Staring into Nothing

When visiting Asheville, North Carolina Duffy and I got several recommendations to visit Blue Ridge Parkway. Being innocent and not caring to do more googling than to find an address for it, thought this was a park or something, perhaps a scenic route that circled some great hiking and picnic spots. We really weren't sure. So, after breakfast we drove up there. We were confused when we got to Blue Ridge and noted the 45mph speed limit. Duffy drove slow to allow us to enjoy the sights of Blue Ridge, despite the dullness of the rainy day. He'd pull over if a car came behind him because everyone was really whipping it through this place. 

Duffy decided it was likely because locals used this as a backroad or shortcut, while us tourists took our sweet time. Whenever we saw a look out we'd pull over, get out, and enjoy the view. There really is nothing like the mountains. Even though driving through them makes my ears pop, I still enjoy the journey. I love the size of the mountains, the way the trees grow green and tall. I like to imagine all the wildlife that lives within these areas, and to wonder what it would look like had someone decided to not put highways and tunnels through them. At the look out I no longer looked up from the roads, I looked down to them, and across the valleys to other mountains, spotting houses and farms. I recall us stopping at one and Duffy pointing to the top of the mountain, and noted the speed of a cloud moving over it. 

It got colder as we climbed the winding roads of Blue Ridge. The wind got stronger, and it seemed that our proximity to the clouds made the world a little darker. After some driving we began spotting signs for "Craggy Gardens." I hoped it was a spot with some fine landscaping, lots of flowers to bring color to the gray day. We decided we'd stop to look at it. 

There was no garden as I'd imagined, but there was a visitors center to stop at. As we approached the visitors center the fog grew thicker, and thicker. I pulled out my phone and took a video of the fog. Unfortunately, it looks like posting the video to the blog won't be very good quality, so here is a screenshot from the video. 

I was a little nervous about the fog because it made driving conditions worse. Of course Duffy didn't worry. We parked and looked out towards the mountains. We had already seen gorgeous layout after gorgeous layout. We saw vast valleys, massive mountains, and endless sky. But now we were in a cloud. It was thick and deep. As you can see, we couldn't see too far ahead of us. 

I wrapped my travel blanket around my shoulders to keep me warm since I was still in a dress from breakfast. Everyone else we saw wore pants and vests, clearly outdoorsy folks on a journey. I walked up to the edge of the parking lot and stared out into nothing. 

I smiled, my heart happy to be looking into the great beyond, finding nothing but white and wind. It was just a wall of fog, hiding the beauty of the mountains. I could see the tree tops that were reaching up towards the parking lot, trying to take over the concrete placed there. They blue wildly in the wind, the leaves flipping over, the branches bending so hard it was surprising they didn't snap. They did there dance, as if to impress me since the true sights of Craggy Gardens was being concealed. 

Duffy went to the bathroom, but I stayed at the outlook, studying the fog as it was about to reveal something. I loved it because I just kept thinking about how I was staring into nothing. Looking into a blank slate, a blank page, a blank canvas. I couldn't see a damn mountain or valley, only the fog. I just stood there, trusting that there was something great beyond the fog. I smiled thinking that if the fog cleared there was a chance a large mountain would protrude from the fog, maybe just a few hundred feet away from me. I had no idea, but I hoped there was a magnificent mountain that close, I wouldn't' even mind if ti was blocking the real view of Craggy Gardens. 

When Duffy returned he took a video of me looking out into the fog. Again, it won't be good quality as a video, so here is a screenshot to show you the beautiful nothing I was staring at. 

I couldn't look away. But it was also very cold and windy. We went into the visitors center and looked at the knick knacks and t-shirts, admiring the way the entire shop smelled exactly like a Christmas tree. The back wall was all windows and showed a great view of the fog. The wind howled against the windows, pressed against the wooden walls, but inside the air was calm and still. Duffy picked out a small pillow full of balsam fir tree and a bag of peanut m&ms for the road. It was in this shop that I noticed a wall decoration for sale. It was a map of the Blue Ridge Parkway, which stretched 469 miles and went through two states. It wasn't a loop or scenic route as we had thought. 

This fact explained the people driving the speed limit or faster through the roads. And the cars we saw parked at the look outs that clearly had people sleeping in them. It made so much more sense. We couldn't drive the entire thing in a day, though after we checked out and said goodbye to the fog, we decided we would one day drive the entirety of the parkway. We want to see it in the fall, when the leaves are changing into reds and oranges, as well as in the spring when the leaves grow back, fresher and greener than ever. 

I will definitely tell you about that experience when it happens.

For now, I will leave you with one final picture. It was taken the following day when Duffy and I decided to drive the mere twenty miles of the parkway that we had explored once again. It was a clear day, and much warmer. When we got up to Craggy there were a lot more people than there had been the day before. With the sun shining bright we looked out, and saw the mountains and the valley and the body of water that existed at the bottom. 

We saw this: 

Wide open space, green tree tops, and that beautiful sky with the perfect clouds. We went into the visitors center again to get another little pillow for me and the best peanut m&ms in the entire world. 

A List of Delicious Places to Eat in Asheville

While on our trip someone asked Duffy and I what we were doing in Asheville. I answered honestly, "Eating." Because that's what we do on trips, seek out the best restaurants and devour their food. So, here is a list of the best places we ate at in Asheville, North Carolina.

Early Girl Eatery: One can never go wrong with breakfast food! Duffy and I both ate French Toast Biscuits, which were AMAZING! Who knew biscuits made such good french food?

Tupela Honey: We knew this place would be great going in, because everyone recommended it. I got salmon with some delicious mac n cheese, and Duffy got a veggie burger. The burger was magnificent. Thick burger, large bun, and included a healthy serving of pimento cheese that oozed out with every bite. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it!

Noble Brewery: Duffy hates beer, but loves cider, and Asheville had just the place for him. The cider was low sugar and high alcoholic content. They had classic flavors, as well as some far out flavors like "Coffee and Cream." I took a glass of "The Spice Merchant" which was made from chia tea and included a bunch of delicious spices. Duffy got a glass of "The Village Tart" which he just described as "fire." The place looked like it was made from an airplane hanger. There was a large table full of board games, some tall tables, a food truck outside along with some patio space, and three small rooms off to the side. We went to the rooms, which each had three walls so they remained open, and sipped on our drinks. Then, we noticed a table for checkers and decided to play. Guys, that cider made me really good at checkers! I C R E A M E D Duffy! Usually I'm okay, but I typically lose. But with this cider in my hand I took up the voice and tone of a renaissance queen who was battling with the French and trying to obtain an entire country while battling with the goblins and fairies in Scotland. And then I destroyed Duffy in checkers!! Anyways, we left the brewery with a growler of "The Village Tart."

French Broad Chocolate Factory and Tasting Room: This city loves its chocolate, apparently. The line was out the door at the French Broad Chocolate Factory lounge, and had a lengthy line at the Tasting room, which was where Duffy and I found ourselves. This was probably due to the fact that there was only one employee manning the Tasting Room. We were patient, and when we got to the counter we ordered a scoop of vanilla ice cream and a chocolate snickerdoodle cookie. Then, at a nearby fountain we mixed our two desserts together, creating a heavenly treat. 100% doing this combination.

Biscuit Head: GUYS I SPOTTED TWO RONS IN THIS JOINT. BEST DAY EVER!

But the food. Okay, so I got a plain biscuit and two sides. Then, I found out they had this jelly and butter buffet for the biscuits. So I went over there and got the raspberry jam, and some lavender honey butter. Then, I saw the woods "vanilla" and immediately started scooping because I love vanilla. But as I scooped I saw it was vanilla cantaloupe, and I don't like cantaloupe. But I took it anyways and sat down with Duffy who was digging into his vegetarian chorizo biscuits. The raspberry was good, the lavender honey was delicious, but guys, the vanilla cantaloupe. I went back to get more of that shit because it IS THE SHIT! And then put lavender honey and the vanilla cantaloupe together-- game changer! I bought a mug from there that just says "dang." because that's exactly what I said when I bit into that biscuit with the jelly on it. Yum yum yum!

