No fits, no fights, no feuds, and no egos.

Well some of you know that my sister Sarah and I are very close. We are generally full of awesome-sauce and personality conflicts and chumminess and those random, precious sister-moments like when Minny (The Help) mentions that Crisco gets rid of dark circles under your eyes and we look at each other at the same exact time.

Some sisters who like to sing and dance are like this:

But Sarah and I? We're of a Broadway-er turn of mind...

(please watch this 2 minute video. It's our favorite.)

My romanticism and her practicalities balance one another out. We're opposites and the same all together. We share jokes and fun and laughter and pretend-we-aren't-crying-in-movies. Sarah's logical and I am not. She's a total ham, but shy in new situations. I'm less of a ham {Well I am!} and more out-going in a new social clime. She blogs awesomely at Two's Company where I join her from time to time, though not as often as I should, leaving her the burden of entertaining our group of followers. I have loved having a sister this close in age to me! She is 18 and  I am 20, but we feel pretty compatible...for instance, I never feel that I can really boss her around. ;)

She has weird ideas for things like cinnamon-face-masks. 

She and Pinterest are like this.

She likes guys to have "good hair" for some reason...

She sings and plays the piano and can put on a man-voice when requested...

In short, she's my sister and I wuvs her.

In dreams...

I love to dream.

There's nothing more entertaining to me than to review my night of dreams come dawn.

Sometimes I forget my dreams. {often}

Sometimes I wake up before they're finished. {horrid}

Sometimes I finish them in all their completeness. {glorious}

Sometimes I feel things in a dream I've never felt before. {strange}

I meet people I've never seen. {entertaining}

But since science says your brain in incapable of making up a face, I must have seen these people somewhere before. {fascinating}

Sometimes a fellow's in love with me. {*eep*}

Sometimes I'm in love with a fellow. {heehee}

Sometimes I'm chased by cougars or grizzly bears {awful}

Sometimes I'm a spy or secret agent. {awesome}

Sometimes I die. {awkward}

Sometimes I escape. {yippee}

Once I carried on the most brilliant conversation of my life in Shakespearean language and promptly forgot it upon waking. {disappointing}

Sometimes I visit awesome places my brain concocts. {fun}

And they don't cost any money. {great}

Sometimes I meet famous people {autographs!}

Or Mr. Clennam wants to marry me. {Amy!}

Sometimes I am thrown in jail {sobering}

Or am guilty of a Terrible Awful {sadness}

Other times I'm far braver a person than I've ever been before. {Avengers}

All told, dreaming is such a cool thing! I love how God equipped our minds to be able to concoct all these bizarre stories while we sleep! Sometimes my dreams feel like the coolest movie I'll ever see, full of events I'd never be able to construe--even for my books--when I'm awake. Do you dream? How often? How crazy?

Little Letters: Life on a Saturday

Dear World....You are full of copper and gold today, spinning down the torrents of air in reckless gaiety because of the coming storm.

Dear Hurricane Sandy.... Please come as a lovely, thrilling Nor'Easter rather than a full-fledged hurricane...and don't make us lose power. If you do come as a hurricane, we'd love it if you would drop a little business our way. I love all of your sort of storms provided you don't stay too long.

Dear Made-with-honey Carrot Cake.... if you taste as good as the sugarful kind I'll love you forever.

Dear Almond-Poppy-Seed-Spice Cake.... you'll have to wait in line. But I look forward to trying you!

Dear Scarlet-Gypsy Song.... a full round of editing convinces me you are still a beautiful story with a lot of promise. I think you'll fit the bill when you're done being polished. I really do.

Dear Levi.... Fishing must be enacted in a pond...not in the toilet bowl. Many thanks.

Dear Sherlock series... COME BACK TO ME SOON!

Dear Psych... You're a pretty good substitute when I need myself a crime show/detective fix. :)

Dear Masquerade-ball.... You are coming at a time in my life when I can't afford contacts and must wear my glasses. Please let me know how to get a mask out of that one.

Dear Books...I am actually making time to read you. Thank you for being such spiffing fellows when I ignore you for a time!

