Snapshots.

Enter July, stage right.

Clearly, I found Kellan’s car and made it back to Albany. I considered telling you how it was that I found myself wearing only one shoe, aimlessly wandering parking garages at LaGuardia at 11:30 at night. The journey back to my apartment took approximately the same amount of time it took the Ingalls family to forge their way across the Midwestern plains as they fought off Indians, rabid wolves and starvation. [I was forced to take my life into my hands and stop at a gas station for grossly overpriced trail mix somewhere around 2:15 AM.] I THOUGHT about telling you that story, but let’s be honest. It’s too soon.

Portland was fantastic, but I left the city with the lingering, gnawing suspicion that I am not enough of an individual. I think THEY had something to do with it:

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When I was a little girl, my little brother Stephen desperately wanted to learn how to play the accordion. Given that he ALSO wanted to be a “Cuckoo bird when I grows up” and live in the top bunk of his bunk bed with his wife and three children, I generally thought the whole idea was imbecilic. OH HOW WRONG I WAS. Have you ever seen anything so cool in your life?! Never have I ever so desperately wanted dreadlocks and a tattoo. Alas, I was the girl in a cardigan and pearls, which turns out to be the Portland equivalent of parading yourself naked down Main Street. How. Embarrassing.

One of the highlights of my time in Oregon was not one, but TWO trips to a place called VooDoo Doughnuts.

photo(9)Oh. My. Stars. Y’all, I don’t even LIKE doughnuts. Or at least, I thought I didn’t. But cover one in oreos and give it a dirty name, and apparently I’m sold! I wouldn’t read the menu out loud to my Daddy, but given my propensity to enjoy anything that bleeds into inappropriate, I rather loved their creativity.

Sadly, the worst thing about a week in Portland was missing Kellan’s birthday.

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We’ve been married for four months as of tomorrow, as thus far our only “family rule” has been this: Always have the ingredients for chocolate pie on hand. Laugh it up, but that pie is SO GOOD that if it asked me to run away with it, I wouldn’t even stop to grab my chapstick and I go NOWHERE without my chapstick. [Feel free to join me on my chocolate pie revolution. One decadent bite and you will come crawling back full of tears and wild promises to rename your firstborn after me.] Late last night, Kellan and I came up with family rule number two: Go big for birthdays. In the same place. This may or may not have had something to do with my delivery of a detailed dissertation about my ardent belief that the world should stop spinning for birthdays. Breakfast in bed, champagne [because without a mimosa, breakfast in bed is nothing more than a mess], oversized balloons, extravagant gifts, and possibly an elephant to cart you around until your evening surprise party. I’m talking the WORKS. Actually GOING to work? NOT WHEN YOU’RE TURNING 28! At least, not without a show choir to back me up as I belt”Wind Beneath my Wings” while you grab your briefcase and walk out the door.

He hasn’t quite wrapped his mind around it yet, but he’s learning.

Y’all have a good Monday!

Comments

  1. Kristin says:

    “I was the girl in a cardigan and pearls, which turns out to be the Portland equivalent of parading yourself naked down Main Street.”

    Favorite quote…. said by the girl in the cardigan and pearls. At this moment and pretty much always.

  2. I am so glad I got to be one of your trips to Voodoo donuts. It was SO fun to hang out with you! Come back!

    PS- I have noticed significantly more people in cardigans and pearls around here lately… you were a trendsetter!!!

  3. Marge Farmer says:

    Just re watched THE HELP…..trust your chocolate pie is NOT “terrible awful”! You keep loving that good man you married!

  4. As a non-pearls “Yankee” gal who went to college in the South, now you know how the rest of us feel when we come down there without them! And guess what? Despite the pressure, I kept not wearing them! So ha! :-P (I hope you know I am saying all of this in slight jest.) I say be yourself and be proud wherever you are, whether you are a pearl-wearing southern belle in New York/Portland or a tattooed accordion player who suddenly finds himself transported to Chapel Hill! I think God appreciates that type of diversity of culture, where neither is right nor wrong, just different and fun.

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