To finish our trip we went to

Sunny Pointe Cafe: It was hopin' in this joint. We had a short wait, but it was worth it. We both got BLAT's which were Bacon Lettuce Avocado and Tomato sandwiches. Of course we got the vegetarian option, along with either a side of fries or a side of grits. The sandwich was soooo good! Served on a croissant, it just made our trip. Then, Duffy said the grits were some of the best he'd ever had. Now, we had expected the grits in North Carolina to be good, but they were mostly sub par. A little bland, not much to them. But these, they were good! 

I would also like to take a moment to acknowledge the service in Asheville. Honestly, every single server we had was friendly and knowledgable about the menu. They were gracious hosts, and I was pleased to see that despite how busy the restaurants were the servers still managed to be happy and full of energy when serving us.

Asheville, North Carolina

My parents are notorious for taking spontaneous trips. Since I have a brother in Florida with 2.5 kids and another brother in Wyoming my parents love their road trips. And since they're retired they'll leave whenever they please. I can call them at any given point and not be surprised if they tell me they're in Wyoming or Florida, even if I'd just seen them two days prior and they didn't say anything about a trip. This is probably why my Mom was so good at getting everything together for the New York trip. Anyways, all of this must've rubbed off on me because now spontenous trips are the only trips I take. 

I texted my boyfriend, Duffy, on a Sunday, joking that since he was off Wednesday to Friday I could switch out my Thursday and we could take a trip. I specified a Carolina (either North or South, but I'm partial to South). He responded with "eeeehhhh" and I had assumed it was about the trip part. Neither of us are rolling in dough, and a trip takes some planning. I didn't think much of it, just put my phone in my locker and returned to the sales floor from my break. When I called him after work he asked, "So where are we going?" 

Turns out, he had said "eeeehhh" to a Carolina, because he was imaging Nashville or Cincinnati since they're closer and I had missed that he did work on Wednesday. But at this point, we had momentum. I was concerned I wouldn't get anyone to switch with me, since the staff was stretched somewhat thin with people taking summer vacations and all that. But I sent a text to the sweetest woman in the entire world, and she agreed to switch my shifts. I was estatic, since I had three days off we decided a trip to Asheville, North Carolina would be worth it. Now, Duffy had to at least find an open shift for Wednesday so we could leave as soon as possible. 

We almost thought we wouldn't get to go, because it took until Tuesday evening for someone to agree to switch with Duffy. I had thought his switch would be the easiest, but as it turns out, his work has an even more limited staff. 

And so we were off! Kind of...

Since we'd stayed up late doing some rushed planning the night before Duffy didn't pack his bag since he went into work at 6am. I had been packed since 3pm on Tuesday. So I was ansty. We were already leaving in the afternoon versus the morning, and he wanted to stop at his work, again, to get a cup of coffee for the road. I may or may not have rushed him while he packed, making him forget his phone and watch charger. Poor boy cannot survive without his technology. Luckily, the phone could be charged on his laptop with the cable he keeps in his car, but his watch died. He also forgot his swim trunks, but that didn't matter in the end because there were kids in the hotel pool, always. 

But we got on the road around 3:30 (only 2 hours later than I'd originally planned). I brought the DS Duffy got for his birthday a couple years ago, but eventually just let me have since I played it more. I packed us a new flavor of bean crisps for snacks, and green apples, which are the superior apple. 

The drive to Asheville isn't actually too bad. It's closer than Chicago and has no tolls. Duffy's car hit the 1,000 mile marker, which was a big deal, and since he'd gotten a new air-filter thing (idk ask him) his gas mileage was slowly rising. 

We arrived at our hotel around 9pm, and the best part was we realized it was a dog friendly hotel! Dogs! The sad part was, the main thing we do when we travel is eat. This was another reason I wanted to get on the road, because I'd been looking up restaurants and checking to see if we could make reservations for that evening. Most reservations ended at 7:30 and the restaurants closed around 9. And the concierge only offered a couple of pizza places, since everything was closing. Hungry, and ready to enjoy the new city we went to one of the pizza places recommended, though first we walked around downtown, checking to see if there was anything better. But all that was open was an Irish restaurant, hookah bars, and tattoo parlors. So we ate the pizza. Which was average, but still carbs are delicious. 

We headed back to our hotel to get a good nights rest so the next day, which was the only full day we were spending in the city, could be as amazing as possible. And so we could get up early to beat the rush to Asheville's most famous breakfast place, Early Girl. 

My Dad Made Me a Feminist

This is either a bold statement, or one that would seem cliche. Perhaps you're thinking I'm about to spin a tale about how my Dad was a proud feminist who I had long talks with about equality and the treatment of women in third world countries. However, this is not the case. I just had a thought recently that the way my Dad treated me and my sister led me to believe women and men are equal.

My Dad was 45 when I was born. He lived in Kentucky his whole life, and settled down in a small town called LaGrange. In this town he and my Mom go to Church every Sunday at Immaculate Conception, it's where they raised their seven children, and at the community center of election day they vote Republican. He is a traditional fella. It's not a bad thing, and we don't fight about it (mostly because we don't talk about politics), it's just the way he is. He's a hardworking man, spent thirty years at G.E. going in early and staying late for the sake of his family; and he enjoys the peace and quiet, especially with a nice glass of bourbon.

My Dad set a good example of how I should be as a person. And in some ways I am like him, and in other's I'm not, but that's because he made me this way. This thought, that my Dad made me a feminist, came when I was sitting in the backyard drinking wine with my boyfriend's mom.

At the time I was actually somewhat salty and fidgety. I was feeling weak and useless, and I wanted to be involved. You see, at the time my boyfriend's parents had decided to take down their back porch so they could rebuild. So far the rail had come down and they were gradually working through the floor boards to get them off. This process involved whacking the boards from underneath with a sledgehammer until it popped up, and then using a crowbar to ease the board up. I had offered my assistance, in part because I was used to using sledgehammers as they were incorporated in my workouts at the gym, and because I am very used to being asked to help with this kind of thing. Since I was a guest my offer was declined, and I was left to sit. It felt awkward, because I wanted to help, and also because it made me feel weak and incapable.

I'm not sure if it's because of his age or because he was used to always having help with seven kids around, but my Dad asked for mine and my sister's help often. We helped him move furniture up and down stairs, he taught me to keep up with my aging car engine, Anne and I frequently did lawn work-- it was natural that I'd offer my help and be handed a tool. But in this case, I was told not to help. I was given wine and a chair, and told I could pick up any missed rusty nails when they were done. It wasn't mean, it was considerate and polite, but it still felt weird. It made me reflect on my Dad, and how he never thought my sister and I as less useful than our older brothers. He just needed a helping hand, and when he hollered, we did what he asked.

My Dad made me a feminist because he never belittled me. I never felt weak or uncapable. I felt strong and knowledgable, and now that I'm older I value what he taught me even more. Every kid should be asked to mow the lawn or rake the leaves. Not just the boys. Every kid should be asked to carry heavy things, even if they don't like it, because it will make them stronger.

A Memory: South Carolina Hanging with Memaw

I have this memory that probably happened a million times, but I only remember it happening once. This singular occurrence of a common occurrence has stuck with me for all these years. But recently, light has been shed upon it and it's become even more special.

When I was a kid I hated the idea of sinking. I once saw the ending to the Titanic and then panicked whenever the toilet overflowed. I would run and jump on my bed and cry about the fact that the world was about to sink. This is also why I'm afraid of space, there is no end. It's just infinite falling.

This fear didn't stop me from getting the bath, or swimming in pools or the ocean. I was more than okay with all of these activities, and though Shark Week changed my perception of the ocean, I still enjoy these activities. But you bet your ass I refused to get on boats as a kid.

This problem really only came up once a year when we took our yearly vacation to South Carolina. It was a wonderful time, and I'll write more on that topic late, but part of our vacation was to go visit the fort near by. The fort that was on an island. That required taking a boat. I was not about that. Luckily, my Memaw always volunteered to stay behind.

