What I’m Up To

1. Today I am fervently and feverishly (not to mention futilely) attempting to create beauty and order out of the remodeling induced clutter and chaos that are currently pervading the second floor our house.

And why would I want to that? Well, I want to do that so that our soon arriving guests (Nathan, Meagan and Steve’s parents) will all have a place to sleep. And sit. And put their sundry and assorted suitcases and toiletries.

(Yes, I know that sundry and assorted are redundant. But they sound so nice together.)

2. I’m hard at work on a major blog makeover—and have been for a couple weeks now. This task consists of endless e-mailing back and forth with my designer and having long discussions about fonts, designs, backgrounds, tabs, side bar items, nav bars, and headers. And each one of those seemingly simple topics takes endless thought.

3. I’m working with another company on putting together a website for our church. That includes yet more thinking and design-related ponderments. It also requires me to take a crash course in learning technical things I have no clue about. (I mean, “About which I have no clue.” ) My apologies to those of you who may be allergic to ending a sentence with a preposition.

(Or as Churchill is reputed to have said, “This is the sort of English up with which I will not put.”)

4. I have been tasked by my boss, er, husband, to design and reproduce an official visitor brochure for our church with assorted helpful information about service days and times, kids, teen, and adult activities, staff info, etc. Which sounds simple until one actually does it. And then it turns out to be relatively unsimple. Like most of life.

5. I also need to redo and update our church directory which involves a lot of detail-oriented thinking and double checking of names, addresses, phone numbers, as well as other nonconsequential details such as making sure that I place the right family members into the right families.

6. My glasses have fallen apart and my contact lenses are on their last leg so at some point today I need to drive 45 minutes round trip and pick out glasses and pick up contact lenses.

7. My cupboards are bare. My brain is devoid of any fabulous menu ideas. Without menu ideas, I cannot shop for the groceries to populate the hitherto bare cupboards. Unfortunately, my brain has become so sodden with blog, website, brochure and directory-related thoughts that there is no longer room for any menu-related thinking. So therefore my forthcoming guests may very well have to resign themselves to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And ramen noodles. Served on paper goods. Eaten at the kitchen counter.

8. My 49th birthday is on Tuesday. I am not ready to turn 49. I will never be ready to turn 49. I may stay 48 for a while longer until I get up the wherewithal to turn 49. I’ll let you know how that goes.

9. I need to ride my bike today. And go to the gym tomorrow. And swear off anything containing fat or calories for all the days to come. I’ll let you know how that goes, too.

10. I just went through my summer clothes so that I can start the process of switching out winter stuff for summer stuff. It never ceases to amaze me how storing clothes in a closet for four months can cause them to shrink. (See point 9.)

11. I continue to be in a happy tizzy over the upcoming marriage of my son and his fab fiancée. And although being in a tizzy does take up a certain amount of energy, it’s a good energy taker.

And while I’m on the subject of Nathan and Meagan’s wedding, I’m just wondering if they might possibly like me to help them plan their reception.

I’ve got a great recipe for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

On paper plates.

12. And just because I try not to have too many blog posts without pictures, I shall close out with a few photos to make my photo loving blog readers happy.

And then I will go clean something.

Sarah and Mrs. Sew Sew.

Sarah

Sarah made it to school today and since I haven’t gotten any phone calls from the school, it seems like she may actually make it through the day. She still had a tough day yesterday but by bedtime, she had gotten some of her pizzazz back. This morning, she her lips and face were very pale again, but the color came back a little after she’d been up a while. She said she felt strong enough to try and make it through the day so off she went! (Leaving a forlorn Nurse Snowy behind.)

Here she is taking her temp yesterday. (Which is why she is sitting sort of funny, waiting to take the thermometer out from under her am.)

Thanks for all your kind-n-happy wishes for her in the comments section; we’re blessed that you’re part of our Smithellaneous Family!

Mrs. Sew Sew

Mrs. Sew Sew? Yep, that would be me.

