City Girl Goes to the Country

I have always dreamed of having a big, old house in the country surrounded by shady pecan trees next to flat fields extending as far as the eye can see. Ahhh... the peace and solitude that I would have!

But I wouldn't get to ride my bike to the bank and the post office and sometimes the grocery store. So, I try to think of all the good things I would leave behind if I was able to run away to my rural fantasy. Oh, how Mac the Labradoodle and Beautiful Lucy the Doodle-less would love running with no boundaries! But, oh the ticks and fleas and muddy paws.

Nothing in life is perfect... there is always the good and bad to be considered.

Yesterday, however, I was able to be country girl for a day! And this was my "home".

The Harper-Alexander House Circa 1900

I had the fun opportunity to sell my Hillcrest Cottage Art and vintage clothing and some Zombie Killer books.

My room was up this beautiful staircase.

Among my Hillcrest Cottage Collection were...

These cute recycled denim tags with in six different designs.

And also some other fun prints in flea market frames...

Love this message.

Now... may the fun, hectic week of Thanksgiving commence.

Hillcrest Cottage will be welcoming our West Point Cadet, his lovely fiance, and our other awesome college guy, in addition to the cottage regulars: high school senior boy, husband, Mac the Labradoodle, and Beautiful Lucy the Doodle-less (who will have a fun week of collecting all the extra dirty socks which will be lying around... what fun!).

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday and 'pop' culture is trying to squeeze it out by opening stores and focusing on Christmas waaaaaay too early.

May we pause from the commercialization of life long enough to:

Celebrate good food,

Family,

Fallen leaves,

Nuts,

Autumn's beauty,

and the acknowledgement that...

"Every good and perfect gift comes from above".

P.S. And to enjoy some incredible football...

How 'Bout Them #3 Hawgs! Beat LSU on Friday!!!

A Boots' Story

Once upon a time when there was no internet, people could not have anything they wanted as fast as a click of a button. Amazing fact... but true.

It was very special and great fun when this horse lovin' girl was allowed to special-order my English riding boots from the equestrian store in Memphis.

And these boots were what I wore all through my junior and senior high days. Ahhh... the fun we had together!

Good-bye, Boots! I am delighted to be sending you to your new home in San Francisco. The destination makes my 1970's self very happy.

Thank you HillcrestCottage.Etsy.com for another successful sale!

The Smell of Death

The black, industrial-strength trash bag lay unopened on top of the laundry room washer. Though the bag's top was tightly twisted shut, a hint of its contents drifted toward my discerning mom's nose.

It was the kind of trash bag in which dead things are usually contained.

And a whiff of death was present this afternoon.

Reaching into the back darkness, I began to slowly pull out the contents... piece by piece.

"How odd," I thought, "that this offensive odor smells more to me like life than death."

Life and death, strangely mixed, pouring forth from a common trash bag in my laundry room.

But, this was not a common trash bag, this container of death; it was packed full of dedicated discipline, strife of a worthy goal, sweat and body odor seasoned with sophomoric hopes held tightly since grade school playground days.

The bag's contents were soon exposed by sunlight twinkling through the oak's yellow leaves which dangled outside the room's window: football cleats, chinstrap guard, ankle brace, receiver gloves, half-used deodorant, dirty compression shirts, crumpled socks...

and some crushed dreams.

An emotional tsunami washed ashore; the effects of death are like that. Expected times of grief are contained... while death's small reminders overtake unexpectedly.

Tears pouring down over stinky football locker's contents?

The season had not ended as expected. At this point, however, the wins and losses were secondary to the realization of this ending: my last son finishing his last football season.

And that's how "lasts" go.

Sometimes we know we are experiencing a "last", but most times the "lasts" pass quietly without notice.

Can I remember the last night I read this 6' football player (correction... ex-football player) "Good Night Moon?" or tied his shoes for him or kissed him good night or gave him a quarter for the gumball machine? Nope... but...

I will never forget this laundry room death scene.

P.S All of Hillcrest Cottage, including Lucy, are sad:

Lucy and (Ex) Football Player Nap on the Couch