just because...

Just because I want to remember these sweet moments.  I want to savour my husband's giggles and shock as he feels his daughter grooving inside of me.  I want to remember stealing a few extra moments in bed together before starting the day.  Because I want to remember the amorphous shape of my belly as it contours to baby girl's adjustments.  Just because.  But mainly, because I never thought I'd be able to make these memories and I want to cherish all of them...

for more bump and nesting photos, be sure to follow along on instagram.  you can find me under the handle seewhatiseadesigns.

watch and listen

Pregnancy has changed me more than I thought possible.  I had been warned about morning sickness, stretch marks, and swelling ankles.  Luckily, these experiences have not been part of my journey.  There has been fatigue, nose bleeds, and the need to slow down.  Our weekend walks look like Mr. F is escorting his geriatric counterpart from the nursing home I move so slow.  But I can still move. 

My nesting urges have been insatiable at times.  I will feel an insane amount of guilt and anxiety if I am not painting wallpaper in the nursery, hanging artwork, or foraging for furniture.  I am learning to ignore these urges to some extent as my body requires more rest and bedtime.  The baby's wellbeing is not contingent on floating shelves, I have to tell myself.  Some days I listen better than others.

The most fascinating change in me, aside from my daily recognition that somehow my body is capable of growing another human, is spiritual.  Almost as strong as my need to nest is my need to know where I come from.  This began with a hunt for names for our child.  Very quickly it became clear to me that I didn't just want to use names from family history, I needed to, even though I could not explain the need. 

So I began searching.  I started with Mr. F's family, as his relatives have done an incredibly thorough job tracking their legacy.  I followed them through North Carolina, Ontario, England, and Scotland, eventually landing somewhere in the 12th or 13th centuries in France.  Nearly 1,000 years of my husband's forbearers stretched out before me.  Their names and locations gave hints at their stories and I could see the traits come to life in my husband.

Then we looked at my family, which was much harder, and is still in process.  I called my dad and he gave me access to his online files.  For the first time in my life, I saw his family tree beyond my great grandparents.  The history I thought I knew was so different.  There were photos and some stories.  Names, dates, locations.  Family.  For the first time, I had a clearer sense of where I came from.  My Anglophilia was justified, as well as my mild addiction to Brigadoon and the Outlander series.  I stared at the computer screen, soaking in the spider web of a pedigree chart and all I could think was, Are they proud of me?  Do they know that their hard work is ushering in another generation?  

My maternal ancestry has been harder to track, due in large part to me losing a printed file full of work my mom had put together.  As Anglo based as my father's side is, my mother's is even more Swedish.  Both of her parents are first generation Americans with records for her grandparents and beyond being either still in Sweden or in Swedish. I am the first descendant since the immigration to pick up Swedish again, and my skills with it are rudimentary at best.  (I can wish you a happy birthday and probably order a hot dog.)

In the midst of my search for my Swedish kin, the most remarkable gifts for baby girl have been pouring in.  My grandfather's infant sleeping gown, sweaters made by my great grandparents, handmade blankets from relatives living and gone.  We have inherited a sweet little rocker that Mr. F was rocked in by his grandfather, not to mention toys Mr. F played with as a babe.  Each time one of these packages arrives, I am filled with the same sense of connection to who I am, who we are.  This little baby we are so excited about is the joy of many, even those came long before her.  

Not long ago, my great aunt and uncle were in town visiting their children and grandchildren. It is a great joy to me that living in Atlanta has afforded more frequent interaction with these sweet souls.  After a delicious dinner, I ended up in the kitchen with my cousin and my great aunt, the three of us catching up and dreaming together.  All at once my aunt disappeared to her room, returning just as quickly with an armful of sweetly wrapped packages.  The largest was beautifully festooned by her other daughters, with calligraphy inscriptions and baby-inspired stickers.  Inside was a tiny little stuffed animal for the baby from one daughter and a handmade blanket from the other.  "As soon as she heard about the baby, she started knitting!"  I was so overwhelmed by the love of these cousins that I know so little of.  We are family and that was enough for them to share in our joy.

The remaining two packages were wrapped in pink tissue by my aunt.  In one was a circular tin photo of my great-great grandmother, whose wedding invitation hangs on my bedroom wall.  The photo is of her as a little girl and I could briefly glimpse what my own daughter would look like.  The last package was my great grandmother's baby book.  In it is delicately inscribed the precious memories of her first year.  There are newspaper clippings in Swedish and English announcing her birth.  Some of the pages are in English, others in Swedish.  Simple phrases marking her growth.