Because the longer I live the more I discover that my sewing skills are rather, um, sew sew.

To illustrate, here is my Facebook post from yesterday:

I just sewed a button on Steve's pajama's and another button on my pants and I am exhausted. Sewing is so not my gig. My limit is two buttons a year so I guess I'm done for 2011! (Just don't tell Steve.)

After I wrote that entry and read some of the responses, I got to thinking about the whole sewing/mending deal and wondering how many people even do that sort of stuff any more.

Would I be correct in thinking that women over fifty are more prone to mend things and even (wonder of wonders) sew stuff from scratch then the under fifty crowd?

And since my brain has been mulling over this for a few hours now, I thought I’d ask you all to jump in with your studied and inimitable opinions.

First of all, rate yourself on a scale of 1 to 10 concerning your level of sewing skill. A one means that you run screaming the other direction at the very thought of picking up a needle; a ten means that you are capable of sewing and/or mending just about anything.

You can even back up your number with an example or two which would be quite informative and entertaining for the rest of us.

And then (if you don’t mind), let us know what decade you’re in—30’s, 40’s, 50’s, etc. I have a sneaking suspicion that this particular skill may be disappearing a little more with each generation and it’s really sort of sad because mending something is a pretty cool thing to do if you actually know how to do it.

Which I don’t.

I can (sort of) sew on buttons and (sort of) hem a pair of pants. And that’s why I would rate my skills as sorta “sew sew.”

So I’ll go first and say that I’m about a 3 on the Sewing Scale. And I’m in my 40’s.

Your turn!

The Smithellaneous Life.

I did manage to drag my draggy behiney out of bed at about 8:00 this morning although my poor, sick self was begging my frantic, busy self to stay in bed all day. But my busy self said “no” to the sick self and so both selves eventually got a reluctant start on the day.

(Is it just me or did that paragraph make absolutely no sense?)

Steve and I are scheduled to leave tomorrow morning for an overnight marriage retreat that our church has put together; it’s being held in a 23-bedroom house (with two elevators) in the four-wheel drive area of the beach. (That means it’s an area where the houses are only accessible by four-wheel drive vehicles. Which you probably guessed. But which I thought I should explain anyway.)

Unfortunately, Sarah has developed a bad headache, has been kind of shaky and has been running a fever for the past several hours so I’m not not quite sure how that’s all going to pan out. If she isn’t feeling a whole lot better by morning, I will end up having to stay home and Steve will be the only “single guy” at the marriage retreat.

Some pastor friends of ours are leading the retreat; I’m hosting them for dinner Saturday night and then they’ll speak at the church on Sunday morning. It’s shaping up to be a wonderful weekend but I’ll just have to see how Princess Groovy Chick feels; as I told her a few minutes ago, she is way more important to me than any other plans we could possibly make.

In other news, the work on the bathroom has been continuing, which means the chaos level in that particular room has continued to escalate. And you have not truly lived on the wild side until you have dealt with a steadily escalating chaos level in your bathroom. Trust me on that.

Here are a few pictures:

And may I just say that I usually fold my towels and washcloths nicely before putting them on the wrought iron stand thingie. However, with a chaotic bathroom? I must admit that I have lost my vim (not to mention my vigor) for the Art of Neat Towel Folding.

Also, please note in this picture that Steve is a staunch member of the group which believes that one must stick one’s tongue out when one is fervently concentrating on something. In fact, the members of this particular group actually believe that difficult jobs cannot adequately be accomplished without that particular facial protrusion. (Do you know anyone like that?)

It appears as though the bathroom is not capable of handling all the chaos that has been foisted upon it because recently said chaos has inexplicably burst forth from the bathroom out into the bedroom. Well, actually I guess it’s not all that inexplicable. Steve had to cut a hole through the closet wall in order to do something with some pipe thingie (that was the technical explanation) so he had to move a whole bunch of his clothes in order to gain access to the pipe. But the hole is still not completely re-done so the clothes are still bursting forth. Inexplicably or not.