So this is the memory. I was sitting on top of the spiral staircase, looking down at the joined living room and kitchen, Memaw was on the couch. The house was quiet for once, and the contrast between the orange sun and the shadows of the window pane was stark. We didn't speak, but I went to the cabinet in the left front corner of the living room. Inside was a collection of wine glasses, us kids drank from them as often as we could, but we had to be careful. The glasses made a high and sharp cling as I pulled one from the cabinet. Memaw heard and warned me not to break anything. I nodded in agreement, and carried on.

That's the entire memory. A single paragraph so mundane it would hardly constitute as significant, but it does. I have a lot of memories from that house, with all my cousins and siblings, my aunts and uncles, and of course, Memaw. Most are specific, some are blurs of things we did regularly like beg to go to the beach, hanging out on the porch, ghost crab hunting, etc.. But none like this.

I've always remember this evening, but since Memaw has passed away I have often lingered on this memory. Now, let me tell you how this memory became even more significant recently.

In my final classes of undergraduate we read a book by Crystal Wilkinson, and then watched a brief lecture she gave as a homework assignment. In this lecture she discussed that she writes about what she is curious about, the topics that she has a childlike eagerness to explore. She then prompted the audience to write down their top three curiosities. I made a list longer than three, then began to create spider webs from the topics, going further and becoming more specific with what I'm curious about. Then I wrote. The assignment was a minimum of three pages to explore a curiosity, I sat down and had such a good flow I wrote 9 pages.

My curiosities included how women lived in the 1800's and early 1900's, country life, and family history. I started it as just the first two curiosities: A young woman living on a farm in the 1880's. I thought I'd explore her at different ages, but then I realized I needed names for my characters. So I texted my Mom and asked for her great-aunts and uncles names, they would be old enough and my family has a knack for beautiful names. She sent me a list of the first chunk of great aunts and uncles and I ran with it. As I wrote I based it off my family's land, and then remembered the story of a young girl who died on the farm and was buried on the land. I don't know the story very well, but I decided I'd write it.

Once I had that story down I decided to continue it by jumping fifteen years into the future and covering my Memaw's youth. I told my Mom about this endeavor, and I still need to send her the draft, and I explained that I couldn't remember how the little girl actually died, but I just made it a diabetic seizure that led to a coma and eventual death. She then told me that my great grandma had seizures as a kid. She even said it was rumored that they took her to a neighbors house and dipped her in an ice bath to try and cure her. Mom thought that was crazy, but as I was simultaneously writing a novel about sisters in an asylum during the 1920s I believed it 100%. Hydrotherapy wasn't even the wildest or cruelest way doctors attempted to cure patients. Anyways, Mom told me that she stopped having them for the most part, but did suffer a single seizure after having her fifth child.

As a result, the family then never left her alone. Since my Memaw was the oldest sibling she was often given the job of staying behind when the other kids went to the pond. Mom confirmed that she didn't mind, because Memaw was an avid reader. In that moment I recalled the day she stayed behind with me but in a different light.

I remembered what Memaw was doing in the chair. I'd always thought she was watching TV, but it was so quiet in the house. She was actually reading. She was doing exactly what she'd done for her mother all those years ago. Staying behind, enjoying the peace, and reading a book while someone kept her quiet company.

I picked up the story shortly after it, and had the character that is Memaw, Dorothy, escape from the house when she could, climb up a tree, and read. I'd like to memorialize her, and thank her for providing a near infinite amount of content for me as a writer. I like history, but I love family history, especially as it relates to Memaw.

Book Review: "The Art of Fielding" by Chad Harbach

I believe I have mentioned several times that I love characters that are the worst. The book "The Art of Fielding" by Chad Harbach has characters that are the epitome of THE WORST characters, and I love it endlessly.

I first read this book upon John Green's recommendation (if you are ever stuck on what to read next check out some of your favorite author's recommendations, they will not let you down). He posted a video about the books he had recently read and loved and suggested "The Art of Fielding" if one wanted to become unexplainably and uncontrollably attached to the characters. To that I said, "Sign me up!"

Guys, the characters are so flawed and so magnificent. You wouldn't think so as they all start out so shiny and new. We're introduced to characters with high hopes, starting new, and eager to achieve their goals. Okay, so maybe not so perfect like that, but they had least had hints of it when we first meet the five main characters. But then, we get their flaws. Their glorious, horrific, flaws.

I found myself screaming at Henry, "THROW THE BALL!" and telling Pella to get her shit together, as well wanting to wring Mike's neck, and cheering on Geurt's happiness, despite the danger it imposed. All while having the occasional change of pace with Owen, who was so delightful.

The book was actually featured on the Netflix show "Thirteen Reasons Why" because both are the story of a baseball team bonding. But "The Art of Fielding" is better, I'm just saying.

If you want a book that will rip out your heart, play baseball with it, then stab it, then stomp on it, and finally bury it, dig it up, and toss it in a lake then this is the book for you! This is one of those books that will take you to your knees from pain, and at times make your heart race with love and joy. It's not your typical story of overcoming struggles, because it's mostly just the characters trudging through their struggles and making them forty times worse because of their flaws.

Harbach crafted such wonderfully horrible people, and for that I love him. Even though they couldn't achieve their goals because of all that happened, I still cheered for them and recommend their story to anyone who will listen. So, since you're here listening: read "The Art of Fielding" by Chad Harbach.

Book Review: "The Hate U Give" by Angie Thomas

This book is a hot topic right now, and if you haven't read it, you should. Seriously. You should read this book.

"The Hate U Give" is about a girl who witnesses her friend get shot by a police officer, and then she goes through the process of trying to get him justice. She also gives the reader a chance to explore her personal world, from the empowered family she is surrounded by, to handling a double consciousness when attending a majority white private school, and everyday life in Garden Heights. It is so much in one novel, but it is done perfectly by Angie Thomas.

I think Thomas is a brilliant author, and I'm sure this blog post won't do her justice, but I'm going to try. The first thing I would like to note is that about a page into the novel I realized this narrator was unique. It's not because she's spunky or smart, or any other traits other authors give their characters in attempts to make them stand out, but because I have rarely read a book with this voice. The perspective of black teenagers is grossly low in mainstream fiction. One would have to really search the teen section to find this kind of book, but even then they'd probably have to order a print on demand title because bookstores won't carry the item regularly. I thought I was a well-rounded reader, I thought I had exposed myself to a lot of different perspectives, but after getting into "The Hate U Give" I realized I needed to read more books like this. Everyone should. We should be reading more authors of color, because their stories are not only entertaining and wonderful, but informative of a world America often forgets about, or doesn't even recognize at all.

At this moment I'm reminded of an episode of "Jane the Virgin." Jane is a latino woman, her grandmother was born and raised in Venezuela, and she is a writer. Jane has her book published, but it is eventually dropped by the publisher. Which evokes her to say, "Very few women of color get published. And when we do, we cannot afford to screw it up, because we don't get a second chance-- like our peers" (Season 4, episode 9). I know Angie Thomas had similar thoughts running through her head as she was publishing this book, especially since it covers Black Lives Matter topics. But she nailed it, and she is also working on her second book "On the Come Up" which I'm sure will be equally amazing.

To continue on with what makes "The Hate U Give" amazing is the pure beauty of her writing. Not only is the voice authentic and unique, but she just has these amazing quotes sprinkled into the book. The first one, for me, came 26 pages into the novel. Kahlil has just been shot and Star is sitting on the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket, and her parents have arrived. Thomas writes that her mom holds her close, "She rubs my back and speaks in hushed tones that tell lies."

I was so blown away by this quote. In such an elegant way she shows the reader three things: (1) the mother is telling her everything will be alright, (2) Star reacts honestly because she doesn't believe that for a second, (3) it hints at how the story will go. And, the quotes don't end there!

Google "The Hate U Give quotes" and hit "images." You will find a plethora of beautiful quotes decorated with fan art. Allow me to give you a taste of what you will find:

So many good quotes! They give me chills. Angie Thomas is #writergoals. 

This book is just so honest, so blunt, and beautifully written. The story moves you through the daily life of Star, from the major stuff like dealing with the trauma of witnessing a friend be shot and fighting for Black Lives, to the mundane parts of her life like boyfriend problems and working at her dad's grocery store. Everything is in there, and Thomas makes it magnificent. Read it if you are an activist, if you'd like to be exposed to a non-white perspective, or if you really just can't wrap your head around why the football players are kneeling during the national anthem. Basically everybody needs to read this book. 

