. Then He whispered into my Aunt's ear to purchase them and ship them to me. God bless my Aunt Deb and anyone else who had a hand in this purchase. It was truly inspired! When I tell you that "things" find their way to me, I am NOT lying!

For more stories of vintage miracles visit Vintage Thingies Thursday at Colorado Lady. Suzanne who hosts the site, has experienced many vintage miracles too!

Thanks for reading, Rosie.

Tore Down a la Rimbaud

I am trying to find my voice. Seriously, it seems to have vanished. It’s been a tough summer. First, a tragic ATV accident caused the death of Carter’s friend and then the sudden, unexpected death of a dear high school friend of mine through me for a loop. A life change preparing Carter to move out plus preparing for my fifth year of home schooling Isaac, and the recent sad news my dad received regarding the spread of cancer to his brain has been too much for my mind to process. While it is usually therapeutic to write my thoughts down and share it on this crazy venue, my quick typing fingers can not keep up with the emotions. What can I say? My soul has been whisked away. I’m trying fervently to find my soul and words again, so hang with me.

I relate many of my emotions to music and the most appropriate song I can find to express myself right now is “Tore Down a la Rimbaud” by Van Morrison, of who I am a huge fan. The title of the song derives from French poet Arthur Rimbaud who became famous for his poetry at the age of fifteen in 1869 and who quit writing six years later. Ironically, this inspired Morrison to write again. He had begun writing this song in 1975 during what turned out to be a three year professionally inactive time period. After eight years, all the words finally came together. Amazing! Eight years!!!!!!

Anyway, the words to this song ring true with me in many ways. Some emotions are so personal that I could never find the words to express them. I am thankful for those who express it clearly enough for me to relate.

Tore Down a la Rimbaud
Showed me pictures in the gallery
Showed me novels on the shelf
Put my hands across the table
Gave me knowledge of myself.
Showed me visions, showed me nightmares
Gave me dreams that never end
Showed me light out of the tunnel
When there was darkness all around instead.

I was just Tore down a la Rimbaud
And I wish my message would come
Tore down a la Rimbaud; you know it's hard some time
You know it's hard some time.

Showed me ways and means and motions
Showed me what it's like to be
Gave me days of deep devotions
Showed me things that I cannot see.

When I was Tore down a la Rimbaud
And I wish my purpose would come
Tore down a la Rimbaud; you know it's hard some time.
You know it's hard some time.

Showed me different shapes and colors
Showed me many different roads
Gave me very clear instructions
When I was in the dark night of the soul.

When I was Tore down a la Rimbaud
And I wish my writing would come
Tore down a la Rimbaud; you know it's hard some time.
you know it's hard some time.

Truly, it is hard some time. Thanks for reading, Rosie.