All at once, my Swedish family who I have been trying to find was there with me, celebrating with me, teaching me.

The author Linda Hogan wrote, "Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.”  This is what pregnancy and the promise of motherhood has given me.  It is not just expanding my family with Mr. F, it has given me all of my family.  I can feel them with me, carrying me, supporting me, praying and cheering for me.  I hear them calling to my daughter, You are the result of the love of thousands.

nana's workroom

I lowered the foot, held on to the fabric, and gently gave the machine power.  Not much, but enough that the mess of blue in my hands crept forward with the pull of the needle.  I pulled out pins, and fed the machine more.  I was sewing.  My fear of the dreaded Singer abated with each side of the pillow case  I was gingerly creating.  One form down, my confidence grew.

The machine pulsed on and I was carried to my Nana's sewing room.  I could hear the fluorescent lamp humming above me and the high-pitched ssnip of her shears on a disobliging end.  I could see the endless amounts of string on the red carpet, so vast that no vacuum would ever be able to defeat.  I could see her focused, making me a ballerina costume out of bright pink tulle, her tall body hunched over her work table.  The machine snaps back to life while I fiddle with the endless assortment of thread in the cupboard.  Wooden bobbins wrapped tight with beautiful colors.  We don't speak much, but I never leave that room.  As she works on, I climb up on Papa's hearty, orange upholstered ottoman, and watch my grandmother's spindly fingers work their magic.  Fingers much like my own...

I snip a few strings from the last pillow form and admire the results.  Five new pillows in one afternoon, an absolute record for me!  I knew Nana was proud.  Not of the sheer volume of work I had done, but for  conquering a fear and taking on a hobby she held so dear.  I knew it.  It was like she was with me, reminding me to raise the foot or to follow a line.  

I finally understand  my quiet grandmother more.  How she struggled to converse but would make you any afghan of your choosing.  How stitching together pieces could tell a story.  I finally understood how all of the hours I spent with her in her workroom were not as silent as I remembered.  We might not have conversed at length or shared anecdotes.  But I remember the noises and colors of that room.  And all I have to do is turn my Singer back on and she is ready to teach me again.   Her legacy lives on in the work she showed me how to cherish.  I finally see how much of her is in me and I don't ever want that to go away.

ruminations on daily life

photo by me: mounds of ironing after months of neglect made for a lovely Downton Abbey marathon.

......

"What if we live in a dive for a few months until we find something we can afford?"  And just like that we were both laughing.  A really exhausting day of house hunting, errand running, and work diffused in a statement of genius or pure insanity.  I drove Mr. F to the office so I could meet him for lunch and scope out a loft downtown.  We daydreamed over downtown living, hashed out our budget, and walked away laughing.  Dreams and reality don't always mix.  But somehow as the day plodded on and we looked at more units, each nicer and more expensive than the last, we started creating new dreams.  Less desirable housing in an area we like.  Not even remotely close to what we had imagined for our start in Atlanta.

So we went to dinner, splitting a quesadilla and queso, still laughing over our misadventure.  The house hunt that had taxed us extremely at first had turned into a form of merriment.  We laughed over our options.  The world may be our oyster, but we can only afford a can of salty sardines.  

We drove home that night, still laughing, and increasingly hopeful for whatever our future may be.  Making the most of our salty reality and joyfully plotting how to turn it into a salt palace.  As we laughed and sang off-key to Christmas music, I marveled at the man I married.  Rather than getting disgruntled, he sees the opportunity for adventure.  He dreams big and carries me along with him when I tend to get stuck in the mud of everyday life.  The day had been rough and confusing, but at the end of it, all I cared about was how happy I was to have Mr. F sitting next to me.  The perfect end to a mildly ridiculous day.

.....

Even with him working, it's rare that Mr. F wakes up before me.  When he does, it means a meeting at the office is beckoning and away he must go.  Braving Atlanta traffic at any hour is no easy feat, but especially in the morning while the many spokes of the metro pinwheel funnel downtown.   Coming to a standstill is customary and from our current home outside the perimeter, a generous  but taxing hour and a half must be given to ensure timely arrival.  So away Mr. F goes, stealthily departing, unaware that as soon as he leaves, I can no longer sleep.  The house feels different without him and I am left with the stillness of dawn for my companion.  I sit on the sofa, braving consciousness, and watch through the window as the sky shifts from darkness to light. Groggily, I greet the day and prepare for whatever work lays ahead of me and decide that whatever it is can most assuredly be done in pajamas.  By the time I convince myself to get moving, the sun is just above the horizon and Mr. F is on the phone, checking in and reporting back on his meeting.  He is infused back into our home and I am at peace.