I just love me some chaos.

I posted this picture just because I thought it was fun to come up with a dramatic picture of a guy fixing a bathroom.

So there you have it.

A hard working hubby. A marriage retreat in a big house on the ocean. A chaotic bathroom—and bedroom. Out of town dinner guests. Packing (or not packing) a suitcase for a trip. A daughter with a fever.

It’s all just part of the Smithellaneous Life!

In about an hour, the silence of the last thirty-six hours will be broken by the arrival of a certain Princess Groovy Chick and a certain King Groovy Dad.

Steve left yesterday at 5 am to pick Sarah up from Victory Junction Gang Camp and then, since it was fairly close to the camp, visited a young man from our church who is in an alcohol treatment program. Afterwards, he and Sarah drove another ninety minutes into Charlotte and spent the night with his mom and dad. This morning, Steve had breakfast with a young friend of ours who's going through some tough times and then he and Sarah hit the road for the 6-hour trip home.

Snowy and I have done a pretty good job of holding the fort in their absence. I declared both days to be Lazy Days and rented a couple DVD's and had pizza for dinner last night. (One of the DVD’s, Extraordinary Measures with Harrison Ford, was wonderful and especially poignant given Sarah's medical history. I cried several times during it and absolutely LOVED the ending--it made me laugh and cry.)

Today I didn't feel real great and have actually spent most of the day in bed asleep, which was kind of odd. In fact, it's almost 5 pm and I'm still in my pajamas. I've been a little chilly and then a little warm and a little bit "wobbly" feeling, so I might have caught a little bug somewhere along the way.

At any rate, Snowy and I have enjoyed our little respite from the busyness of life but are looking forward to welcoming our two wanderers back home. I'm actually pondering whether or not I should attempt to get up and make something stunning for dinner or just put on my most pitiful of pitiful faces and make Steve and Sarah fend for themselves. Or maybe I'll compromise and just heat up some leftovers.

No matter what ends up on the table, the fact that we'll be eating it together is what counts.

I'll leave you with a few pictures of Sarah from when I dropped her off at camp.

A cool wall mural.

The very colorful rooms in the Body Shop. (Medical clinic.) Each camper had to spend time with a nurse when they checked in.

The counselor who led Sarah to her cabin said that the rules stated that they had to bunny hop when they crossed a certain road.

I’m glad I was way too busy taking pictures to engage in Bunny Hoppy-ness.

Cleanliness Is Next To . . . Fun.

I really like to clean up messes. In fact, I even think it’s fun! (And no, I don’t have a fever.)

And at the risk of sounding a bit cocky, may I also admit to you than I am rather good at it? In fact, really, really good? In fact, almost scary good?

I know that most people might be tempted to brag about other sorts of skills—golf, playing the piano, drawing, cooking, writing songs, etc. But me? I’m good at cleaning. I certainly do hope that I don’t engender too much jealousy in your hearts as I talk about this particular gift. Especially since I was just born with it. I didn’t go to college to learn it. I don’t have a Doctorate in De-cluttering. It’s just a God-given talent that was present from the womb. In fact, when God put me on earth He said, “This particular child of mine shall verily be very and exceedingly good at cleaning!”

Now before I go any further, let me just make something clear. When I say that I am good at cleaning and that I think it’s fun, I am talking about clutter cleaning, not dirt-n-germ cleaning. Dirt-n-germ cleaning, i.e., toilets, shower stalls, kitchen floors, is no fun. At all. But give me a room full of clutter and I am one happy woman. (Yes, Steve already knows that I am so easily—and cheaply—entertained.)

So anyway, last week while Steve was out of town for four days, I decided to declare war on the clutter that had sort of just “appeared” in our home office. When we moved into this house six months ago, all of the miscellaneous miscellany seemed to float off to the second floor and congregate and coagulate in the office. (Do you have any congregated, coagulated rooms in your house?) And then to compound all the congregating and coagulating, during the weeks following my surgery, my cleaning suddenly seemed to consist of just throwing stuff into the office to be dealt with “later.”