Dear Math.... You and I both know that I'm purposely ignoring you. "Do not speak to me at this time!"

Dear Loki... That creepy smile you do? Yeah. The "I come burdened with glorious purpose" thing? You make me wish I'd never seen Return to Cranford.

Dear Obama... 'Nuff said. From you. From Biden. From me. From America. Get the picture?

Dear Les Miserables... I can't stop thinking about you, singing you, quoting you. I can't wait till Christmas! (or the week after) ONE DAY MORE!!!!!!!!!

Dear Vast Continents...I'll visit you someday. I promise.

Dear Wallet...You're just like an onion. You may be cry every time I open you. ;)

Dear License....our maiden voyage needs to happen soon.

Dear Family... Sorry I haven't been as helpful as I could be recently! I need to pay less attention to my book and more attention to you!

Dear French Revolution... you were disturbing on so many levels...but very, very interesting.

Dear A. Family... I feel like a geek/nerd/heel for working on a campaign instead of coming to Sheridan's baptism, Oliver's graduation, and your whole awesome Barn-dance. Believe me. But I know you understand previous commitments. Allen for the Win!

Dear Pinterest... You were the one who deserves the credit for my table at camp. Seriously.

Dear C.S. Lewis... Wow. Just wow. I don't know how you did it, but bless you.

***

{From My Bookshelf}: A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken

"Oh, Rachel. A Severe Mercy again? Won't you ever stop harping on it?"

I beg leave, my friends, to trespass on your patience at least once more and give you a full review of this fascinating book. I suppose the best way to go about it would be the manner of the Spanish Inquisition likely simmering in your brains since I've talked about this book so much:

"What is it about?" I will reference the very helpful "back of the book" blurb to explain:

This celebrated story traces the idyllic marriage of Sheldon and Jean (Davy) Vanauken, their search for faith, their friendship with C.S. Lewis, and the tragedy of untimely death and love lost.

Right there. ^ That's it. This book is part biography, part romance, part philosophy, and part beauty. Mama had long told me I ought to read it, but the title kind of threw me off. Did I really want to read something called about a severe mercy? But from the opening chapter, written like a novel, this book captured something of my attention and held it all through.

"Who is it by?" Sheldon Vanauken...with many pop-ins and letters and quotes and wonderfulness from C.S. Lewis.

"Why did you like it?" Ye gods and little fishes! What was there not to like about it? I loved the romance and the image of the Shining Barrier--the fence around their love that Van and Davy had been so careful to put up. I loved the gentle breaking-down of the Shining Barrier as God penetrated it and turned them from Us to Us-and-God and, ultimately, God-and-us. I loved the nuances like the one above--the gentle philosophizing that is so impacting but so small and soft you would not notice it unless you were taking time to be still. Think about those three states of thought...so different just by a rearranging of words! Beautiful.

I loved the "Oxford years" and the image of cozy hearth and fireside, intelligent conversation, books loved and read, Christian fellowship in The Studio...England. Haha.

At intervals during the Oxford years, in the vacs, we went off on visits to friends or on longer exploring journeys. There were many one-day or two-day trips to London. There was a jolly Christmas in Yorkshire, full of family games and carolling in the misty streets, at the home of a college friend, Trevor. And a fort-night in Wild Wales with Bee and Peter, and Geraint part of the time, mainly climbing Cader Idris when it was fine, and reading John Buchan in the farmhouse when it was wet.

The people shared my love of a good book, witty, worthwhile conversation...naming every house they lived in. And of course, by the end, they were Christians and therefore we are bonded together in a special way.
I know this sounds strange, but sometimes I feel that I really don't know how to think. By that I mean I don't know how to think in the way other people think--in a way that lends itself to philosophy and conversation and the forming of the beautiful thoughts I love to read so well. At any rate, I suppose that is one of the purposes of reading much--you begin to recognize the path of such thoughts and to think them yourself. That is one of things I also loved about A Severe Mercy. It took quite a few elusive feelings I'd had about things and wove them into tangible words that I will now be able to point to and say "That! That is what I am talking about!"