.....

Mr. F worked late last night catching up on a project.  Normally he comes in after the long commute exhausted and wanting quiet time.  Not last night.  He lasted a half hour by himself before asking me to climb into bed with him.  We lay there giggling and talking together.  No worries about the future, money, or The Great Unknown.  Just a late night laughing session.  Such a blessed relief after a solid year of stress and tension.  I don't know what we spoke of as I kept getting distracted by my husband's big, blue eyes.  They're the same color as mine, an anomaly we have yet to explain.  When smiling, he has a tendency to squint in a way that makes him look like the world tallest Asian.  But when I make him happy, his eyes are bright and clear.  I love that I can make him that happy and that his eyes only dance like that for me.  He is always at his handsomest at moments like that.  Day old stubble, which for most men is a week of growth, ruffled hair and shirt, and eyes as blue and bold as the deep blue sea.

recently, in a few words

trips to the aquarium.

the wonder of discovering new art from an old favorite.

the glories of family time.

saying, "goodbye" and knowing they still aren't as far away as they used to be.

three rounds of Jeni's Splendid Ice Cream in not as many days.

second Christmasses.

tickets to our first Brave's game.

practical gifts that bring giant smiles.

laughing with the family.

impromptu trips with Miss Holmes!

new job, for me!

new apartment?

Waffle House.

early mornings.

bitter cold.

more. Jeni's.  Don't judge.

grown up decisions.

gratitude.

blessings.

peace.

life has not slowed down since before Christmas, and I don't think I would have it any other way!  some wonderful things are happening in our life and hopefully I can catch you up on them in them soon. thank you for your patience as I embrace the changes coming our way!

the flood

So...Mr. F and I have been trying to get me knocked up and to no avail.  Just after our trip to New Orleans, my period gave up the ghost, my body started freaking out, and I was convinced that I was pregnant.  But the mountain of pee sticks were not as certain.  Negative after negative came back for a few months and still no period came.  (I know, this is getting personal..hold on..)

A week ago Sunday was probably one of the worst days I've had in a long time.  It started with our bathroom flooding and leading to a hallway flood before church and just went downhill from there. It ended with my period coming, after months of nothing, it came on The Sunday That Shall Heretofore Be Referred to With a Cuss Word.  Guys, I lost it.  Absolutely lost it.  Sitting there sobbing uncontrollably as my dreams were literally flushed down the drain.   

My husband is a big man who inadvertently slams doors and knocks things over because he just doesn't know his own strength.  But at this moment, he was so gentle.  He wrapped me up, held me close, and just let me cry and mourn over something I didn't realize I had wanted so badly.  He could barely hear me, having a doozy of an ear infection in his good ear, but he just stayed and comforted.

The Sunday That Shall Heretofore Be Referred to With a Cuss Word led to The Monday of Such Awesomeness That We Celebrated Two Birthdays, erasing the pain of the day.  I always want to remember, however, how sweet and tender my husband was that afternoon, bringing me neon flowers because it was all he could find and sitting through hours of "The Property Brothers" with the family because I needed him near me on the sofa.  I am so grateful for that sweet husband of mine and hopeful about what our future still holds.

homely tasks

I've decided that I was born in the wrong century.  The older I get, the more I fall in love with stories like Anne of Green Gables and Little Women. I read the latter for the first time a few weeks ago and found a new piece of my soul.  The simple wisdom, daily chores, descriptions of gardens and clothes...all of it resonated so deeply with me.  Though a lengthy book, I devoured it in a matter of days, pausing only for family interaction and pool time.

At one point, the little family is preparing a new home for the eldest daughter and her husband to be.  Countless pages are designated for this humble abode and the preparations that go into it.  And somewhere in the midst of all of it, we learn, "The homeliest tasks get beautified in loving hands."  It was a small home (though it seemed palatial compared to our flat in Cyprus) filled with handmade linens, secondhand furniture, and a bride who didn't quite know what she was doing.  But to the young couple and their family, it was lovely.