Well, “later” finally arrived.

The first category of mess I had to deal with was our wrapping paper stuff. Gift boxes, tissue, gift bags, ribbon, wrapping paper—it was everywhere! And whenever I would run upstairs to try and do a quick wrap job on a particular gift, I would find myself spending half an eternity in the office, trying to locate just one appropriate gift bag. And matching tissue. And I would think, “Someone needs to organize this stuff!”

And so someone did.

I pulled out every gift bag, piece of tissue paper and strand of ribbon that had made its way into the awful, messy morass. I stacked them up all around me and started sorting and organizing. (Humming happily to myself as I did.)

Snowy felt compelled to place himself outside the office and guard me from any bad guys while I worked.

This is what I finally ended up with. A container just for small boxes.

A bin (which I already had) for gift bags and tissue paper.

I lifted up one of the inner containers to show that the tissue and bags are stored separately. (I had to tuck a few of the really big gift bags around the outside of the container.)

And here it is, all stacked in the closet on top of plastic drawers that will be my next organizational objective. (If you don’t have an extra closet, a lot of this could also be nicely organized in under bed boxes which I use all the time.)

Here is a container for rolls of paper and a cardboard box for shirt boxes. The little white plastic bag in the corner holds all of our packing materials, Styrofoam peanuts, etc

After attacking (and happily organizing) the gift wrap stuff, I turned my attention to the desk area. (It isn’t always that messy—I had temporarily stacked some stuff there from the closet.)

I eventually ended up with this.

And here’s our book case, finally neatened. (We have another big book case downstairs which holds some of our more lovely books.) We could actually use yet another book case in the house since we are all inveterate bibliophiles.

The bottom line? I finished my cleaning job with joy. And happiness. And gratefulness that I got to spend some time doing something I love. Also, Snowy and I got to spend quality time together with me cleaning and him guarding me while I cleaned. And he was so effective in his guarding that not even one bad guy came and got me.

Fluffy, cute watch dogs are obviously the best.

_________________________

A question was left concerning whether or not Nathan has found a job yet.

Unfortunately, no. He’s been putting in applications everywhere, including Disney World. We’re going to keep on praying for something to open up soon!

A Photo Slew

Occasionally I’ll find myself with a whole slew of uncategorized pictures that don’t fit into any particular post and yet I still love them and would like to post them somewhere. At some point. Hopefully.

And so today is the day when I gather all those poor, forlorn, lonely photos together and promise them a post of their own. Because there’s nothing worse than a bunch of depressed pictures, slogging around in my computer, bemoaning their fate, wearing tiny, matching “Woe R Us,” t-shirts and just otherwise causing dissension among the ranks of my otherwise happy picture family.

So in order to maintain pictorial peace, here ya go . . .

Nathan took these two pictures shortly after he had gotten home from Florida. We’d had Steve’s birthday dinner earlier in the evening and then, after cleaning up, all of us collapsed in the living room for an hour, just to talk. And snooze. And be incredibly, extremely lazy.

Before we sat down, however, I had told Nathan that I could “take him down.” He responded by saying, “Okay, Mom. Hit me as hard as you can.” And every time I’d punch him in the arm, he’d just laugh. Maniacally. As though my little feather light punches were the most amusing things he’d encountered in quite some time.

Sigh. I guess I won’t be starring in any action movies anytime soon.

Nathan sitting down with Snowy for a man-to-man talk. I mean after all, they’re both College Dudes, right?

Of course whenever Nathan’s home, the time always comes for the obligatory brother/sister pose where I tell Nathan, “Now don’t make funny faces.”

You can see how well that works.

You can also see that Snowy is very much invested in the proceedings.

Finally. A normal face. (And a still snoozing canine.)