"What did you learn from this book?" I learned how sadness is different from bitter grief and angry sorrow. I learned how obviously eternity is implanted in the hearts of men--I'd not seen it so clearly and undeniably before. I learned that it is possible to stay in love your whole life long and that quality time together is the glue cementing two people into one. I learned more about C.S. Lewis. I learned about Sheldon Vanauken. I learned that A Severe Mercy is a book I'll return to again and again. I learned a toast, ("If it's half as good as the half we've known, here's Hail! to the rest of the road.") and, to quote Lewise that "Christians NEVER say goodbye!" ;)

Get thee a copy as soon as possible! You will not regret the reading of it.

The Half We've Known: Gilt and Marble

The memory that rose before me, tall and bright and whimsical, was unbidden. What had called it forth from the long-forgotten annals of my past? What was it about the book I read that summoned this particular memory? I could not say, for the words I saw on the page had little association with that image in my mind. It was then I thought of The Half We've Known challenge and knew it was something I ought to do for myself at least. What was this memory? My visit--years past now--to the art museum. (The Chrysler Museum of Art)

I recall bright sunlight without, and marble steps. A few pillars. I recall slipping through from the tantalizing Cityness into something dimmer, older, cool and echoing. There was a dusty old man in one corner who eyed the young lady and her Grandmama as they stepped inside. Perhaps it was a stern glance, perhaps curiousity that one so young would come here of her own accord. We passed the gift-shop which I mentally made a note of to visit later, having always loved to poke around and buy for myself miniatures of the great things I saw in the museum.
The first room was full of mummies and ancient things I felt little kinship too. This was not beauty. This was not art--it was something crumbling and crude and deadly. I have been described as idealistic, and perhaps I am, for I hurried from that room and found myself somewhere else. Long hallways now, pompous and beautiful with their long red carpets and dark wainscoting that seemed to catch and hold the whispers of the people who had gone before me. I craned my neck to see to the top of some of the tallest paintings. Alternately I marveled and blushed at some of the paintings from the great European masters--all were grand, most naked, some singularly striking with their scenes of tragedies and sad deeds long ago done.

From there I entered the hall of gay, pretty, sunshine-and-gossamer paintings of the Impressionistic-era. 

I recall little of Grandmama's presence beside me, yet I know she was there--it was, in fact, Her that I felt throughout the museum. She was always there and I overlooked her only because the place was so like herself...refined, gilded, heavy with something old and venerable and dove-colored brushed over with a deep plum shade. Every cultured taste I had caught from her was distilled now into the very air of the museum. I walked as if on hallowed ground, knowing I was in a place that few people entered whom were unlike me. For what call would a realist have to come this far into this place? The people who took time from their halcyon lives to stare at a painting could not be all-bad. The eyes which had looked on the study of sunlight on the sea could not be cruel and unfeeling. Idealism--but it was mine and someone shared it with me.

At the end of one long hall I happened upon a stand with paper and crayon, available to all who might wish to attempt a copy of one of the great paintings. I was no artist...I was hardly one to attempt a serious sketch. But copy I would. I chose a portrait of a beautiful, dark-haired duchess in a black suit. She looked somber, dramatic, gorgeous in her grave way. I scrawled the attempt, concentrating...my brow pinched, my mouth working. A small group of children led by a thin woman entered the hall. "Now, children," she warbled, "when you grow up and become a Student you can come here to copy paintings too." She indicated me with her head and gave me an indulgent smile in passing. I laughed to myself--so she thought me a student of art! I glanced down at my poor crayon-drawing and laughed again; what a student I should be!

I lingered long in that hall, not wanting to leave the glory and elegance of it. But, with one last happy sigh I left the paintings and tried to be interested in the glass display, finally finding a bit of Tiffany to my liking.

The rest of the visit fades in my memory, mingling in a pleasant haze of Renoir, Cassatt, and the long-awaited trip to the gift-shop. The museum, the paintings, the realization that this was beauty captured and kept in an untainted way...I had forgotten it all. How glad I am to find it still alive in that secret corner of Memory's lair! Who would have thought that an afternoon spent thus would forever impress me with a love of good art and quality paintings?