How often do we get caught up in having the newest, the greatest, the biggest anything?  How many blogs and magazines do we read that are filled with images of sparkling, perfectly decorated homes?  How often do we forget the dirty, cluttered table left as a remnant of an evening laughing with good friends?  Or what about that time we spent cleaning out the attic with Grandma, watching her eyes smile as she tells the story of where the beat up glove came from?  The beauty of life isn't in perfect, it's in the journey.  In floured aprons, dusty rags, and dirty mop buckets.  It's in the loving hands and everyday tasks all around us.

content

I went and ran a few silly errands tonight after Mr. F got home from work.  As in, errands only I deemed necessary...like new baskets.  It was serious business, let me tell you!  While I was driving home, with a half priced shake from Sonic, I was struck by how content I was.  Not just at that moment, but the past week in particular.  Blissfully, wonderfully content.

Mr. F has been working for a week now and he is happier than I can describe.  Each day he comes home with a bigger smile than the day before.  Why?  Because he loves what he is doing.  He loves only working ten minutes from the house, having the freedom to go to the gym before work, being employed...all of it.  I find myself basking in our lifestyle.  The familiar rhythm of him leaving in the morning for the office is mixed with my new need to take Daivd to work.  We come and go freely.  Everything seems so at ease.  All this ease really juxtaposes our time abroad.

A friend told me that you never really know how stressful it is to be an expat until you're back on native soil.  Menial tasks like getting groceries or getting to the gym are compounded tenfold in a wave of things you just don't fully understand.  Even though neither of us are from Florida, America is still America.  We know the big name stores, how to drive, hours of operation..it just...fits.  Add to this sharing a common mother tongue and things just got awesome.

I am so grateful for this peace I'm feeling right now.  Even though we don't know how long Mr. F will be working, I needed this moment, to be reminded that we're exactly where we're supposed to be, doing what we need to.  And that, my friends, is all I could really ask for. 

written friday, june 21, 2013

creating creativity

Last night, I was kind of out of it and Mr. F asked me what was up.  Some dramatic arm flailing and a deep sigh emitted from me before I looked at him and said, "I'm creatively constipated."  He chuckled like a fifth grader hearing the word "breast."  I made headway.

Creativity is such an interesting thing, isn't it?  It comes and goes for me, never a constant companion..or so I think.  There will be weeks when I do nothing but paint and sketch and others when all I want to do is organize boxes.  Sometimes, life gets in the way and sometimes I do.  I create my own roadblocks.   Other tasks, laziness, job hunting, and Florida sunshine claim my attention first.  And when these roadblocks appear, I get twitchy and uneasy.  My fingers ache for a piece of fabric or the feel of a paintbrush.  Something..anything...  

Yesterday, I resolved to cure my nervous tick and get back to work.  Sitting down in the kitchen, I pulled out my paints, a piece of paper, and got to work.  And you know what?  It was awful.  I mean, truly.  The idea was right but the execution was horrid.  Ugh..just thinking of it makes me cringe.  I felt dejected and lacked the confidence to break through.  It was then that I realized I was creatively constipated.  Resolved to feel better, I bucked up and marched back to my paints a few hours later.  The results this time were wonderful.  Delicate colors, good composition, and just the right size of stroke.  

It taught me something I had learned as a child, that I have to practice.  Creative moments may come and go, but if I keep at it, they may come around more frequently.  So, I'll keep scouring the garden for more plants and keep my eyes on the river to soak in colors.  And then I'll paint what I feel and get better as I go...

sketching out a home

Maybe it's my recent addiction to the show Sarah's House, but I have had such a hankering to decorate this apartment.  My journal is now being used as a visual catalog of ideas and sketches I conjure up.  What I have been learning about my decorating paralysis is first, I can't commit to anything and second, I don't want to spend money.

The walls of our home are concrete, like most homes here on the island.  Hammering a nail into them is a brutal process that usually leaves chunks of the wall on the floor and you stuck with your decision to hang something there, if only to hide the gaping hole.  I have circumnavigated this as best I can with 3M hooks (praises to their name..) and a few holes.  In a few instances, the 3M hooks fell off the wall and still took a chunk of concrete with them.  I'm trying to convince myself that I'm going to for a loft look until I can repair it all...   So committing to wall art is just a lot more tricky than it has ever been in the past.

