Pretty thing of the day: Frame collage

I know my posts were sparse, and it may be lame to end a sparse week with a pretty picture. BUT I've been dying to have a collection of pretty framed things in my home.

AsI established last spring, I am not a crafty gal. And as with crafting, I struggle with implementation of design ideas. Most of the walls in our house are barren. Yes. Not just "bare." Barren, as in blank. This photo (from the sadly folded Domino magazine and posted last week by Young House Love) was an "ah-ha" for me. I love the mirror. I love how it's odd and geometric all at once.

But do all the frames have to be black? And do I like it because of the stripes? Hmm. Either way, it's going in that folder I promised to make.

Monday Moment: Dancing

I haven't posted a "Monday Moment" about the wedding in a long time. Nearing 10 months from the wedding, the moments in time feel more like memories. Our photos are growing more precious. One thing I am so glad that our photographer was able to catch is the dancing. It is so happy and free and celebratory! All ages and stages of love, all skills and styles of dance. The reception was a freaking awesome, sweaty, loud dance party.

I love to dance. I am not good at it. I do not claim to be coordinated (and seem to become more out of touch with the rhythm as years go by). But I love me some dance party. I love to watch people dance. I feel the joy of moving, of pumping fists and shaking hips and twirling skirts.
And these ladies breaking it down in their bare feet are women I grew up dancing with -- square dancing, jazz dancing, first-time slow dancing. With them, I learned to appreciate ballet and modern dance. There are so many fun photos. Among all of them, this shot of my Great Aunt Mary (who is in her 80s) is one of the most breathtaking. There are several photos of her dancing. She twirled and two-stepped and boogied with the youngest of us that night. Look at her eyes shining.

After last week's post about age, I think these photos confirm that youth is in the soul.

I can only hope Aunt Mary's true joy for living is hereditary. It's fitting that last week my mom commented on the "A tiny drop" post, "Growing older is, I will agree, something you can't stop and you shouldn't worry about because you can miss so much trying to be something (younger) that you are not. The best we can do is enjoy every day, laugh, love the people around us, try not to complain too much and sort of roll with it."

When you spend too much time worrying, you can miss all the good dancing music, all the things to celebrate.

P.S. I know I'll catch some crap for posting some of these photos, which are not at all flattering but altogether wonderful anyway. Stop worrying people!

Cohabitation: Let's play the quiet game

Remember that request? On long car rides or above a fit of rowdy shouting, parents and babysitters coo,"Ok, now, let's play the quiet game."

This Friday, I'm thankful for a spouse with whom I can be silent. Even after a good day, there are 15 minutes after returning home from the week's work that I do so enjoy the quiet game.

TGIF!

Kisses

I laughed so hard at this post on An Inch of Gray about the lost art of the kiss. I was just thinking the other day about making out, and about how long it had been since we did (make out, I mean).

As blogger Anna writes, "What I didn’t realize is that once you have sex, kissing slips from entrée status to lowly appetizer. It gets demoted from flank steak and mashed potatoes to soggy mozzarella sticks with marinara sauce. It becomes a means to an end. And I don’t know about you, but sometimes I’m just too tired, or bloated, or cranky to order an appetizer anyway."

Ha! So true! Lenten promise to savor passionate kisses and comforting good-night smooches with special appreciation? Well, ok, that wouldn't be much of a sacrifice.

xoxo!

Magnolias & possibilities

{photo via lovely morning}

This stunning photo of a budding magnolia tree jumped off of the computer screen, grabbed my little heart, squeezed it, and made it happy. I actually sighed out loud when I saw it.

Having spent a teeny-but-important time in Alabama fresh out of college, I reserve a tender place in my soul for the South -- for the magnolia and crepe myrtle trees, for kudzu climbing over everything and smoky-sweet-spicy brisket, for buttery drawls. It's a tad romanticized, but most nostalgia is.

Such affection have I for the magnolia's waxy oval leaves and large white blossoms that I actually gave my groom a tree as a wedding gift. It saw a rough little Midwestern summer and fall, but we've been nursing it back to life indoors this winter.

And that blush of a blossom you see may just be the reason I gasped so at the sight of Lovely Morning's gorgeous purpled branches. What is to come, little tree? Oh the possibilities!

'A tiny drop in the bucket'

{adorable image by rocpaper}

At a birthday dinner for my father-in-law last month, our niece asked Grandpa's age. "How old do you think he is?" we prodded. She guessed a low number, and so we started to move around the table playing the very fun game of seeing how young a second grader might think the adults around the table.

My turn: "How old am I, Maggie?"

"35!" she said with resolve.

A swell of laughter engulfed the table. A little high. To my niece, age is not really something tangible. Until recently, growing older felt outside of me, distant, like something to worry about some other time. Commercials, creams, wraps, bras, and all of the other hullabaloo hype about staying young-looking or anti-aging -- I've always scoffed at them.

"Wrinkles are just part of life," I've said, "So what if you laughed, got a sunburn, or furrowed your brow at some point in your life? Why pretend that all that living never happened?"

Patrick turned 30 this winter. My husband had no great panic or crisis about achieving a new decade. We celebrated in style with a weekend getaway, a surprise dinner, and couples massages. It was a lovely and sweet day. I, however, may have been a little freaked.

Naturally, watching loved ones and close friends reach milestones, it begins to seem possible that these same milestones will (gasp!) happen to me. When Maggie guessed "35," I admit I thought... "Do I look 35?"

I've started to notice myself noticing changes. I "found" a negligible line between my eyes that may or may not be a wrinkle. My mother laughed. Patrick squinted to try to find the offending crease. It bothered me.

Changes aren't just physical. Sometimes lately I catch myself imagining life goals in age-ranges. By 30, I'll do xyz. By 35, I'll be blahblahblah. It's strange and somewhat unfair to arrange these ultimatums with oneself.

I work at a Big Ten university and see students pretty regularly. I have siblings who are not yet 20, not yet 21. Some days, the clock ticks very, very loudly. The difference between 27-year-olds and 20-year-olds is acutely obvious.

However, it's an acknowledgment different from the feeling of "never wanting to go back to high school." I yearn for the freedom -- to study abroad, to skip a class or go to one, to eat every meal with friends. Yet, not one ounce of my soul longs for the insecurity and uncertainties that fade with age. I don't feel older. I don't feel "old." I just like knowing who I am.

I don't like my one wrinkle. (Yes, I swear it's there!) But I'm not content to stop growing. I don't plan to grow old or make myself promises in five-year increments. I just want to keep filling up the bucket with more precious drops, remembering that "young" is relative and intangible.

A word on Valentine's Day

I’m a little tickled. Much as I hate the commercialism of Feb. 14, I must say it was thrilling to be browsing the troves of pink- and red-enveloped cards, and then stop on the word “husband.” Lightbulb. I realized that I'm now able to choose a card for my HUSBAND for Valentine’s Day. Sweet.

Last year we were buying our wedding bands. On the front of this year's card are dorky pink, red, and purple hearts and just one word: "husband." Inside -- well, that's between us.

Have a "love"-ly weekend, readers. I hope your hearts are full and happy.