Eyes opened to dark and the sound of rain. First thought. No sunrise service.
I went back to sleep. Arose a little later. Crammed iTunes gift cards, chocolate rabbits, seeds, hummingbird feeder into Easter baskets.
Had a nice family moment once children were somewhat vertical and had woken up enough to be semi-human.
Then I got everyone ready for 9 o’clock church. Sent them out the door. That left me to get ready for 9 o’clock church at 8:55 a.m.
It was still cloudy and damp but it was Easter Sunday. I pulled out a long skirt (that I’d had at least five years) and turquoise Easter egg blue sweater. Which I covered with another sweater. IT WAS DAMP PEEPS.
At last minute decided on flat sandals instead of distressed cowboy boots because spring was on the calendar and if not in the forecast.
And it was Easter.
I drove the three blocks, parked and clomped my way toward the sanctuary — all bundled up in my prairie skirt and layered sweaters.
That is when I first noticed them. All those long, high-heeled legs getting out of cars. The women. The young women with toddlers wrapped around their bodies, the middle-aged ones herding sullen teens and older women patting nervously at their hair.
EVERYONE was decked out. Like slammin’ good looking. Limes, fuchsias, silk turquoise (not wool fakey cashmere). All the women looked so fine and I looked like I was heading to a 1940s hoedown after a barn raisin’. Without a shower.
And don’t get me started on those girls home for the weekend from college.
Well, I tried to pose like that to make up for my lack of Easter style but my 12 year old said I was making her nauseous and to stop.
What to wear? I gazed upon things worn a million times and a few things worn hardly at all — clothing too much evening wear for church wear.
It’s a line to never cross…especially as you age. You’re supposed to know what looks approproe for the Steeple People.
Of course, I was dressing for the Lord. But that wasn’t on my mind. I was late; mad I missed early church again and didn’t want to wear the same old thing.
So I uncovered something older.
Digging deep I saw a skirt bought six years ago.But I ruined the silk blouse that went with it. (Careless dryer moment.)
Looking upon a shirt I never wear, it seemed to match the green in the skirt.
Must be Talbots. They have color themes each season.
Mother used to give me Talbots gift cards for presents. I assume this meant she didn’t think much of my fashion sense. And Talbots clothing is well-made, conservative and interchangeable — kind of Garanimals for adults.
Put skirt and blouse together, along with a necklace bought a half-decade ago. Threw on a thin belt from Target and black sandals.
The Steeple People loved my over-half-decade old outfit.
My gals in Sunday School gasped when I walked in. My first fashion gasp ever — in a positive way.
A friend stopped me and asked to borrow the “outfit” on a business trip with her husband.
Me and daughter and “outfit.” Daughter asked that I pose goofy. I didn’t.
Don’t know what to make of this?
* Clean out my closet to see what the heck is in there.
You want your children to forge their own path in life.
Climb every mountain, follow every dream.
But it’s got to be their mountain.
My son is heading into his senior year. That means college this time next year. We’ve been looking at schools and checking out football programs to see if it is something he would like — and they would like him — to do. These thing are two way street, I guess.
He went up to Presbyterian College a few weekends ago. Sitter malfunction resulted in my having to stay home with our two younger ones.
Some of the photos Dad took.
Saturday, Dad, our son and I were up at Davidson College.
It was hot.
Dad, who played college ball….sat under a tree.
But I, who played college ball….was drawn to the field like peanut butter becomes one with grape jelly folded into bread.
I watched every second ~ except the seconds I checked my phone.
Being in the weight room again…
Smelling the bars with their scent of dirty pennies….
After taking this photo, I lay on the bench and blew out a few quick reps for old time sake.
I missed those days of intramural ball with the Thetas.
My husband thinks our son’s athletic coordination comes from him.
I know better. I remember the roar of the crowd, the feel of leather against the palm of my hand. The intoxicating smell only found wearing a helmet and sweating in 100 degree heat index.
My writing teacher says never to break your promise to the reader. I think she means deliver something good in your writing. Yesterday’s post promised (sort of implied) that I would answer the question, “What is church for?” Well, today got really busy. And if you count that as a promise, I won’t deliver. But there is one piece of wisdom I can impart.
I picked up this bottle of nail color. Spring….yay.
I thought this spectacular.
So did my 10 year old.
Then I flipped the bottle over and saw this….
What might be my first clue not to wear this shade?
But I bought it anyway. And it is on my toes right now.
A tan would really help. Tan feet that is.
But I’m sticking with it. So if any of you see me wearing this shade, rest assured it was my choice and not that I was some wonderful kooky mom who let her daughter paint her toes.
Firmness. My body was void of firmness and if you disliked reading my thoughts on blue jeans and oatmeal you better stop here.
When I injured my knee last fall, my body and the tightness there of quickly became a casualty. In my year to push through comfort zones, I chose not to panic about such flighty things. Then the Victoria Secret swimsuit catalog arrived followed by the release of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue and I found myself online ordering the 1960s Butterwick Pattern 3115 of a Gidget swimsuit and cover-up. (more…)