Read more: https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=jane-the-virgin-2014&episode=s04e09

My Conflicting Relationship With Ghosts

Since I'm currently on a BuzzFeed Unsolved kick I'm gonna talk about ghosts. (To give you a preview of this post, I love this show because ghosts and murder and mystery, but I don't watch the ghost Unsolved episodes unless I'm in a public space and not at home, otherwise I get too paranoid and freaked out).

So here's the 411: I love ghost stories. I grew up in a town that is HELLA haunted. I'm talking little ghost girls pulling pony tails of the waitresses in a local restaurant, my friend having a stuffed animal thrown at her in the toy shop, and the tapping sound coming from the attic of the flower shop. It is a spook spook place, and I highly recommend taking a ghost tour there. I also love the show "A Haunting" because of the reenactments of the tales. Sure they are way overdone and dramatized, but I get pulled in every time.

But, I recall one time when I was watching the show and my sister snuck in behind me and scared the living shit out of me. Because here's the deal: I am terrified of ghosts. When I ate at the local restaurant mentioned I hated going to the bathroom and would rush through the process without looking in the mirror incase the little girl showed up. I felt antsy when wandering the toy shop alone. And, as much as I wanted to hear the little boy tapping or catch a ghost in a photograph, I knew I'd pee my pants if I did. 

As a kid I rarely went into the basement alone, and to this day I don't sleep well at a friends house because it is well known to be haunted. Ghosts are terrifying. I wish I was clairvoyant, and maybe then I'd be a little more used to ghosts and even get to spot one. However, I am not. I am just a wuss who secretly wants to meet a ghost.

The closest I've gotten is at the friend's house I mentioned. It was actually the night I met Duffy. Three of us had retreated back to her house and discussed the evening. I was starting to doze off, my back was to her bedroom door, when I felt the distinct sensation of someone watching me. I knew no one was behind me, but the hairs on the back of my neck prickled up and I was afraid to mention it or turn around to check. It is probably the closest I will ever get to meeting a ghost.

I do know that when I move into a house I am getting it inspected for ghosts. Even if it's a new house. Even if I build it. Gotta make sure there are no portals to hell in it, or burial grounds near by. Ghost inspections, it's a thing. 

I almost went on a ghost investigation in my hometown when it was offered. I didn't go because I was a teenager and knew I'd be a scared mess the entire time. And thank god I didn't, word around town is the investigation was cut short because of the ~activity~ of the ghost got dangerous. DUN DUN DUN! 

Still want to know all the details, but you know. You get what you get.

Maybe one day I'll go back to those old haunts (pun intended) and try to say hi to the ghosts, they're supposed to be friendly. Maybe I'll go sit on the stairs with the school girls, or say hi to the boy who died of tuberculosis. Or, I'll go see the woman in the mayors house who apparently checks people's pulses when they sleep. NO! I should go visit the cat ghost who lives in that house! Just as long as I don't run into any demons or other hellish creatures that will possess me and follow me home. That'd be great.

One of Those Days

Do you have a favorite day, one that you hope to never forget? Is it your wedding, the birth of a child, the day you got the job, or something greater? I have one, and it's fairly simple.

To begin, it was a Monday in August. I had a summer bucket list that hadn't been accomplished very well. However, the summer wasn't over yet. It had been a pretty regular day, I went to the gym in the morning, then dedicated the day to hanging out with my boyfriend, Duffy. I was trying to stay awake (I love taking naps after early morning work outs) and to tucker myself out so I could go to bed early because I had to go to work at 6am for the first time. To find something to do we checked the summer bucket list and saw Hubers on the list.

Hubers Orchard and Winery is a local place, just about 40 minutes away. It's a popular spot for kids as it has a small petting zoo, occasional pony rides, and an ice cream shop. Not to mention the farm produces pumpkins in October and fruits to pick in the other seasons. I have only been there a handful of times in my life, and as an adult I saw it as crowded and boring. But, Duffy and I had just turned 21 and decided we should go do a wine tasting.

We climbed in the car, excited for our mini road trip, and headed up to Indiana. There are technically two Huber's farms, one for the winery and other attractions, the other for picking food and shopping at the store. We pulled up to the one with the booze and made our way upstairs to begin our first wine tasting.

Let it be noted that I take 20 years to drink a single glass of wine. Especially at dinner with Duffy, because I usually talk non stop and occasionally take bites and sips. So, we paid for one tasting and shared the wine so he could take his giant gulps to finish the glass. The wine was good, and we loved the guy serving us. He was an older gentleman who told us about how much he loved St. George, Florida when he noticed my shirt. We could've sworn he was gay until he pulled up a FaceTime of his wife removing her eye patches after getting surgery. However, neither of them could figure out how to hang up on FaceTime and he ended up just turning his entire phone off.

We finished the last glass and snacked on the crackers and chocolate. We wandered the shop, looking at knick-knacks and wine tools before heading back downstairs. I was a little tipsy, he was fine. We each purchased a bottle of wine, mine sweet that went good with chocolate, and his a classic white wine. We put them in the car and decided we deserved a cup of ice cream from the shop.

As we entered the ice cream shop we noticed several groups of older people hanging around. It was this moment that I realized how quiet the place was, there was hardly a kid in sight. We ate ice cream and purchased from fruit from a different shop.

The fun really began when we went to the other farm to play on the playground. We swung on the swings, and laughed endlessly as we went down the slide that was bumpy. It was childish, but grand. When we finished the slide we noticed a basketball court and raced each other to the ball. I am horrible at most sports, but I did my best.

Duffy suggested a game of "Horse" which I failed miserably. The trick with horse is to make shots from impossible spots so other players can't make it. But I can only make shots from close distances, and Duffy with his long legs and experience could make those shots in his sleep. But, we still ran around the court, making shots, commenting on how lovely the nearby pond was, enjoying this beautiful summer day.

Duffy's favorite thing about Huber's is the biscuits at the restaurant. So, we put in an order for biscuts and fried zucchini. It was cool inside as we waited for our food. We watched the teenagers working the restaurant and wondered if they were locals and if the job was miserable. We took the food to-go and found a swing near the garden. It was shaded and the breeze felt good as we gorged on the hot, fried food.

This was the moment for me. The moment I refer to when thinking of the perfect day. The wind was blowing, we swung gently, my belly was full of comfort food, and I leaned on Duffy's shoulder. He has the best shoulder to rest on. Huber's garden mixed with the perfectly blue sky made for a grand view.

It was the best day because it was simple. All it took was wine, food, a small adventure, and the greatest guy in the world.

You make every day the best day ever, Duffy. Here's to many more!

(I don't have the pictures from this day saved, so here are some replacement images until Duffy sends me pics)

This is me meeting a Lil' Sebastian impersonator and it was also a really great moment in my life.

And since this is an appreciation post about Duffy here's an image of him (look at them long legs) exercising with my sister's dog, Manny. They're pals. He's pals with most dogs.

UPDATE: We could not find any pictures from that magical day, so enjoy these photos forever!

Book Review: "The Light We Lost" by Jill Santapolo

Let me begin this by saying that I avidly hate every single character in this book. This is why I couldn't stop thinking about how great this book was in the days after I'd finished it.

I had my eyes on this book since I saw the hardback cover for it at the bookstore I work at. I. Love. Covers. Have I mentioned this before?

And, when reading the synopsis of the book I figure it was a mix of a falling in love story and a falling out of love story. I was intrigued by the possibility of this being a reverse love story, and wanted to see how well the author could write such a thing. I passed up buying the book when it left our store to become a paperback book. But, when it returned I felt drawn to it again.

One day I had the hankering to read something, and figured I would pick something out to read over the weekend before I got too busy with school work. I was between "The Light We Lost" and "Exit West." I picked up "Exit West" and read the first couple of pages in the break room. The cover is gorgeous and it was an interesting story presented. However, since I had already been flirting with "The Light We Lost" for so long I thought I ought to grab it first. Then, a customer came in looking for the book after a friend told her it was amazing. It was as if the book gods were looking down on me and telling me what to do.