Which leads me to me being a tightwad with money.  It's not that I don't want to have beautiful rugs or handcrafted tables, I do, but there is no way I can justify the expenditures right now.  So I have been trying to DIY as much as possible, without some necessary tools that I just still can't bring myself to spending money on either.  Things like a palm sander, paint, stain, and staple guns.  I just wait and put it off.  It is hard to commit to such purchases when we don't know how long we will be living here and where we will be going next.

I am finally feeling, however, that it's time to make progress.  I have stacks of fabric waiting to turn into pillows, a pair of tables to spruce, and some chairs that need to be unified.  It's time to bring the sketches to life and transform this little apartment into an honest to goodness home.

wwebd?

It's rather fitting that this post comes at the close of the year, as most of us ponder resolutions to carry us through the next twelvemonth and help us improve.  My meditations on this subject have been brewing for quite awhile and have finally percolated in time for tonight's countdown.

For the past few months, I have been grappling with a slow, angry bout of Depression.  What finally alerted me to my current situation was one little thing:  I like leaving the house even less than usual.  I'm an introvert, I like being home, but lately, I avoid leaving.  I make excuses to the point where it's really not healthy.  (I know, I'm starting to sound like somebody from Hoarders...)  Knowing that something is wrong helps, but figuring out a solution sometimes takes some serious time and effort.

A few weeks ago, Mr. F and I managed to get out on a Saturday morning.  We went running and wandering through a local park for a long time.  Not only was it my first encounter with honest to goodness exercise in who knows how long, it was the first time I was really out in nature.  The sun soaked in through my skin and the darkness that had been clouding my mind disappeared for a few minutes.  All at once I remembered my favorite books, the heroines who have inspired my life and...I was ashamed.  What would they think of me if they could see me now? I thought.  This is not how Anne or Lizzy would be living their lives.  They would want me to be happy.  And all at once a mantra was born.

WWEBD?
or
What would Elizabeth Bennet do?

I thought of my favorite books, mainly anything Austen or from the Anne of Green Gables series.  The characters in these novels, which I have read, re-read, then read again, have seeped into me, becoming old friends and a part of who I am.  Over the years, I have turned to them to sort out my love life, figure out how to handle school, how to handle marriage, and coping with loss.  It only seemed fitting, therefore, that the lifeline I was seeking for a healthy lifestyle should come from them.  Pondering over their fictional experiences, I honed five simple guidelines that I have been trying to impart into my daily life.

1.  Read.  Not watch a movie or listen to NPR, READ!  As a lover of the written word, it is dumbfounding how often I substitute a book for a blog.  Reading a good book is so rejuvenating, enlightening, and very often feeds my creativity.  Books have a way of challenging me to be better, by broadening my understanding or filling my imagination to such an extent that all I want to do is create.  Very often after finishing a thoroughly engaging read, all I will want to do is paint, write, or make something.  If I can do it outside, all the better!

2.  Visit.  All of the Austen novels are based on neighbors interacting.  Without this simple action, there would never be a Mr. Darcy or Captain Wentworth.  Without visiting, Anne Shirley would never have met Diana Barry, heaven forbid!  As an introvert, this one is unbelievably hard for me.  I would so often like to stay at home because I feel awkward and clumsy around others.  But it is so good to do, and how on earth will I ever find more kindred spirits by staying on my sofa?

3.  Go for a walk.  I regularly have the phrase, "What are men to rocks and mountains," echo through my mind.  How can one experience life if they never leave their front door?  (If Bilbo could go on an adventure, so can I.)  I have gleaned from these novels a sincere love of nature.  Getting out of doors rejuvenates the senses, blows out the cobwebs of worry, and stimulates the body.  Very often, a quick Coke run to get me out of the house will change my mood drastically.  I can only imagine what a daily, thorough walk taking in the wonders of this island would do!

4.  Faith.  A constant throughout my favorite books is faith and hope.  Whether it be faith in people, like Anne Shirley's hopeless optimism, faith in God, or faith in self, like the Goose Girl had to find.  Faith is essential and so closely connected to hope.  But it is also something that requires constant diligence, through study, observance, perseverance, and a joyful attitude.

5.  Write. My second favorite of the Anne books is while she and Gilbert are engaged.  The entire book is her letters to Gil, full of her adventures, triumphs, and failures.  Not only did she probably keep a personal journal, but she was an avid correspondent.  She wrote, and she wrote a lot.