Okay, I promise I will not keep on mentioning my surgical drains forever and ever, but I just couldn’t keep myself from sharing this picture because it still amazes me that I had FOUR of these babies snaking out of various holes in my skin after surgery. FOUR, I tell you! Four drains that had to emptied and analyzed and stowed away under clothing in a manner that didn’t make it evident that I was wearing four drains. Which, I have to say, is impossible to do. I mean, how does one go about hiding large plastic bulbs emerging all willy nilly from one’s body?

One doesn’t.

I’m so happy to have The Drain Chapter over and done with!

Alrighty, then. Bouncing off to yet another subject (dogs, drains, punching—what next?) this photograph illustrates my husband’s well-developed, well defined and incredibly competent fixing skills. We’ve had two wicker laundry baskets in the family for many years now and quite frankly, I’ve become rather attached to them. Sadly, the handle on this particular basket fell off. I mean just Fell. Off. No warning, no two-week notice, no nothin’.

Steve pondered the situation for a short while and then, creatively utilizing wire and electrical tape, re-attached said handle to said basket. Maybe he should have been a surgeon instead of a pastor? He’s a great fixer of stuff!

I wrote yesterday that Nathan left for Florida yesterday morning. He called us at about 9 pm to let us know he had safely arrived. Since you already know pretty well the family he left behind (us!), I thought I’d show you a picture of the family he arrived at. They take really, really good care of him. (Thanks, Hawleys!)

And speaking of the Hawleys, someone had left a comment asking how Meagan was doing after her jaw surgery. She’s not all the way back to 100%, but is doing much better and is enjoying eating REAL food after several weeks on a liquid diet.

And finally, here is The Lovely Daughter of the Smith Home, reading some poems she was assigned to write in school. Although I’ll be posting one or two of the poems on her her website soon, let me just say right here that Steve, Nathan and I were incredibly impressed by the depth of her writing.

This was the last evening before Nathan left so it was extra special to gather together in the living room by lamp light and spend a few peaceful moments listening to poetry written and read by a miracle child.

Sweet times.

Sue

Most of you who come by here very often and read the guest book will recognize the name, "Sue G." She is pretty famous around certain websites for leaving comments that entertain, strengthen and inspire.

Well, this is a week when our dear friend needs some strength and inspiration of her own. Please take a minute and go to Sue's website and read about what she's facing right now. And if you feel like leaving a message of encouragement I would consider that to be a personal favor. She's an important part of the Smithellaneous Family and I want her to know that we're traveling with her on this journey.

Thanks so much.

Still A Little Icky. A Few Questions and Answers

Since I’m still not feeling the greatest (my sore throat from last week is now accompanied by a low grade fever and a strong desire to lie on the bed and groan pitifully) I shall use today’s post to just answer a few questions/comments that have come in. That way, my brain won’t have to work quite as hard at thinking up original thoughts. At this point in my day, original (or even coherent) thoughts are in short supply! (Doesn’t that just make you want to read further?)
Before going any further however, I would like to say thanks to those of you so graciously responded to my “Icky Day” post from Saturday. After I posted I told Sarah, “Well, I probably need to prepare myself for someone to write in and give me a stern reprimand for whining when there are so many people who have it so much worse than I do.”
But there was nary a reprimand to be seen, stern or otherwise! Instead, I got sweet, compassionate comments like the one below:
Dear Becky,
Thanks for sharing your day, as it is. It's post like these that really make your blog so genuine and comforting to read. For those of us also having icky days, it validates that indeed it is okay to have one. There's not something wrong with us, our spouses, our children, our lives etc. Icky days are normal. They happen. Life happens.
Thank you for your honesty. Wishing you a less icky day tomorrow. :)
- -Rhea


On that same note, after I had hit the “publish” button on that post, I went downstairs to work—in a decidedly desultory fashion--on dinner. Sarah came into the kitchen a few minutes later and said, “Mom, I just read your post. I didn’t know you were having such a hard day!”
And then we looked at each other and just burst out laughing at the absurdity of Sarah finding out her mom was having a bad day by reading her blog! Gotta love technology!
If you’ll remember, in that particular post, I referred to my strong urge to consume dozens of brownies in an attempt to assuage my ickiness. Well, since I’m always working on trying to find different ways to serve dessert to guests in an attractive manner, I experimented with a few “presentation ideas” using my own brownie plate as the guinea pig. (If a plate can, indeed, be a guinea pig.) Don’t these pictures make you want to just drop everything you’re doing and dig in?