I almost didn't buy it. The first page didn't catch me as strongly as I thought it would, though the narrator established a storytelling style that I found interesting. And, I am very good at telling myself not to spend money. The lines were long at the bookstore, but I jumped in line for check out and took the book home.

I ate some dinner and then cracked open the book. You all, I did not put this book down until I finished it.

Lucy, the main character and narrator, is telling the story of her first love, Gabe. It's an off and on relationship, but even as Lucy goes through her life she continues to reference and remember Gabe. This is probably why I hate Lucy. I thought she needed to move on, he ditched her butt years ago! But, he is her "wild fire" love (138). Then, she meets Darren, who is her "hearth fire" love (138). And, as a reader, I'm thinking "Yes! Darren is great. He's a family guy, he's got a good job, his friends are a little too "bro" for my taste, but he's here, he's kind, and he's not Gabe!" However, he also has flaws that make me hate him adamantly. He doesn't take Lucy's career seriously, he doesn't want her having lunch and coffee alone with Gabe when he comes to town, like he's just douche at times. But again, better than Gabe!

Gabe, oh little Gabe. Gabe is passionate, but that makes him impulsive at times. The story begins with Gabe and Lucy witnessing 9/11 while finishing college in New York city. And in responsive Gabe decides to go to Iraq to cover the war through photography. This is an admirable feat, and Lucy supported his decision. But, he didn't tell her when he applied for a job as a reporter until he'd gotten the job. Shortly after that he left, and Lucy was heartbroken. The now broken up couple rarely kept in touch over the years, until the time of the book when Lucy tells Gabe their story.

We, as readers, are not sure why she is telling the story, except for some hints here and there. Then, towards the end we are told why she is doing this and what is to become of their relationship. Though, we aren't completely sure what will happen to Lucy and Darren, but that's the joy of book endings.

This is a very character driven story, and I loved every second of it. The characters effectively made me want to rip my hair out and to shake some sense into them, and that is all so great. The story made me feel a lot of emotions and I thrived off of those feelings. Those feelings, even of hate, have made this story stick with me. I kept thinking about it, and telling people about this great book I read, it's now on the staff recommendation shelf at the bookstore, because I want more people to read it. It perfectly drew me in, kept me hooked, and remained in my thoughts in the aftermath of reading it. This is a book that deserves to be promoted and passed on.

So go buy it! Devour it! Enjoy!

Does Anyone Have a Job for Me?

My eye is watering because the windows are open, and my hands are shaky because I've only had a cup of coffee this morning. But I just had this thought to write a post about my current struggle to find a job.

I currently work at a wonderful chain bookstore. I love this place. We have so many books, everyone who works there is amazing, and sometimes the customers aren't horrible. It's a really good retail job, even I live in constant fear Amazon will crush us. But it's great! However, I think it may be time to move on.

I don't want to be there forever. I'd like to never have to work another Black Friday in retail, honestly. There's a full time position open, for a department lead, but I don't think I'll take it. As much as I love the department, it's just not something I'd really like to take over. I'd really like to move out into the world and into a career field I'm truly passionate about.

But, I need money. I am about to get hit with my student loans. This thought makes me want to throw up. Anyways. The extra 20 hours and potential pay raise would be great, but honestly I don't want to spend an extra 20 hours there. I have to get out, guys. I love the people and the discounts oh so, so much. But I can't be there for much longer!

So, if anyone has a job that's creative, possibly involves writing and editing, I'm very interested. Full time preferred, will accept internship if it leads to something greater.

See, I'd like to be an editor. I love working with my peers on how to improve a story, or even just developing stories. I love sitting one on one with students and reading through their work so I can provide feedback. I love reading books, and I just want to put more books into the world!

I am a hard worker, I get along very well with people, and I have a lot of fun thoughts I can share with the world. So, please hire me. Trust me, it'll be cool. Also, I remind people of Luna Lovegood, and who doesn't want a walking, talking book character in their life?

I'd also love to be a writer. I think this is a fun activity, along with reading. I'm in a fiction class (Finally! I feel like I've spent all four years of college writing poems.), and It's making me write and be creative in a prose kind of way, and I love it. So, publish my work! It's some good stuff.

Speaking of... I do need to edit that one piece and submit it to "Word Hotel." And write my project prospectus. It's due in three days. Then write my final project. Hm. Okay.

I should also eat lunch.

I digress.

I've applied to several internships and nothing has come of it. It's very disappointing. But, it also means I'm available. Again, if you have a job or a connection to a job, please send it my way. I will apply, you will be impressed, and if you're not, please contact John Hammon, he will tell you how great I am. You'd be helping a girl who gave up her childhood dreams of being a dancer achieve her adult dreams of being a creative mind in the book world. You'd basically be the literary version of Walt Disney, I'm just saying.

My resume is attached.

Book Review: "Code Name Verity" and "Rose Under Fire" by Elizabeth Wein

I need to be writing my "project prospectus," but, ya know, I'd rather suggest a book that will rip your heart out and stomp on it.

Actually, two books, because they're great.

These are books that are/aren't a series. Yes, they're connected, and there's even a prequel to Code Name Verity. But, you don't have to read them in any particular order. In fact, the prequel was written after the other two, so, you do you. I do suggest reading "Verity" before "Rose." Just because there are some reoccurring characters that you will understand a lot better in "Rose."

So, let's get into it!

Code Name Verity is written as a confession. A confession from a World War II British ("I'm Scottish!" -Julie) spy to be given to the Nazi soldiers she's held captive by. You rarely get in the moment story telling, as Julie is writing down how she met her best friend, Maddie, and telling the reader about the horrors of being a prisoner in this Paris hotel.

Julie is extremely brave through this entire time, and I wish her story was true, but it is all fictional. Despite being held in grueling conditions, and suffering from the knowledge that Maddie is dead, she continued to fight and hold her ground when faced with the Nazi officers.

It's a beautifully written non-linear plot, and Julie keeps the reader (and the Nazis) desperate for answers. So, she keeps writing, and we keep reading. We want to know all about Maddie and Queenie, and how she was taken in as a spy when she reveals she mostly helped work the phone lines. The reader also waits anxiously to see if she figures out a way to escape or rescued, or if the war will just end before anything too bad happens to her.

Now, I know what happens. But you should read it to find out yourself. The story is exciting, and Julie won't let you put this confession down. Go read it!

Then! Read "Rose Under Fire."

This book is written as a journal entry after everything has happened to Rose. Rose, like Julie, is also part of the war effort, but from America. She works as a taxi pilot, similar to Julie's best friend, Maddie. She has connections high up, and is allowed to taxi her Uncle to Paris, while it's occupied. Much like Julie, she is caught. But, instead she is taken to a work camp, Ravensbruck. Rose speaks a little French, but makes friends with women from all over Europe, such as a multi-lingual Polish woman, and a Russian woman. The Polish woman is part of a group called "The Rabbits." Google "Ravensbruck Rabbits" and you'll find images of what these women went through. The Nazis performed horrible medical experiments on them, half hoping they'll die, half hoping to find better ways to care for the German soldiers.

Like "Verity" this book gives the reader some insight into World War II, and though The Rabbits were real, Rose was not. But it's still so good!

The reader waits for Rose to make her escape, tries to figure out what happened to the friends she keeps talking about, and cringes at what happens in the work camp.

I love the journal entry style of storytelling. I love the character's bravery, and I love learning about World War II. The other day I sold this book to a young boy who had to read about WWII, and I was happy for days. Whenever I sell these books I do dances and try and imagine them up late that night trying to finish the books through their tears.

They're so good, guys! Read them! I need to re-read them. But also, there are so many good books out there to read! Ugh, the constant dilemma.

Memories with Older Siblings

My go-to fun fact is that I'm the youngest child of 7. This number impresses people, even though compared to families of 10 and the Duggars, it's not that special. After this fact comes to light I'm often asked "All by the same parents?" Yes. Or, "How old is your oldest sibling?" 42.

