stash

~ Yes they are lovely she thought, but are there enough? ~

Isn't she lovely?

We went home for Thanksgiving and had our first big family gathering in many years. Now that we've been stateside for a few months, I've stopped thinking of everything we do in terms of stateside vs abroad, but events like this stand out in such contrast because we weren't able to take part in the family gatherings for so long.

It struck me how special it was to be in the home where I grew up. Justin and I held Evelyn's hand as she walked around the cul-de-sac where I used to play with my brother and sister. The times we had back then...riding our bikes incessantly around that little concrete circle, imagining ourselves to be cops and robbers, wild animals, you name it. We used the curb as a balance beam to see if we could walk the perimeter of the street without touching the grass or road. So many happy childhood memories flooded back for me, and how special it was to be there again with my husband and daughter (and dog) and the rest of my family.

Even the air at night had that magical "Christmas smell," as I like to call it. Parking in that driveway, letting the dog out at night in that back yard, those trees, that back patio with its particular cracks and crooked benches my parents made so long ago--I soaked it all in and appreciated it in a way I don't think I ever have before.

My mother still has a good deal of my grandmother's things from after her death in 2006, and we took time to go through some of them together. There were pictures, photos, letters, figurines, a curious lockbox no one could open (I'm still dying to know what's in there...part of me hopes we can never get it open...) and it was cathartic for me to see my grandmother's things again. I came back from Germany in May of 2006, when her death seemed imminent, to have a final visit, but was unable to be there for her funeral that June. I was able to say my goodbyes, but I never have felt complete closure. I suppose it is just that way with loved ones who leave us.

Mixed in with these things we came across a set of class pictures of my mother from her school days. I asked her if I could scan them and share them and she said I could. Isn't she completely lovely? I must say my favorite pictures are the first (she tells of having just given herself a haircut secretly in the closet days before), and the last, when she looks so grown up and transformed at age 15. You really must click on the picture and then view it in it's original size on flickr by clicking the "all sizes" button.

Now I need to find my old class pictures as well. I swear I never looked as put together as she did!

Do you have tickets?

detail from "Tickets to the Gun Show" Collage by Katrina Cristobal

Last weekend we took a trip up to Tulsa with friends to go to the Tulsa Arms Show. The photo above, sadly, was not from the show. Cameras were not allowed at the show, which was a real pity, as the place was PACKED with priceless photo opportunities. I can only recount for you tales of the Cape Buffalo hoof ashtray (I'm not kidding; it was going for $50), the Tactical Girls selling calendars (of themselves--scantily clad, but with firearms of course), and innumerable old-timey mustaches that would make Yosemite Sam green with envy.

I have to say that when we first arrived on the scene, I felt maybe more than a bit uncomfortable by the line of people waiting to enter with their rifles slung over their shoulders. Once on the inside the fairgounds, however, I think the sheer number of weapons saturated and short circuited my senses, and I have to say that I had a really enjoyable time at the show. There were, as mentioned, many funny and amusing sites to see, but also lots of very interesting historical displays and collector items that I found really fascinating. I also was tickled by the handful of jewelry displays strategically placed near the exits, as if to remind a gun-laden fellow that he might want to bring something special home for the little lady as well. Either a diamond ring or perhaps a semi-automatic pistol with pink mother of pearl grips.

Have I mentioned lately how much I'm enjoying Oklahoma? God bless America.

Sixteen months, three days ago.

Dear Evelyn,

I'm going to be better. I did not write you a fourteen or fifteen month letter, and when I realized that Sunday was your 16 month marker I made up my mind to write you a letter this month. I figured I'd better catch up on where I left off, so I went back to read the last letter (13 months) and Evie, do you know what happened? I'm crying. I'm crying now, because you're growing up so fast. Right before my eyes, honey, and I'm amazed and proud and terrified. When last I wrote, you were not yet walking.

And now?

You are running.

You are dancing to theme songs.