And since we’re on the subject of kitchens, here is a little note Sarah left for me after she had done the dishes. It was stuck to a casserole dish that seemed to have attained a permanent residue of baked on-ness. I just love how Sarah’s propensity for using big words shines here--she had no idea if “interminably” was even the correct choice for this note, but it sure made me smile!

And speaking of Sarah, she is going to whip up dinner for me tonight since I don’t feel well (have I mentioned the general feeling of ickiness?). AND I also have to get geared up to to join our worship team at the Methodist Church in two hours to provide the music for their revival meeting. So having my own live-in cook is lovely!

And now a few questions, answers and comments . . .

Alicia said, “Becky, I LOVE that lamp in Steve's office that looks like a candle. Can you tell me where you found it?” ( A couple other people also mentioned that candle.)
Alicia, it looks like a candle, because it IS a candle! (smile) We got it at a store called Big Lots; it’s kind of an overstock, bargain, clearance kind of place. I think they have locations all over the country and let me tell you, it’s such a great place to shop. (The red chairs in Steve’s office came from Big Lots, too.)

Buff said, “I’m curious to know if you are having the lumps on your thyroid biopsied.”
I had wondered about that too, but my doctor hasn’t mentioned it. I did some research on “Dr. Google” and discovered that very rarely are those sorts of lumps cancerous. Now I suppose if my blood work comes back this week with all sorts of odd results, things might change but for now at least, there’s been no talk of a biopsy.


“A Mom's Serious Blunder” said, “I just wanted to let you know we took Tucker to his first dog obedience class—and you were the inspiration for taking him!”
Go, Tucker!! Snowy will be so proud to know that his college-going example is having such a good influence on his web buddies!
And while we’re on that subject, here’s a little message Snowy asked me to share with our Smithellaneous friends. We saw this bumper sticker in the store that sponsors his obedience lessons and got a great laugh out of it.


And finally--
Lisa said, Thank you for your posts - I am a faithful reader and you have such a love of our Heavenly Father and such a way with words! I am asking for a request - will you please pray for my 15 year old son, Michael. He is battling spiritually and I know the only thing we can do is call out to Jesus for him. Thank you.”
Lisa, I prayed for Michael this morning and I know that other people who read this blog will pray too. Thanks for sharing your request.

The DMV. Grace and Peach

Today I went to the (very) small and (very) quaint DMV here in Manteo to get the address on my Driver's License changed. I've gone through this scintillating process in large cities in the past and remember very well the whole rigmarole of signing in, standing in line, sitting and waiting, filling out forms, and standing and waiting some more.

Not so in Manteo!

I walked in. I was called back. I sat down. I was back out the door in 5.7 minutes.

But wait! There's more!

After I had been seated at the Official Address Changing Desk, I handed the lady my old license and answered a few questions. She typed everything up and then said, "Okay. That will be ten dollars."

I got out my checkbook and wrote out the check. I handed the check to the lady. And then (out of habit) I came this close to saying, "Do you need to see my driver's license?"

I am so very, very glad that I clamped my mouth shut at the very last nanosecond and did not ask the Driver's License lady if she wanted to see my Driver's License.

Would that have been embarrassing or what?

And now for Part Two of today's post:

I just received an e-mail from the Official Pastor Person in my life who just happens to be my own Personal Husband Person. He had sent out an e-mail to me and the other staff staff members at our church.

No biggie, right?

Well, it was no biggie until I got to the end of the letter and saw, to my great amusement, that he had inadvertently signed the letter, "Grace and Peach."