I was no art critic and I am sure I admired the wrong things and thought the right ones ugly. I was uncertain of what I looked at at times and could only imagine--in my own thoughts--the history of the figures in the paintings. But oh, it was a happy time spent with Grandmama in that museum she had loved since her girlhood. In a way I believe it was one of the first moments that I realized she and I were so alike...the Museum--full of the great and good things of a higher, richer past--brought the two of us together as we shared a mutual wonderment that emotion so fleeting could be held round in a gilt frame with a few daubs of paint on canvas. 

The Half We've Known...

"If it's half as good as the half we've known, here's Hail! to the rest of the road."

-Sheldon Vanauken

Reading A Severe Mercy has been one of the highlights of this autumn. There are books you read and think, "ah yes--I am glad I read it so that I can say I've read it. Besides--it was a good enough book in it's own right." And then there are books that draw you in and play upon your heart and are so enjoyable that you eye the receding number of pages nervously, knowing that the end draws near. I am not finished reading A Severe Mercy yet, but I've come to the part where Van is going through an Illumination of the Past and "reliving" his life with Davy after her death.

Every memory of their life together--journals, letters, music, smells, books, everything--comes alive and he is overwhelmed with the blessing of their time together.

"As I travelled through the past, month by month, year by year, so it leaped into life. I remembered not only that which was written down but a hundred things besides...without exaggeration, it was one of the two or three most amazing experiences of my life. Even though I had planned it, I had not had the faintest idea that the past could be recreated with such extraordinary brilliance and reality."

-A Severe Mercy

It set me to thinking, as good things will, about my own life. Memory, as Longfellow said, "is the bliss of solitude"...so why do we keep it for the days when all memory-making is past? When the people, the pleasures, the events of our lives are nothing but faint watercolors on parchment? When we have no abilities besides watching the merry play of our lives in retrospect. Everyone takes pleasure in reading a memoir, yet when were the memoirs written? Likely at an after-period in the person's life when they had nothing left but memories.

I started to think about the things I love so well in this life. The small pleasures that I will probably forget by and by, and yet the ones that have shaped me, perhaps, more than the greater things. I am a firm believer in the idea that everything that happens to a person--good and bad--somehow shapes their lives, unconsciously or not. And I don't want to lose track of the Beautiful in this helter-skelter world we live in. These blessings we think of as expendable...they are blessings all the same and are from the Lord for: "every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father..." We are greedy in our very nature. Because we've been blessed with so many beautifuls in our life, we tend to think, "Ah--why remember that? It's not important." But it is...so very important. And the small things are the most important of all.

So I've created a blog event for us to remedy the situation. I'll call it "The Half We've Known," (taking its name from the Vanauken's yearly toast to their marriage) and you can even take the picture off my side-bar and add it to your own.

There won't be a set time for this blog event--do it as you feel like it. But I hope to do it at least twice a month. The rules are simple:
Write about a memory you have. Something elusive and gentle. I'd even say keep it to the smaller things you're in danger of forgetting someday. Write about something you take pleasure in, or something that has happened to you. It could be small like the time I watched the moon rise above the ocean and realized how bright a moon could be...it could be larger, like the first time you realized you loved a person. But whatever it is, I want you to devote a whole post to it. Describe the moment to yourself and your readers in a way that gives us the ability to almost touch the memory. Don't be skimpy on details. The idea is to remember. Remember with everything inside you.
And when you're done, if the memory has become vivid through its writing, you might even print it off and save it somewhere and by and by you'll collect a deal of The Half We've Known and be able to sing truthfully, "here's Hail! to the rest of the road."

Who's with me on this?

{From my Bookshelf:} The Help by Kathryn Stockett

"I listened, wide-eyed, stupid. Glowing by her voice in the dim light. If chocolate was a sound, it would have been Constantine's voice singing. If singing was a color, it would have been the color of that chocolate."