You love to try on hats.

You help me to dress you.

You have a limited amount a patience (as opposed to none at all).

You "read" books by yourself.

You "talk" all the time.

You mimic things that we do.

You do movements along to the songs we sing.

You want to help me with everything I'm doing. Sometimes this is helpful and sometimes just "helpful."

You can open and operate a variety of cell phones. And flip car keys.

You give Chokydar kisses.

You have a favorite stuffed animal (the pound puppy that was mine as a child).

You LOVE drinking from "normal people" glasses.

You kiss yourself in mirrors.

You love carrying around pillows so as to have a convenient place to fall over laughing.

You have a love bordering on obsession with my grandmother's Huphrey Hug-a-bear that I know would bring her no end of joy.

You understand most instructions and we've started to discipline you in earnest.

You give koala bear hugs where you stick on our necks tighter than velcro.

You are a major problem solver.

You love opening and closing cabinets.

You also love hiding things in cabinets. This has led me to ask you where missing items might be, and you are 1) not only able to recognize the question but also 2) sometimes able to find the item. Evelyn, this is amazing.

You have empathy for Chokydar when she's worried or barking. You say "Uh oooooh!" when you drop something.

You light up our lives and bring us indescribable joy.

Love,

Momma

When you say medium, do you mean small or large?

We have the amazing fortune to have a drive thru Starbucks here in town. We also have another little cafe style restaurant (similar to, although not quite as good as Panera) called Atlanta Bread Comapny. Well, when we were first settling in and without our cooking supplies, we frequented both of these establishments a bit more than...well, we'll just say 'normal' and leave it at that.

I've heard comedians do routines about Starbucks and their tall, grande, and venti versions of the standard small, medium, and large sizes. Personally I've never had a hard time keeping them straight, but low and behold, at Atlanta Bread their small is called short, their medium is called tall and their large is called grande. Okay, now this actually probably makes more sense than the system at Starbucks, but in reality what it does is get you a larger size than you intended. You go in wanting a small, order a tall out of habit and suddenly you have a medium. Confused yet? Wait for this...

So one day at the Chick-fil-a drive thru window a few weeks back while I was sick, I wanted a chocolate shake. The voice from the box asked what size I wanted. "Small, please," I replied, but then added, "well, what size is your small?" You know how different places have different size cups sometimes, right? This was her response:

"Oh, it's a small size cup."

Brilliant. Very informative and helpful. Being sick and guessing that was as good an answer as I was going to get, I just went with the mystery sized small and moved on.

Now today I was back at Chick-fil-a again (please, no judging...), this time to get the seasonally offered peppermint chocolate chip shake (oh. yes.) When I asked for a medium (I'm judging myself) the girl came back over the box and said that they only come in large or small. Really? Okay. She proceeds to follow that statement up with, "But the large comes in the medium size cup, so do you want that?" I was so confused that I just said "yes" and got a milkshake the size of a small cat.

So to sum up, small is either short or tall, medium is non-existent, tall or grande, and large is one of three: venti, grande, or a small cat.

mostly pictures...wait nevermind, I ramble too.

I've got my (magical) desk assembled and was able to get my shiny new iMac put up. It. Is. Amazing. Things are slowly starting to find their way into drawers, shelves, and cabinets, clearing the floor for purposes like, you know, walking. It feels so good to have things begin to settle. There's still a long way to go, and I had the thought the other day about how I'm likely to get the last few things into place the week before the movers come again in the spring. Still, it makes for an exciting life.

If you've followed this blog for any length of time, you know that I struggled a bit (sometimes a little more than a bit) with living in Germany. It's something that is difficult for me to admit, because in my mind there is this notion that it should have been an entirely magical experience, one that we would look back on longingly and cherish for all our days, eternally pining for schnitzel and driving our children crazy with stories of black forest cake and the Rhine. It just wasn't the case for me. It was a good experience--I don't regret living there, but it was limiting in many ways and isolating. I made a few treasured friends in Baumholder, ones I hope to keep always, but on the whole it was a very lonely time. I've always considered myself an introverted person, but in my own way I've always made connections with people of shared interests. Growing up I was involved in choir, in junior high there was band, high school had choir and theater, and LTC dominated my college years. Connections like those were practically non-existent in Germany.