Yes, my sister is a full 20 years older than me. But, my closest sister is less than 2 years. See, there was a ten year age gap between my brother Patrick and my sister Anne. My parents had kids about 2 years apart of each other, so they all had buddies. But, there is still that gap.

I always enjoyed having older siblings. I remember playing dress up in Emily's clothes, and having Patrick babysit us. Anne loved to ride with Scott on his dirt bike, and I still have the same children's book Niki gave me when I was in pre-school. It was always cool to go visit Matt when he worked at "On the Border." And, when all the siblings came together for birthdays and holidays it's a laugh fest. I love my family.

One thing that I've noticed, however, is that though we lived in the same house, under the same parents, our memories are wildly different.

I like to tell the story of how our neighbor behind us introduced herself to Mom. She came over with a cake to welcome the family to the neighborhood, but had to ask: How many kids were here. She had just witnessed the refrigerator box roll down the hill with what seemed like a dozen feet dangling out of it.

I've been told this story so many times, and I've told it countless times, that it's become a memory of my own. I think I can remember when Emily had that horrible 80s haircut, and when Patrick didn't stand six feet tall. But the truth is, I wasn't even an idea. Hell, Anne wasn't even an idea because she was a surprise baby. This is my older siblings memory.

My memories include when Patrick lived in the downstairs room, and how Christmas was just Anne and I running through the halls shouting about Santa. I recall getting the cordless phone, and a laptop. My siblings played with refrigerator boxes and complained that the two babies were being spoiled.

There are hundreds of pictures from the 80s and 90s, pre-Anne and Paige, with horrible carpeting, retro toys, and my siblings. There are hundreds more of Anne and I wearing swimsuits in the middle of winter, playing in the yard with our gray faced dogs.

The dogs are another topic of memory that differs. Much like the refrigerator story, I have assumed these memories as my own. Lady was a gift from Dad when Mom was sad that her baby (at the time that was Patrick) was growing up. She gave him the gift of Anne. And Grace came from another family at Immaculate Conception who's dog had puppies. Patrick brought her home. Even the cat, Alley Cat, came from Scott picking her up behind the school. But Anne and I spent our early childhood with these animals, and we were living at home when they all passed. My older siblings got the animals in their prime, Anne and I watched them fade.

There are stories of Lady digging a whole straight through a wall in the basement, a hole I could walk through, but I wasn't there when it happened. I just experienced the aftermath.

It's somewhat unique when we gather to share memories about the house. Niki can recall when there wasn't a wall between the kitchen and the computer room. We all remember the wood burning stove rusting on the back porch, but Anne and I don't remember when it sat in the living room on a stage of bricks. When we dig out Christmas decorations Scott thinks of when the train set was new, Anne and I think of all the times we struggled to find all the pieces and get the train running.

Side note: there is an ornament on our tree that I hate. Well, I love it because sentiment, but let me explain. It's a family tree. It's shaped like a tree and it has matching hearts on it with all of our names. Well, almost. Since Anne was a surprise her heart is mismatched and glued to the trunk of the tree. My name is not on there, because there is no more space on it. I do, however, have a mug in a tiny mug set we have hanging in the kitchen. It says "Shannon" but I'll take what I can get.

Our house was three bedrooms and two baths. We added a bedroom in the basement for the boys. I can go through who slept in what room from a certain point. But that only includes the shifting and shuffling Patrick, Emily, Anne, and I did. I can see pictures of the same bunk bed Anne and I shared with my brothers, all young and camo-clad, but I don't recall them ever inhabiting the last room I called my own.

When I was young I remember the bushes and trees outside. I used to climb the tree in teh front and hide behind the bushes on the sides of the houses. I made a reading nook below the tree outside my window. But when I go home I notice how big the bushes have grown, and how the once small tree outside my window has grown to nearly block the view of the backyard. Nature doesn't hide the passage of time, and for a sentimental soul like myself, these changes can be hard. If I were to turn my back to the window in my room and look at my room, I wouldn't see what I left behind two years ago. My nieces now inhabit the space. It's full of toys I never played with, books I never read... the only thing that's the same is the (VERY) purple walls I painted myself. I'm sure my siblings felt a similar disparity when they visit the house.

That's something we have in common. We all know the home, we all know our parents, but we knew them at different times. The world changes, and there's nothing one can do to stop it. Carpet is ripped up, rules get a little looser, technology advances, pets are born and die, recipes become healthier, and kids grow up.

As I said, I'm very sentimental, so memories mean the world to me. I love hearing people's stories, but I think I love my sibling's stories most of all. They're relatable, because we are related in such a close manner, but at the same time bizarre and foreign. Their upbringing was very different from mine and Anne's. I smile at most of it, because honestly, yeah the babies did get spoiled at times. But, I also have severe FOMO. I wish I had been around to sneak into Niki's room and mess up her stuff. I wish I could've witnessed the partied Scott and Matt threw. I wish I'd been there when Lady jumped through the garage door and broke the glass. I wish I'd been a set of feet in the refrigerator box.

Side note: If my life was a science fiction film, after hitting "publish" I would be transported back into time and I'd have Emily's awful 80s haircut, but I'd be rolling in that box and probably elbowing someone in the eye. Ah, who am I kidding, I'd be the one who was elbowed.

Anyways. I do wish that I was there with my older siblings. I think it would've been fun to see the neighborhood when the trees were saplings, and the neighbors house non-existent. I'd even like to know what it's like to share one bathroom with five other children. But, I am also very happy with my own experience as a young McWilliams child. I got to hang out with my favorite cousins (that's a whole other subject, they basically had a whole other set of cousins to enjoy), and I didn't have to live through the dial-up internet days for very long. Now, I just get to experience what it's like sharing one bathroom with Emily and Niki. I think I like this situation better. It means less childish fighting and more candy for Easter.

A New Orleans Proposal

I remember how Sarah described Ryan to me over the phone, she said he was funny, nice, and very sweet. She said he was from Henry County, a place that I live but a stone toss away from, and he grew up in a Baptist family. But Sarah was on the fence about him, because she'd just broken up with her first college boyfriend and didn't want Ryan to be a rebound. But, it would appear he won her over and she tossed all cautions aside.

She also told me he comes from the kind of family and community that it's expected to see an engagement not too long after dating for a year. I couldn't even imagine that, especially considering we were both freshman in college and he was about to go off to graduate school for pharmacy.

But, this meant I wasn't surprised when they fell hard for each other. Ryan gave Sarah several fine pieces of jewelry, but the most perfect piece was the ring her gave her in New Orleans.

The poor boy tried his hardest to keep the engagement a surprise, but Sarah had it figured out before we even packed up the car. 

She texted me and our other two best friends, Becca and Lynnzi, while I was at work. If you want to know how I felt google "Parks and Recreation Ron's Wedding" and watch the first video. You'll witness my favorite Andy moment, which is his dramatic gasp when Diane enters the scene, and my exact reaction to Sarah telling us she had suspicions that Ryan was going to propose. I spent the rest of my shift antsy about the entire thing. Hoping he'd have a photographer prepared so you could see me in the background flipping out, sobbing, and being a total wreck. 

Once I was released I drove down to Lexington to stay with Sarah for the night and listen to all the details of why she thought Ryan would propose. She explained that he'd turned his location off while shopping with his family, he'd asked her not to go to his apartment without him, even though she did that regularly. And, her Mom has no poker face. I'd grabbed a bottle of blue nail polish at Kroger on my way down to Lexington and painted her nails, a little shaky thinking about how they'd look with a ring on them.

By the time we fell asleep, innocently discussing ideal proposals and wedding plans Sarah had convinced herself it was all in her head.

Of course, this fact didn't stop her from begging me to ask Ryan bluntly if he was going to propose, considering texting her parents saying "IT HAPPENED!" to see what they would say, and even making several obvious hints about proposals. The latter included her saying "I had a dream last night I got proposed to. In New Orleans." And as best friend, I decided to pitch in, "In a restaurant?" As I knew she would Sarah rejected the idea, and luckily Ryan is smart and said, "Good. Because you told me not to propose to you in a restaurant."

The entire drive down was pretty much Sarah and I side eyeing Ryan, trying to figure out his game plan.