The Help. It's a book I'd heard a deal about, a movie trailer that intrigued me, and a subject I personally love: the life of colored maids in the 1960's. Perhaps it is the stories of Mama's housekeeper, Laura Bullock, that always put me directly in sympathy with this sect of people. 

Mama's family loved Laura and Laura was always an integral part of their lives as children. I'll always remember the famous story of Grandmama coming home to find Laura dressed out in a helmet and jacket with a gun over her shoulder, doing drills with Uncle David who was only 5 or 6 at the time and had asked her to play army. And I'll never forget what Laura told Uncle David as a little boy:

"She's yo vanilla mama..." (nodding at Grandmama) "...but I's your choc'late mama."

Or what she would say when Mama was a little girl:

"Honey--you's fat, but you's purty!"

Bright in my imagination, too, is the family-legend of Laura's rooster. How it'd drown itself every rainstorm by looking up at the sky with his mouth open, and how Laura would shove it in the oven, heat it up till it started flapping around, and let it back outside again.

I had the honor of meeting Laura several times as a little girl. I remember being slightly intimidated by the warm pressure of her wrinkled, leathery hand and her intent gaze, but I do remember liking her a deal despite my fears.

All that to say, when a copy of Kathryn Stockett's The Help came into my hands and Sarah read it and told me I really needed to read it (High praise from Sarah!) I was ready. The general plot as described by the back of the book is as follows:

Aibileen Clark is a black maid in 1962 Jackson, Mississippi, raising her seventeenth white child. She's always taken orders quietly, but lately it leaves her with a bitterness she can no longer bite back. Her friend Minny Jackson has certainly never held her tongue, or held on to a job for very long, but now she's working for a newcomer with secrets that leave her speechless. And white socialite Skeeter Phelan has just returned from college with ambition and a degree but, to her mother's lament, no husband....Together, these seemingly different women join to work on a project that could forever alter their destinies and the life of a small town--to write, in secret, a tell-all book about what it's really like to work as a black maid in the white homes of the South...

What is there to say about this book except... Wow. I found myself laughing and crying alternately and sometimes simultaneously. As a writer I was astonished that this was Ms. Stockett's first novel. As a reader I connected deeply and intimately with the characters. As a white woman, I blushed over the treatment the black maids received and prayed that, had I grown up in that era, I would have been different than Hilly and Elizabeth and the other Jackson women.

This book is so full of emotion, so full of complex relationships, so full of truth and goodness and a realization of the common-ness of humanity that I found myself marveling that any author could boil it down and smash it between two covers.

"I don't know what to say to her. All I know is, I ain't saying it. And I know she ain't saying what she want a say either, and it's a strange thing happening here cause nobody saying nothing and we still managing to have us a conversation."

The characters are alive, the events poignant, the realizations touching and sharp-edged. I enjoyed the choice of "first-person, now narrative" for a fresh reading experience as well. I love the immediacy of it. The novel took me from looking at The Help as a historical-fiction and brought me winging back to 1960, and it flighting forward to 2012 and we met somewhere in the middle and had a heart-connection rare to find in today's helter-skelter thriller-fiction-craze. Kathryn Stockett tells it just like it was. She didn't assign all evil or all goodness to one side of the racial argument or the other. But she didn't sugar-coat anything. And I mean anything.

That's the only complaint I had about The Help. The author included quite a lot of language which--if it did help the ink-people come alive--presented lots of words in my mind that aren't usually there for good reason. One of the main characters is definitely not a Christian and speaks rather mockingly of it sometimes. There are two scenes I can think of that could have been toned down. One, I actually liked the raw, pithy emotion and horror of--the other I thought was a little graphic. That--along with the fact that the whole subject of the plot is a little weighty for younger readers--puts my recommendation for The Help at 18+. If you are 18 years of age or older and want a book that'll take your by the shoulders with warm, brown hands and shake you gently with strong, supple fingers that smell of dryer sheets and cake frosting, read this book. You'll never regret it. Never-ever.