To me, the writing element is more "hone and exercise your talents" than "sit down and write."  I need to sing more, sketch more, take up a pen in my hand and feel it glide across a blank page.  Is there anything more delicious than the feeling of a good pen?  I love that feeling and haven't been searching it out enough.  It also means developing these talents, stretching them and molding them to their fullest capacities.

So, friends, this is my New Year's resolution.  It's not trendy.  It's probably a little hard to understand that it's stemmed from my battle with Depression.  But so it is.  My goal is to be healthy, but in a way I can understand; by tying back together the pieces of me that I love most.  The pieces I recognize best in my favorite heroines, who are also my oldest friends.  Sure, I have plans to organize the house and shed a few pounds, but those somehow all fit into these five guidelines in my mind.  By digging deep into the nooks of me that have been hiding these past few months and thinking, What would Elizabeth Bennet do? I'm really thinking, How does Engquist want to live?

the florescent light in the bathroom

photo by clark goldsberry photography

I remember going to visit my Nana as a child.  Her house was large and rambling, the result of an ever-growing number of boys and a very talented carpenter for a husband.  Whenever we would visit, we would use my Nana's "master" bathroom.  It was tiny, but two of the walls were covered with mirrors.  I have so many memories of being a little girl and trying to find "forever" in the expanse of the mirrors' reflections.  While I hunted for eternity, the only noise I could hear was the soft hum of a florescent lamp in the ceiling.  

That was a sound I didn't remember until the other day when I flipped on the overhead light in our new bathroom.  There again was that hum.  Soft, but so distinct.  It was a sound that should not have been so comforting, especially since I didn't realize how lodged into my memory it was.  I like hearing it though.  I catch myself flipping it on from time to time when I home alone.  In the buzz of the bulb I can hear my Nana's sewing machine, hear the sound of uncles climbing the wood stairs, and the laughter of family playing a raucous match of killer uno.  I like those sounds and the memories connected with them.  

All because I turned on the light in the bathroom...

i've been thinking

I haven't really been present in blogger world lately.  I could apologize, but really, it's felt good to detach and not worry about pageviews and new content.  I got to just focus on what was happening around me and it's felt really good.  Really, really good.

I really enjoy being busy.  These past few weeks I have been buried in orders, personal creations, church commitments, and life in general.  I'll admit, it got a little sketchy for me at the end of last week when a few paintings weren't doing what I needed them to, but overall, I love going to bed completely exhausted at night.

How cool is science?  I mean seriously!  A rover just landed on Mars and is sending information back to Earth.  I marvel at the minds of the groups of people who made such a thing possible.  I'm lucky if I get the laundry folded...

I had no idea there could be so many different kinds of geometric patterns and that I would have such strong opinions about ones I like and dislike.

College a cappella music is just good for the soul.  There are so many songs from "way back when" that I know purely from their a cappella counterparts.  (Hats off to the Brown Derbies today who are serenading me as I work.)

Moving has never sounded so promising to me.  It's just time, ya know?  For a change. More space.  Less rent.  And a patio.  It is most definitely time for a patio.

On that score...

I miss being outside.  I have been working so much the last few weeks and it's been so hot and humid that outdoor living has been cut short.

We're going home this week!  How in the world did that come about so quickly?!

I need to do laundry.

Swedish pancakes are yummy and I'm really looking forward to the weather cooling down so I can starting cooking and baking again.  I've really missed making hearty meals this summer.

I am unbelievably blessed.  With a comfortable home, work I love doing, a wonderful husband, family, faith; the list goes on and on.  

a few things

Iced chocolate.  It's basically a frozen hot chocolate.  More importantly, it's the best thing to happen to summer in the history of hot.  So refreshing, so cold, just enough chocolate.  So, so good.  Come visit and we'll go get one together!

Homemade file boxes made from leftover fabric and a random box laying around really make me happy.

I feel a lot like this.  It's been miserably humid the past couple of weeks, making me want to just give up the ghost.

I've been working away, when I'm not sweating or making file boxes, on a project that I'm hoping to be able show you in the next few weeks.  So far it's really wonderful!

a few things

1. wedding portraits are so much fun! I've been getting a lot of requests for them and, I'll admit, I just can't get enough.  I love trying to capture all the different expressions, not to mention all of the beautiful gowns!  too much fun, I say!

2.  I have the eating habits of a four year-old boy.  cheese quesadillas and sliced apples have been my dish of choice lately.  and yes, the apples have to be sliced, they don't taste as good whole.