While I took a faded in and out of a nap in the backseat I overheard Ryan and Sarah talking about their plans. Ryan wanted to do a fancy dinner and a carriage ride, made extra romantic with a third wheel.

Side note: Sarah and I are both very comfortable with each other. We are almost constantly touching and telling each other how beautiful they are. It's not surprising if people think we're gay. But, of course,

Side, side note: My goal is to have seen Parks and Rec so many times I have a reference for evetyhing. Doing good so far!

Anyways. Romantic date night, featuring Paige. So, this wasn't the end of it. Ryan also wanted to stop at the French Quarters and take pictures in front of this giant, scenic cathedral. Pictures. This is when Sarah started side eyeing him SO HARD!

I mentioned his background, he's a pretty humble and quiet person. Not really one who's super excited about pictures. Even on vacation. This was a huge hint. And even though Sarah had texted our group chat again, confessing her doubts, I still remained hopeful, enjoying this mystery.

We arrived at the hotel and settled in, unpacking, and continuing to make plans. Sarah casually mentioned the weather tomorrow was going to be poor, and that was the day we were going to "take pictures." Well, Ryan was pretty upset about that. He didn't get angry or visibly anxious, but it took him a bit to accept the fact that the weather would not be proposal perfect. He searched online to see when exactly would be the best time to do our fancy meal, and where we could go for breakfast.

His reaction to the weather was a huge hint, but the fact that he didn't have a dinner destination in mind, or have a carriage secured made me doubt that it was actually happening. Ryan is organized, he is smart, in my mind he would've had a plan locked down before we got in the car for New Orleans. Since I had nothing to really lose or gain from this situation, I smiled at all the conflicting information.

One of the things Sarah had noticed in the past week was Ryan being secretive with what was in his pockets. She'd seen him dip in his parents car and shove something in his pockets before they parted from dinner. This was after he'd turned his location off. When she asked, he fired back with, "Why are you being noisy about what's in my pockets?" I heard this line for myself on the car ride down, though he didn't have the ring in his pockets, he was just commenting on Sarah's curiosity. He also refused to let her search his backpack in the hotel.

He had left his toiletry bag in the car, but Sarah wanted to make sure it wasn't just in his backpack. He was very adamant about her not looking in his bag, and eventually directed her to the door so they could go to the car for it. After they'd left I was tempted to peak in the backpack, but I just wanted to play Jessica Fletcher and solve the mystery the fair way. (I was gonna say Bert Macklin, FBI, but I figured Jessica Fletcher would be more universal.) Of course, when Sarah came back she hopped in the shower, and Ryan asked, "Do you wanna know a secret?"

I jumped on their bed to pinkie promise not to tell Sarah. Then, he dug into his backpack and pulled out the box. The ring was beautiful. It was rose gold, had a halo setting, and the most beautiful pink stone ever seen.

"For reals, for reals?" I asked, a mix of unable to find the words and not wanting to blurt "OMG WE KNEW IT!!!!"

"For reals, for reals." He said, revealing his plan as if it wasn't obvious to us. "I'm gonna do it during pictures," duh, "do you think Sarah knows?"

As a polite person I responded, "I think she has her suspicions, but she's convinced herself it's not actually going to happen." Which was half true. She was going back and forth.

I'd like to note that I thought I'd get more of a heads up when Sarah was getting proposed to. She had made it very clear he needed her parent's permission, and her best friends. That included me and the girls. This way, I could've sent Ryan the picture of a ring Sarah had texted me saying it was her dream ring (though the one he made her was absolutely perfect), then taken her to get our nails done, so they'd be picture perfect. Sarah had asked if she should get her nails done or buy a new dress for the trip and he encouraged it, telling her to do what makes her happiest. She ended up not doing either, but luckily I was there with Tiffany blue nail polish the night before we left. Not that her gold nail polish didn't look good, but the blue really matched the pink stone. I'm telling you, her actual ring out shines any of the rings she had on Pinterest.

I returned to my bed and curled into the same position I'd been before, scrolling through Buzzfeed, trying not to freak out when Sarah returned from the shower.

She told me afterwards that I was very good at keeping it a secret, even though she was pretty positive it was going to happen. It was hard though, especially when we were alone the morning before it happened. Trying not to reveal too much I looked at her after fixing a couple of spots on her nails and said, "By the time we get back to this hotel, we'll know."

Poor Sarah was nervous. But, there wasn't a lot to worry about. Sure, this is a big moment that we'll remember for the rest of our lives, but I knew she'd say yes. Whenever Ryan and Sarah fought, or Sarah talked about how much she loved Ryan she'd always say, "I mean, if he got down on one knee tomorrow I'd say yes. In a heartbeat."

This is probably why Ryan told me he wasn't nervous that morning. He confessed that the thought of her saying "no" didn't even cross his mind. He knew she loved him to the moon and back.

So, the big day began. In Ryan's mind I'm sure it went very smoothly. He'd reserve a table at a nice restaurant, as well as a carriage ride that involved flowers and Christmas lights and romantic music. Then, they'd look at the city in all it's glory before arriving at the square. In the moonlight they'd pose for pictures, and Sarah would be so caught up in the romance of it she would be absolutely blown away when he got down on one knee. Then, as she let out happy tears, he'd confess his love in the most elegant way, before asking, "Will you marry me?"

Sarah would shout "Yes! A thousand times, yes!" While he slide the ring on her finger, joy overflowing from his heart. And I would be there too, taking the pictures, screaming and crying, reveling in the movie-like scene.

Of course, that's not how it went. We rushed to a breakfast place, trying to get to the Cathedral before it started pouring. It was a lovely place. A little casual, so we were slightly out of place in skirts and dresses, but the food was soooo good! I geared the conversation towards memory lane, asking Ryan for his side of the story when asking Sarah out. Then, I suggested they were the perfect mix of sweet and savory. I took innocent pictures of them, hoping to scrapbook them as "Three hours before she said 'yes!'" But, Sarah had noted the large box shape that Ryan's cargo shorts pocket had taken.

Ryan, the box was beautiful, but a little bulky.

When Sarah went to wash her hands before eating I asked Ryan if he was nervous. As you know, he wasn't. His only fear was that the box would fall out, even though it was safely secured in the pocket. He was also worried about the rain and carriage ride. I told him what I like most about significant days, "Anything that goes wrong will just become a memory."

Sometimes the things that go wrong are horrible, like if Sarah were to say "no." But other times there things that you can smile about almost immediately after it happens.

After breakfast we walked to the carriages, which were conveniently in front of the Cathedral. It was already starting to sprinkle, and the clouds hung dark and heavy over us. We went down the line of carriages, but each one said they were turning in because of the rain. Finally, we ended up standing next to another family that wanted to ride, which must've been why one of the drivers told us to hop on. He assured us he wasn't worried because he talked real loud.

With my rose colored sun glasses on, I climbed in the carriage. I thought to myself, "We'll be dry under the cover! The driver is just worried about the sound of the rain! This is great. Memories!" It wasn't private, since we had the other family, and covered the history of New Orleans, which doesn't sound really romantic. But, Sarah is an architecture major who wants to focus on historical preservation as a career, so when they talked about the history of the buildings and Ryan was by her side, I imagine it was similar to foreplay. Of course, I was on her other side.

It started to rain cats and dogs about four minutes into the tour. I was quickly soaked on my right side thanks to that fine New Orleans wind and rain. I think the driver also regretted his decision. He tried to block the rain with an umbrella, but it wasn't much use. I could hardly look towards the buildings on my right side because the rain was coming in, or the nice decorative fringe on the cover would slap me with water as it swayed in the wind. Sarah stayed mostly dry, still getting misted a little when the wind blew hard enough, but Ryan and I blocked most of it. It was her day, she was the princess.

Whenever the tour guide would say "You'll notice the architecture," Ryan and I would look at Sarah in the goofiest ways. We were like two parents showing their pride in their child's knowledge. At the word "Architecture" the two of us would be like, "Hey! You! You know these words and definitions! So smart! Wow!" And Sarah, graceful as ever would be like, "Yes, I know!" Though, she told us he was incorrect about one style of pillar.