*WARNING* In Chapter 24 there is a really creepy part that is described too graphically. Really, you'd not miss it if you skipped it. So read with caution or skip pages 360-365 entirely. :)

A teaser-taste for you:

"We go on in her room, where we like to set. I get up in the big chair and she get up on me and smile, bounce a little. 'Tell me bout the brown wrapping. And the present.' She so excited, she squirming. She has to jump off my lap, squirm a little to get it out. Then she crawl back up.That's her favorite story cause when I tell it, she get two presents. I take the brown wrapping from my Piggly Wiggly grocery bag and wrap up a little something, like a piece a candy, inside. Then I use the white paper from my Cole's Drug Store bag and wrap another one just like it. She take it real serious, the unwrapping, letting me tell the story bout how it ain't the color of the wrapping that count, it's what we is inside."

Jiggity-jig

Here I am again, back in VA with another week of camp-counseling under my belt. I can't decide whether I learned more from the sessions, discussions with people, or the actual counseling. Suffice it to say, the Lord definitely taught me, reminded me of, and encouraged me with several things. Perhaps later on I'll type up the main highlights of the sessions, but I think one of the best parts was simply hearing my girls memorizing Psalm 139 and listening again and again to God's promises for my future.

O LORD, You have searched me and known me.
You know my sitting down and my rising up;
You understand my thought afar off.
You comprehend my path and my lying down,
And are acquainted with all my ways.
For there is not a word on my tongue,
But behold, O LORD, you know it altogether.
You have hedged me in behind and before,
And laid Your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
It is high, I cannot attain it...

I had the best cabin-ful of girls in the camp, I believe. Not only did I have the liveliest girls, but they also loved the Lord and personally challenged me with their passion and determination to seek His will and to please Him. I got to spend some time also with friends who I grow to love better with each day I spend around them. I honestly think that God put each girl in my cabin for a particular reason, and brought me there for a particular reason so that we each might come away with something. Good stuff.

Oh yes. And I had my stage debut as Miss Hannigan in "It's a Hard-knock Life," only my girls and I changed the words a bit and added a couple acts so they yelled, "WE LOVE YOU, MISS HEFFINGTON!" ...it was pretty great and I got to traipse around the stage with bright red lipstick, every necklace I owned, over-stated rouge and bright blue eyeshadow. Oh yes. Once we get pictures uploaded and/or the videos, I can post some here if you are interested in seeing them.

Life did not slow down while I was gone. Not a bit, actually. I was greeted on the ride home by the news that another good friend was in a relationship that I'd "marked my words" about at least nine months ago, though I'd been thinking about it longer. :) Every one's growin' up and goin' off to save China! *cue Mu-shu voice*

*sigh*

Life just doesn't stand still, does it?

An awesome deal

Hey girls! Remember the eShakti dress review I did during the Autumn Allure fashion week? Well here's your chance to get your own eShakti dress! The company is having a store-wide 40% off sale this weekend: now-Oct. 15! This is an amazing deal! So go check out the website and see if you can't find something to your liking in your budget! (And if you do, come back and tell me about it!)

Curly Girls

I am going to be leaving for a week without internet and cell-phones to counsel at a camp in the NC Blue Ridge mountains, starting Sunday. So I'll be off posting for a week, but there'll be lots of pictures and things come the return!

One of my dear friends, Rachelle, has been what she calls a Curly Girl for years. This means her hair has a certain measure of wave/curl and she takes care of it with a certain system she describes here on the YLCF website. It intrigued me. Really? Washing your hair with nothing but water? Putting gobs of conditioner in and not rinsing it entirely out? NEVER USING A HAIRBRUSH? It sounded extreme, but intriguing. After all, my own hair is always in a dubious state of frizz...maybe I should try it! I tried washing my hair with only water this morning, and then putting in conditioner. *sigh*.

 I am skeptical at best. I know it'll probably take repeated attempts for my hair to wake up and smell the coffee, but I really do want to try this at some point. Probably not right before I've got to be around people for a solid week though. ;)

Here are links to the whole Curly Girl spiel. What do you think?