When I found myself unhappy, I felt the fault must lie with me. If I couldn't manage to find excitement and happiness in magical Germany, it must me my problem, my failure. As we prepared for our move back to America and I looked forward to coming home after four long years abroad, I began to worry that my restless dissatisfaction with some aspects of my life there would follow me home.

I am so relieved to find that this has not been the case. Being back home has been everything I longed for. Closer to family, closer to friends, able to communicate, sure of what to expect and able to seek out options and opportunities--we've found Lawton (often not considered a glamour spot in the Army) to be fantastic. That deserves extra emphasis: fantastic. The sun shines, the sky is so huge and blue--it seems to stretch eternally. We're in our own (rented) little home instead of a cramped apartment. We've found a church and I've joined the choir there and already met some wonderful new people. I'm excited about opportunities to take classes again.

I really didn't anticipate sitting down to write a post today. I had these pictures we'd taken the other day of Justin and Evie and looking at the ones of them playing outside just filled me with such joy. I've said it before, but I'll say it again: It is good to be home.

Happy Halloween!

For a few months now Evie's nickname of the moment has been "B," so when I came across this fantastic costume I knew what she had to be this year. We went to three houses trick or treating this year--four including our own. Evie can say a version of "boo," although she would only say it to me as we walked between houses, and not to the neighbors. That's probably for the best, as that much cuteness might have been overwhelming for someone caught unprepared.



We drove three and a half hours down to Frisco, near Lake Dallas today, specifically to go to IKEA. I've been craving a desk they have, and it had begun to be kind of unhealthy how much I longed for it. After a failed attempt earlier this week to get down there, we finally made it and got the desk, although we came close to leaving without it.

If you've been to IKEA, you know how they have the warehouse section where you pick up furniture. Well, for whatever reason, this desk has to be picked up from a seperate area, after check out, in the "furniture pick up" area. NO clue why. I had to request a slip for it from the information guy in the regular warehouse section. I very clearly said that I wanted the Besta Burs desk in high gloss white. He confirmed the color and printed out my paper. I glanced at it fleetingly--the price matched, yada yada yada, okay off to the check out. We made our way over to the special furniture pick up area, turned in the paper and waited about 10 minutes for them to wheel out the boxes. We signed for them and rolled all our goodies out to the car.

Now this sounds like a fairly easy process, but let me tell you, after a 3.5 hr drive with a one year old, your stress level simply stays at an elevated level. We got out to the car to pack the boxes in--I'd measured from the dimensions given online to see if they'd fit in the Tiguan with the car seat there--supposedly they would. It was at this time that I looked more closely at the boxes that held my beloved desk. Oddly, the boxes had pictures of a tv stand on them--not a desk at all. Huh...that's weird I thought I wonder why they would put pictures of a tv stand on the box of a desk. When I pointed this out to Justin he looked at me blankly and suggested, "It's probably not the desk. It's probably a tv stand."

I guess I was in denial about this possibility because in my mind "DESK" and "TV STAND" do not sound very similar at all, and I wondered how the clerk in the warehouse could have misunderstood--we are afterall back in America, where I can speak English and get things I want. Sure enough, however, after carting the heavy thing back inside with my receipt, it was confirmed that the boxes marked "tv stand" were in fact, a tv stand and not a desk. I am sooooooooooo glad that we caught this in the parking lot and not back at home, after a 7 hour roundtrip journey, nay, quest to get this desk.

The house is still a mess--slightly more put together than an explosion, but I'm making small progress daily. I hope to have pictures to share soon.