Grace and Peach?

I know he was going for "Grace and Peace," but I really sorta like Grace and Peach. It sounds a little bit like a female folk duo from the 60's!

Okay, I'm signing off now. And as I do, my sincere hope is that the rest of your day will be filled with grace.

And peach.

(Hey, it works for me!)

Haiti. Tears. Beauty.

Yesterday morning, the eight members of our worship team gathered to spend time praying before rehearsal, as is our custom.

The subject of Haiti was brought up and we all agreed that the country desperately needed our prayers. As we began to pray together, it was incredibly moving to sense palpable love, to feel genuine compassion, and to see real tears.

We were a group of sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, gathered in a circle on a small island in North Carolina. We had gathered to pray for sons and daughters, sisters and brothers on another island whom we had never met. And never will meet.

But the human connection was there. The family connection was there.

We were all thinking, “How would I feel if it were MY daughter screaming in the chaos? Or MY mom’s body being piled on a truck, to be hauled off to a mass grave?”

Our hearts hurt simply because fellow human beings also had hearts that hurt.

And as we prayed for those precious people in pain, beauty emerged. The beauty of tears, that showed compassion. The beauty of time taken to pray for people whose pain is beyond imagination. The beauty of understanding that the labels “Haitians” and “Americans” don’t really exist. Not deep down where it counts.

No. Deep down where it counts, the only labels that define us are sons and daughters, sisters and brothers.

Humans.

All of us in need of miracles in many sizes and shapes. All of us in need of a Heavenly Father to comfort, to protect, to heal, to wipe our tears away.

Beauty came to church yesterday morning. Beautiful hearts prayed over broken lives. And wept. And cared. (And later in the service, also gave.)

Haiti. Tears. Beauty.

The Planet Rug

Steve and I spent 2.5 bajillion hours yesterday looking at rugs for his church office. (And yes, the couch we looked at from Craigslist worked out great and we have it in the back of our van, ready for transport to the church this weekend.)

So the couch was easy. The rug? Not so much.

Rugs are complicated. They have moods. Colors. Patterns. Shapes. Ambiances. Implications.

Do we want a rug that is creative yet traditional? Wacky yet dignified? Ministerial yet artsy?

And don't even get me started on the choice of colors. Or designs. Or price! (Of course, the more bargainy, the better.)

We can't choose a paint color for his office until we've chosen the rug. And we really want the office to be move-in-able in ten days when we make our Big Move To Manteo. But it can't be painted (and therefore move-in-able) until we get the rug decision made. And we just can't make the rug decision.

Accckkkkk!

Fortunately, Steve and I get a pretty big kick out of making these sorts of decisions. We have loud and animated conversations in the middle of stores and we fling our arms around and make various and sundry Opinionated Rug Proclamations.

We took Sarah with us to one store yesterday and she watched with alarmed eyes as her parents turned into creatures from another another planet, creatures from The Planet Rug.

Her mild mannered mother turned into an expositing rug expert and her sanguine mannered father became even more sanguine in his sanguine mannered manner. She was no doubt hoping that no one would guess that we belonged to her.

Poor child. She's being raised by Wild Rug Choosing Ministerial Maniacs. Better than being raised by wolves, I guess.

Or not.

________________

And just because blogs are supposed to have pictures, here are some pictures. In no particular order, about no particular subject.

Miscellany is good, right? Or should I say, Smithellany?

I should I shall. And I just did.

Okay. Pictures please . . .

Here is a magnet that was stuck on the stove of one of the cottages in Manteo. I laughed out loud when I saw it.

And here I am. Oh yay.

(By the way, I have actually never known how to spell "yay." Does anyone know the correct spelling? Is it yay? yeah? yea? Spelling yay correctly is very important to me, just in case I should ever want to say, "oh yay" again. And I probably will. Knowing me.

And just so you know, there is a recipe coming tomorrow! Oh, (um) yay!