Curly Care
Curly Styles
Curly Shopping
Curly Handbook
Curly Concoctions
Curly Cutting
Curly Kids
Curly Links
Curly Tweets
Curly Stories
Curly Q's

Are you a Curly Girl? Have you tried this hair-care regime?

Stunning: Andrea Bocelli on Abortion

We attended a Life Chain event this afternoon--I was so blessed to be able to go because last year I missed it on account of camp week colliding with the event. Life Chain is a yearly event where we go into the city, stand on the main drag, and hold Pro-life signs while praying for our nation, unborn children, and Life for an hour. Such a powerful time, and all the more so because on this day all across the nation other people are gathering to do the same. I look forward to this event every year...it's amazing what a focused hour of prayer can do to encourage you! :)

Afterward, because it was so chilly, our group piled over to McCafe where we had such a riotous, great, homeschool-peeps time together. I almost laughed myself sick I laughed so hard....that could have had something to do with a large cup of caffeinated coffee....perhaps. :D

 I came home to see this amazing little video in my Facebook feed: we all love Andrea Bocelli's music. Perhaps because he is blind, he is able to throw enough emotion and power into his voice to wow us all...but I bet you haven't heard this side of the story. It encouraged me so much to hear such a great artist, such a famous man, stand up for the unborn children:

Share it around! You never know what a timely reminder and encouragement this might be to some confused and hurting mother...to see Andrea Bocelli now and think that he could have another baby-soul never to walk the earth...it's heart-wrenching. <3

"...the gull's way, and the whale's way..."

"I must go down to the seas again, to the gypsy's vagrant life,

To the gull's way, and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,

and a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over."

-John Masefield "Sea Fever"

I have always loved the fact that we live near the historic triangle...Jamestown, Williamsburg, Yorktown...living near someplace as amazing as the James River is a real treat. Not many people can lay claim to dipping their toes in a body of water with so much history. Lucky for us, there are many places roundabouts where you would hardly realize the land has been touched. Fort Boykin is one of those places. Such a beautiful little spot nestled along the cliffs of the James...almost a secret beach, really.

It's Abigail's birthday on Monday so we have turned this weekend into a bit of birthday-trip for her including taking her to this secluded spot. It was a beautiful day--just the right mix of hot and cold so we could still put our feet in the water in tolerable comfort. :) Indian-summer at it's best.

These funky green things were Osage Oranges...unfortunately inedible.

From darkness to dawn...

Surprisingly, the oysters smelled divine...like salt and sea and all things adventurous. I wish I could have bottled the scent to snuff when that old wander-lust comes upon me.

Lovely evening, lovely day, and lovely people. All credit for pictures goes to Sarah, who kindly lets me take them and show them off. She and I were naughty, crossed a No Trespassing fence, and walked along the waterline so our prints would get erased...we hoped no one was by to shoot at us. {Obviously no one was, or else they were feeling kindly} Feeling clandestine already, I also stooped to stealing sea-shells.... ;) My magpie-self couldn't help lovely the Shiny!

How did you spend your first weekend in October?

How far can you stretch 50 bucks in fashion?

Each year there is a monumental struggle between wardrobe and wallet. It's like the clash of the Titans. And for some reason Sisters-mine and I all step forward to participate in this struggle at the same time. Not having much of our own moolah means that Mama and Dad's wallet takes a hit that it doesn't like the flavor of. You know the old tale--every family does, unless you happen to make a 3-digit thousands income. ;)

Yesterday, however, I took my last fifty dollars from the money I made this summer and thought I'd help out--I needed the clothes and the family couldn't foot the complete bill so soon after Sisters-mine drained the coffers last week for their autumnal shopping. This was going to be a fun challenge for me, and already I had an idea that I'd make it into a cool practice-what-you-preach blog post.

You remember I lectured you on wise spending a couple weeks ago? Yeah? Well this week it was my turn to try out my own methods. Just how much can a girl get for fifty bucks? Let's see...

I started by using my own Rule Number One: getting rid of anything you don't wear now. That was easy enough--after a year you kinda get a feel for what you wore and what you didn't the year before.

