The Wolfwardrobe | cartoon rock

Last night while waiting for my order at my neighborhood Chinese restaurant, I took a quiz in a Seventeen magazine (there was a pile of them on the counter), and then was disappointed with the results. According to my score, I am "edgy" like Rihanna, I  think because I decided my go-to fall accessory is a leather jacket. Nothing against Rihanna (though, admittedly, I am so out of touch, I had to google how to spell her name), but "edgy" just didn't seem quite right. I retook the quiz, this time with my go-to fall accessory as a cozy sweater, but then my results were "girly" like Chloe Grace Moretz, and that seemed even more categorically not me. Though, sometimes I am girly; I do love a floral print. And, I suppose, sometimes I am edgy, or am I just on edge? I guess what I'm getting at is this: the quizzes in Seventeen magazine are crap. Also, at 32-and-a-half I still am not sure what I'm all about. I can list all the things I like and all the things I'm like, but what it boils down to, I don't know. My personality is and always has been that oddest of combinations: completely malleable and chameleon while also etched, deep, in stone. I've changed a lot since the days when the quizzes in Seventeen actually meant something, and then, also, I have not changed even a little bit. When I tell my husband I wish we'd known each other when we were teenagers he says, "You wouldn't have liked me then. I wasn't nice then. I've changed so much," and I say, "I haven't changed at all. I was exactly the same back then, but, you know, my  boobies were way up here." 

I am, in part, writing this now because I don't know what I want from this space. I was greeted with an empty white text box and could not think how to fill it. I've been trucking along at this blog for years now, with little-to-no audience and little-to-no clue what message I'm trying to convey. Is this a sincere blog of gratitude, or one of those snarky blogs that honestly documents each time my kid uses a cuss word and I laugh? I am pretty sincerely irreverent (and insincerely reverent). I considered having Wolfman take my style photos for me this year, stepping up my style blogger game a bit, but then the idea seemed totally ridiculous to me. I may change my mind about it later. I know he'd be game, because he's a good guy now (not like the douche he apparently was as a teenager). We shall see. Happy New Year. Happy Old Blog. Happy Old/New Me.

"Cartoon Rock," Delicate Steve

Thankful Thursday | blue, blue, electric blue

Today was just a rare start-to-finish joyous one full of: incense burning and card reading, bacon, laughing in the car with my sister, digging my toes into the earth, tree climbing, howling, reading aloud to the kids, throwing my head back and laughing at the funny things they say, singing songs with a room full of children at the library, Howl's Moving Castle, opening all the windows and airing out the house, hot tea, a cheerful cardigan, my man stepping behind me and enveloping me in his arms, hanging clothes to dry outside, an actual whistling wind, watching the travels of snails in my fish bowls, chocolate, Beyonce and David Bowie and dancing to "Happy". 

I Am Grateful:

• for Beyonce's Lemonade (every bit of it, but especially "All Night," which just destroys me; this week I've been addicted to listening to it on repeat in the mornings while getting ready for work [and crying]).
• when, on a Thursday night (my night to put him to bed), my boy doesn't get out of bed even once (as usual), but falls quickly asleep, his Wolverine action figure in bed next to him.
• to Wolfman, immensely, eternally, when he cleans the master bathroom.
• to the woman working in the aquarium section of Petsmart who is so engaging with Mads and Ella.
• for the home-smoked pork butt Stephen brings into work, and to eat pieces of it with our fingers, leaning over the break room table with my work family.
• that Lunchbox is always so happy to see me when I come home from work, and that he follows me around the house wagging his tail until I love on him.
• for jasmine rice.
• for peaceful protest and Nazis getting throat punched.
• for swivel glider chairs.
• for the $14 lobster roll Grandma buys me from the butcher shop.
• for the extra chili/slaw dog Vincent brings me from Snoopy's.
• for weird, fancypants World Market chocolates.
• for colorful found knit afghans draped across the back of my sofa.
• that Martigan is starting to look so much like his dad.

"Sound and Vision," Molly Ledford

Garden Update | floating rhododendron

Summer

Autumn

"Floating Rhododendron," Sarah Louise

Thankful Thursday | pledge yourself to me, never leave me be

Not even two weeks ago, it snowed. But in true North Carolina fashion, Wednesday was springtime beautiful. Even I, wintercentric though I am, had to admit it was beautiful. Too breezy for the wrap dress I wore, but balmy and energizing. An air the house out, prop the doors open kind of beautiful. A teacher can we have class outside today kind of beautiful. 

I Am Grateful:

• for the tradition of Opeth in winter, introduced to me by my now husband; I am grateful for that first (and only) mix CD he made me, with all the prettiest Opeth songs tacked on at the end, which I listened to on repeat in the weeks leading up to our first kiss.
• for prophetic art in mundane places.
• for a working washer and dryer in my home.
• for Wolfman's homemade chicken curry.
• for post-holiday discounted foil wrapping paper.
• for Charis Melina Brown, one of the high priestesses of my Church of Youtube, and her weird, wacky magician wisdom.
• for phone calls with my baby, even when I can't understand what he's saying.
• for cold Italian subs on the chewiest white bread.
• for the feel of thick shag carpet under bare feet.
• for an amazingly lucky sales day on a would-be unlucky day (Friday the 13th), and to, however briefly, know the feeling of being the store's top salesperson.
• for ponzu sauce.
• to be lulled to sleep by Thorn's purring.
• to look into my rearview mirror as I drive home in the dark and see no one behind me.
• for Ashley Judd.
• when I call home to say goodnight and discover that Mads is War Machine and his daddy is Iron Man; I am grateful when Mads tells me, "I love you, War Machine Mommy."

"Harvest," Opeth