When we finished the tour it was still pouring. The line to Cafe Du Monde was too long to wait in, so we ducked into their gift shop. I was freezing after this trip, and my skirt was officially see-through on the right side. I purchased a large sweatshirt and put it on as soon as I could.

I really felt like the belle of the ball. Also, Sarah told me not to outshine her, so I just decided to step it up a notch and dress as if I was taking the walk of shame, New Orleans style. 

It continued to rain for the next few hours. But, the tour guide had told us about a museum near by and we decided to visit. It was the Hurricane Katrina visit, and though it was very sobering and unusual to do before a proposal, I enjoyed the museum. It was heart breaking, and informative, and brought to light a lot of stuff I wasn't told about this disaster. 

Then, on the second floor was the Mardi Gras museum. It was colorful, and sometimes creepy, but mostly glamorous. We had our fun trying to figure out how the parade float stimulator worked, and picking out the perfect crown for Sarah, and reading out the different float traditions. Outside the rain had eased up, but we wanted it to clear up some more. Also, here is a picture of the lovely couple at the museum, and in it you can see how wet Ryan had gotten and how dry Sarah stayed:

Folks, that's true love. 

We found a restaurant with a bar and settled in. Luckily, they were also playing the college basketball game on the TV. UK was playing, and Ryan wanted to catch it. We (he) watched the tail end of the game, and Sarah and I drank delicious sugary drinks. I mentioned I was taking pictures of them, so here is my favorite "1 hour before he gets down on one knee!"

Sarah is a true goddess, I tell ya. 

After the Cats won (77/72, just for everyone's reference) the sun came out. Sarah and I hoped for rainbows, as it was a true miracle that it was so pretty outside. We finished our drinks and then Sarah and I headed to the bathroom. She confessed she was nervous, but I was excited. We talked about how crazy it would be if we had to start planning a wedding, but also how exciting it would be! 

The square was just across the street from the restaurant we were at, and everyone was out and about that afternoon. I followed behind Sarah, as she surveyed the landscape, stopping at a few flower patches and shady trees, but deciding against it. She then made a b-line for the fountain, she knew it was the perfect spot, and that's where Ryan had planned to it anyways. 

2 minutes until engagement!! 

"Do you have a game plan?" I asked Ryan, expecting him to say he was gonna get down when she wasn't looking, but he didn't. He just handed me his phone with the camera ready to go. 

I started a video on my phone and snapped several photos on his phone. Then, the glory happened. Ryan turned to Sarah and said, "Actually I have one more picture I want to take." To which Sarah, the beautiful, nosey, sunflower said, "I know you do." 

We were in front of a crowd and no one was reacting, so I tried to give my best enthusiastic "YAY!" As I could to A) Act surprised even though I wasn't, and B) Get them some applause and maybe an "aw" or two, but it came out super sarcastic. As soon as I started saying "Yay!" I regretted it. I knew it'd sound weird on camera, and it didn't sound genuine at all. The rest of the trip was us saying "yaaaayyy" and "I know" to each other. 

Sarah and Ryan Facetimed their parents and friends, and I texted our best friends and my boyfriend. I sent videos and pictures galore, I jumped for joy with Sarah because she and Ryan are in love and life was good! The ring was perfect, she was perfect, the day was perfect! Even if some details didn't go as Ryan had planned. 

We retreated to the hotel to change into dry clothes, and so I could make a Walgreens trip to get hand sanitizer, water, and some make up wipes. Much needed items. Couldn't go another second without them. Then, Sarah scheduled herself an appointment for the day after we returned home at the Couture Closet in my hometown, LaGrange. Google that places. It's local and beautiful and I have dreamed of trying on the dresses in the window since I was a little girl. 

Sarah's sister turned down the maid of honor position, so Sarah got down on one knee and asked me! I was so happy, and so ready to plan this wedding. We also began to clean out her Pinterest so we could re-organize an official wedding board. We talked so much about wedding planning that Ryan got annoyed with us. But, we couldn't help it. I wanted to plan the wedding in a single day, and I still do. But, there's a lot that goes into it, so it's a process. 

But, I'm enjoying every second. I can't wait for these two to tie the knot! 

Waiting for breakfast before he popped the big question 💗

Update: My Life Still Revolves Around Books

I have a long list of things I need to buy. I'm not very good at routinely shopping, so I usually wait until I have a massive amount of things I need then buy them slowly over time. So, I am working through my list, which includes a purse and a wallet.

My only criterial for the wallet: Must have a coin pouch/pocket.

My only criteria for my purse: Must fit a book in it.

Again, books are life.




Sorry for the short post. I am very tired. I returned from New Orleans (more on that later) last night, which included an hour and a half drive through a mild snow storm. Then, I woke up early to visit my boyfriend, Duffy, before meeting up with my best friend, Sarah. I met Sarah at work so we could buy her a wedding planner, then we went wedding dress shopping. Super wonderful time, but now I could sleep for days.
Goodnight.

TBH, My Life Revolves Around Books

The adults told me to work where I wanted a discount, and being the aspiring writing I am of course I wanted a discount on books. At this store I help people remember my name by saying, "I'm Paige, like a book," and then motioning to the bookshelves. I also thrive on people saying I look/act like Luna Lovegood (See "My Career Goals Paired with My Affinity for CATS, the Musical" for the poll on if I have a Luna vibe). It is no surprise that my life revolves around books.

But, recently I noticed to what extreme it went. Well, maybe not extreme, but it's getting a little wild.

I have had two cars in this lifetime, and one day I shall make a long post about the wonders of my first car. But, the important thing to note in relation to this blog post is that the first one was named "Maureen" and the second "Johnson."

As in, Maureen Johnson the young adult fiction author, BFF with John Green, Cassandra Claire and others, and a strong member of the Twitter community. The latter is how I fell in love with this sassy woman. I have deleted twitter, but I did love her tweets and just saw while googling her that she met Lin-Manuel Miranda, which is super dope. Anyways, I was on twitter when I got my first car, and I hear it is bad luck to not name your first car (that car needed all the luck it could get to get me from point A to point B without crumbling to pieces). So, I chose her. She was funny, I'd read several of her books at this point, she was BFFs with other authors which is #Goals, and she started that cool movement about gender flipping book covers. 

By the time my second car came to be, it just seemed natural that I finish out the name. Also, my last car had a million problems, but this one seems to have one problem and that is I've gotten two flat tires while driving it. So, it is a mild stress relief to shout "JOHNSON!" at my car when I am upset at it. I feel like an 1857 detective with an assistant who is an imbecile. 

Now, we all name things after our heroes and people we admire. Some people just don't go with authors. There is probably a young man driving his first car, Peyton Manning. Or, a teenage woman jamming to the newest song with her car, Malala. But, do these two people make clothing decisions based on their heroes and passions?

I am a sucker for floral designs, and for beautiful book covers. I've learned control, but there have been times where I would buy three hardback books a week because the covers were just SO WONDERFUL! I mean, the books were good, but the covers man. I'm talking The Faithful by Alice Hoffman (Or, as I like to call it: woman rescues (steals) five dogs while dealing with depression and survivors guilt), and Wink Poppy Midnight by April Genevieve Tucholke. But especially The Muse by Jessie Burton.

Oh man, oh man that dark green with the ecclectic symbols and images scattered intentionally across the cover. IT'S JUST SO AESTHETICALLY PLEASING! And, the paperback has like a yellow background and I just, like, can't. 

Side note: This is also a very good book.

But, this book caught my attention and I just had to have it. Then, weeks later I found a shirt that I felt a similar pull to. People give me compliments on this shirt frequently, and I always tell them: "Thanks. I bought it because it reminded me of this book cover I love." 

The last time someone gave me this compliment I had to stop and think about it. I admitted to the woman, "You can tell what my life revolves around, can't you?" Because clearly, I love books, and therefore I am just trying to immerse myself in the world of books.

Or... I am trying to become one myself. 

"Hi, welcome to the bookstore! I'm Paige, like a book. And, my shirt was purchased because it looks like this amazing books, please buy it so I may continue to put gas in the car I named after a beloved author."