3.  my basil plant thinks it's just as hot out as I do.  I water him and the next morning, he always looks like this.  poor guy...I feel your pain!

4. taco bell is coming to nicosia! having it in limassol, about an hour's drive away, was pretty exciting as it was.  but having it a fifteen minute drive away in a well air conditioned location?  genius, I say! pure genius!

5. after the weather looking like this for the better part of a week, I'm either ready to move or work on a serious attitude adjustment.  right now learning how to cope and not whine about perpetual sweat is a lot cheaper than moving.  wish me luck!

6. family comes on friday!!!!! WOOOOO!!!!!!   we've got some serious fun planned and some serious fun that I know is just going to happen without us planning it and I really can't wait to share some of it with you.

7. speaking of family coming into town, my summer schedule is filling up rapidly, so be sure to get your custom orders in soon!  between planned trips, a potential summer job for me, and orders already in place, space is getting limited.  email me for more details and pricing for special orders.

woah is me

I looked cute for approximately 95 minutes today.  Long enough to get dressed, walk to two different banks, pick up the mail, pay rent, and consider walking to the post office before my body remembered it had been awake since three this morning.  At about that same moment, my black stretchy pants caught my eye and I noticed how lonely they looked without me wearing them.  How could I let my black stretchy pants feel so degraded?  So I put them on.  And my sock slippers.  And a llama hat (don't tell Mr. F, he'll expect me to do this regularly!).  Then I made my third cup of tea for the day, popped in Pride and Prejudice for the ninety bajillionth time in my life, grabbed my book, and gave up on life for the rest of the day.

Sadly, Mr. F is in a similar state today, but he has to work.

Moral of the story: taking ice cold showers when your hot water switch is broken and you have no other option for cleanliness leads to head colds and sleepless nights.  And lots of tea drinking.

i go to the hills

When our plan for the day went to pot, we went to McDonald's (for Coke and sustenance) and then got lost in the Cypriot mountain town of Lefkara.  If you want traditional Cypriot lace, this is the place to get it.  For us, it was a place for spectacular panoramas.  The rain and cooler weather have turned this once brown island into a lush, emerald hued paradise.  It helped us remember that we do in fact like Cyprus, we're just ready for things to make a bit more sense.

We're now settling in for Christmas, with a party, three baptisms, a Christmas Sunday full of music, and a whole lot of bonding with the Mediterranean.

stuff

Dear Slow Boat to China,

I really hope you aren't in China or en route there, but are rather somewhere in the vicinity of Cyprus.  You see, you have the greater portion of our belongings and while I'm doing okay without our movies, the weather is changing and all of our warmer sweaters are with you.  Well, not all.  I have a few of mine, but poor Mr. F is gettin' cold.  He's thick skinned to be sure, but it's supposed to be snowing up in the mountains today and all he has is one sweatshirt and he can't exactly wear that to work.

That and the rainy season is coming, meaning overcast skies perfect for afghan blankets and piping mugs of tea.  But you have the afghans and the tea kettle.  And the roasting pan and pie pans, and Thanksgiving is just a few weeks away!

Oh, Slow Boat to China, won't you please hurry?  We're getting cold without our blankets.

Sincerely,

engquist

why i love my branch

No, I'm not talking about my family tree.  I'm talkin' church.  My congregation blows me away.  With regular attendance of about thirty people there are at least twelve nationalities represented.  Twelve!  That's a lot.   Today though, really made me happy.

Opening prayer said in Greek by a Belgian.  Sacrament prayers said in two different languages.  Greek and English.  We sang hymns all sacrament meeting.  The Chinese girl told us about her favorite "shong," I Am a Child of God.  Got to one hymn that confused the pianist.   She only knew it in Finnish.  Not like that affected her playing, but she likes to sing along as well.  The closing hymn was chosen by a Pakistani, an American conducted the music, and the closing hymn was said in Chinese.  (I think...)  Then we had a potluck.  Chili, Portugese lasagna, and Chinese dumplings were just a few of the options available.

What I am loving the most about this congregation is that I really have to learn to listen to the Spirit.  Sometimes a speaker's accent is so thick, I can't understand the words.  But I get what they are trying to say.  It really shouldn't anymore, but it amazes me how universal the gospel is.  No matter where I go, the gospel is the same.  Same sacrament prayers, same structure to the meetings, same good people, same Spirit.

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