Then it was time for Rule Number Two: buy at thrift-stores!

I moved on to the rest of my rules to see if the system actually worked. First stop? Salvation Army! There are two in a town nearish us, so we went to both of them. Salvation Armies are amazing because on Wednesdays, all clothing and apparel is 50% off! YES! And I apologize in advance for the low photo-quality...Sarah had done something genius and photographically correct with her settings which was too advanced for my point-and-shoot self, and the shutter took *forever* to snap so I couldn't get any cool shots of the belt or the vest like I wanted....

Sage green ruffle-button top and cozy grey sweater: $1.50 and $2.00

Total: $3.50

This looks so much cooler in person. It's what I've affectionately termed my "Amelia Earhart" outfit.

Genuine Leather Vest: $5.00 (I splurged) 

Short-sleeve Sweater: $1.50 

Really good-quality brown skirt: $2.50

Total: $9.00

I'm planning on wearing this with my vintage alligator-skin Oxfords! :D

Rose-bud silk/satin blouse: $1.50

Lavender ruffle-top: $1.50

Dip-dyed sweater: $2.00

Total: $5.00

I walked past this blouse in the store and thought, "Aw, that's kinda cute. But it's probably for grandmothers." Then I saw the smocked elastic at the bottom and knew it was a vintage-inspired item for "Today" that I wanted to own. :) I mean, come on. Who doesn't like a fluffy blouse with blue polka-dots?

Vintage-inspired blouse: $1.50

Total: $1.50

Forest blouse with side-tie sash: $1.50

Total: $1.50

 This one is going to be my cozy go-to outfit. I just know it. A sweater-knit hoodie/cami? Yes please! And in a warm, cozy mulberry color. Love it! The brown, calf-length "broom-stick" skirt is pretty cute too.

Mulberry Sweater-duo: $2.00

Skirt: $2.50

Total: $4.50

Who can say Nautical? I love this sailor-sweater. So warm, but so winsome! And it's soft as cashmere, which is a plus. I hate scratchy sweaters. :D

Sweater: $1.50

Total: $1.50

Blue half-sweater: $1.50

Cream lightweight sweater-blouse: $1.50

Total: $3.00

Of course either of these two items could be paired with something different, but I liked them so much together in the store, I'm sure I'll wear them that way much of the time. Here's a close-up of the detail of that cream sweater:

One last outfit...

Mulberry-colored thermal shirt/hoodie: $1.50

Style & Co jeans: $3.50

Western-style leather belt: $2.00

Total: $7.00

Look! I even managed to squeeze in a pair of shoes. Really really cute shoes at that.

Lace-accent peep-toe heels: $3.50

Total: $3.50

I ended up at a Goodwill too, but only bought the jeans there, having only a little money leftover. But I was pretty pleased with myself because the pair of jeans had an orange tag and guess what? Yup. Wednesday is Orange Tag day at that Goodwill!

If you tally up all my best-as-I-can-remember prices it comes up to around 40 bucks. I know I spent closer to fifty so I guess I am remembering some of the prices incorrectly. STILL! God's provision is so awesome! 19 items for $50.00...comes out to just over $2.50 an item! Beautiful.

If this isn't cool enough, I'm busting the myth of thrift-store clothes being Walmart hand-me-downs. There is quality stuff here, okay? Let me prove it to you--here's a list of all the brand-names I got:

She Said

C'est City--an August Silk company

New York & Company

Appleseed's

Sag Harbor

Dressbarn

L.A. Blues

Gap

Cato

Say What?

Fioni

Style & Co.

Worthington

Laura Scott

D.F.A. New York

In a way, we Thrifters are the die-hard fashionistas. We're the ones who are willing to pour time and patience into wearing brands. It's easy to swipe a credit card and buy clothes from designers. But those of us  who wait...and wait...and search...and wait...and search longer get the labels at an ounce of the original price. Don't lose heart--look how the Lord blessed fifty bucks! Amazing.

What say you? Thrift stores for the win?