Gettin' all Martha Stewart-y

I am in love with all things Martha Stewart. It's kind of like our wedding (and all of the DIY crafts and projects that went into it) switched on some part of my brain that had been dormant for a long time.

I've always been artistic and rather crafty. I owe that to my fabulously creative mother. I remember making pine cone turkeys, clay Christmas ornaments, and cotton-ball snowmen not long after I could walk. So I suppose it's only natural that I should catch the crafting bug again, even if it's been a decade or so since our regular rainy-day craft dates.

Thus, I have plunged myself deep into the world of holiday craft-y-ness. Nearly all of the Christmas gifts we are giving this year are at least partially homemade. And, boy, is it fun. It's been a great way for me to pass the time while Lee is out of town for the ridiculously busy fall sales season. Yesterday afternoon, while sipping hot tea and listening to Vince Geraldi Christmas jazz, I made this:


It's our holiday wreath! I know it's only November 10, but when you're making all of your holiday decorations, you've got to start early. Now, I know what you're thinking: "How did you make this glorious holiday creation?" I'll tell you!

First, I cut a giant cardboard "G" out of a big, sturdy box that was awaiting our recycling bin. Then, I went to walmart and bought $10 worth of red fake poinsettas. With five blooms on each $1 stem, I got 50 flowers for really cheap.

Then, I took a screwdriver with a very small head (maybe 1/8 inch), and poked holesin the cardboard. I pulled each bloom off of the poinsetta stem and stuck it in a hole. after I had covered the whole G, I went back in with the blooms that were left and tried to fill in any sparse spaces I could see cardboard through.

And, ta-da! I could have hot glued each flower in, and I might if I decide to keep the wreath for consecutive seasons, but the screwdriver and bloom stems were so perfectly sized, the flowers fit well and don't seem to want to fall out. You could also paint the cardboard the color of your flowers if you don't want to risk a bit showing through.

That's all for now! Next crafting/design project up: our dining/library/craft room. Now, back to my day job.

I've been waiting such a long, long time

I'm not talking about some glorious achievement, momentous occasion, or life milestone.

I've been waiting for this:

(source)

And guess where we're headed in a matter of days? Chi-town!!

Cubbies, here I come!

The Dog Days of Summer

Flipity, flipity, flipiteeee-whooooooosh.

It's one of those super-cheesy/dramatic movies, where the calender on the wall has just had its pages ripped off and blown away by a big gust of wind, and then you suddenly realize three years have gone by and you have to figure out what's happened in the interim.

I felt kind of like that this week when I looked at the calendar. What? Summer's almost over? School begins in a couple of weeks? When did that happen?

And I find myself wondering, what have I done with my summer?

I've been working, of course, so I can't enjoy quite the lazy summer days of yesteryear. Our workdays are shorter, though, so life has been a bit more laid back, things have seemed less harried. We've spent a lot of time working on the house, which has been good. I've discovered IKEA, and my life will never be the same. And we've actually discovered that we have a yard under all that trash in the backyard. Who knew?

Mostly though, I've been spending my time on this:



Enter my wonderful, energetic, exhausting puppy, Scout! I love her soooo much, and, just as we had expected, she's been a lot of work. It's been really fun though, watching her grow from a tiny, fuzzy little squirt, to a big, gangly teenage German Shepherd that can already drag me around even though she's only about half grown. She may knock you over unintentionally, but she will love and kiss you to death once you're on the floor.

Since Scout is going to be a ridiculously large dog, and I'm a relatively average-sized woman living in a really, really small house, it is crucial that we train her right now. There will be NO taking off down the road after cats or jumping on guests when she is 80 lbs, it's just not acceptable. So last week, we started obedience school. The verdict is still out on how well she's learning, but I'm sure getting in a good workout on Tuesday nights.

I'll keep you updated on how the obedience training is going, but so far she's doing pretty well with "leave it" - that one comes in handy when you accidentally drop a piece of chocolate on the floor, your favorite pair of shoes simply can't take another gnawing, or you don't have the strength to hold her back from that roll of paper towels she's just discovered on the kitchen table.

It's definately been a summer I won't forget anytime soon. :)

cullinary therapy

(image source)

I am a firm believer in making soup.

Soup is the best, cheapest kind of therapy available. Eating it is great, but making it and then eating it is even better. Rainy day? Make soup. Feeling sick? Make soup. Budget tight? Make soup. In need of some comfort food? Make soup. Need to feed a lot of people? Make soup. While I tend to make at least a pot a week in the fall and winter, I'm usually less inclined to start boiling broth and chopping veggies when it's 95 degrees outside. But every once in a while we get a cooler, rainy day like today, and I can tune out the news, hum along to some Frank or Dean, and start tending to a pot of soup, and all is right with the world once more - for a little while.

This Old House

(image source)

No disrespect to Norm or anything, but renovating an old house isn't nearly as glamorous as it looks. I always thought that I would love to buy a cool old house in a fun neighborhood, and restore it its former glory in an artistic, modern way. Our house isn't anything spectacular architecturally, but it is cute, and it's definately old. And I really do enjoy working on it - it's just that I would enjoy it a lot more if I didn't also have a full time job.

I've always been a person who tends to see the potential in everything. This is great when it comes to people - I tend to take someone for who they could be, not just for who they are right now. When it comes to home renovations, however, this has proved to be a shortcoming. I stand in my house, look around, and I see tons of potential - but no time, or adequate funding, to get it there. And once I start one project (say, sewing curtains for the living room) it makes me notice 20 other things that need to be done (those windows need cleaning - no, replacing!).

All this to say, it's slowly dawning on me that maybe, just maybe, fixing up our house isn't the be-all-end-all that it's become for me. That, while it's a good thing to want to create a comfortable place to live, maybe I need to take a step back and have a priority check. That maybe somewhere I stopped wanting to create something livable and homey, and started wanting to create a showpiece for the Home and Garden channel. That maybe I need to do some more talking with God about the idols in my life, and less thinking about color schemes and finding the perfect guest bed on Craigslist.

Just maybe.

The Simple Life

(picture from kitchengardens.org)

Yesterday I hung a load of clothes out to dry on my front porch. I’m sure our house looked like redneck central, clothesline strung haphazardly between the porch posts and our socks and undies waving in the breeze at passersby. But I don’t care. I love it.

We do all of our laundry that way, actually. At first, it was because we had to – we had a washer but not a dryer. But now I keep putting off purchasing a dryer because I love letting the hot summer wind do the job for me. Maybe it’s nostalgia – I remember watching my grandmother do the same – but I get a small thrill whenever I haul a load of freshly-washed towels out the front door.

I like simple things. Summer makes me want iced tea (unsweet!) and lemonade. I prefer cooking to going out. I’d rather walk the dog than go to the gym. Now that I finally live in a house, I’ve planted some flowers and herbs, and I’m extremely proud of the baby tomatoes popping up on my three potted tomato plants. Next year I’m hoping to plot out a tiny garden in the backyard.

I’ve also recently become aware of the dangers of basic hygiene products. I grew up eating wheat bread, taking vitamins, and cleaning the house with vinegar, but who knew that toxic chemicals were lurking in my shampoo? And laundry detergent, and cosmetics, and toothpaste, and the list goes on and on (click here for a link to a great article on shampoo, and here for one on parabens). I’ve become an even more obsessive label-reader, and have switched my shampoo to Burt’s Bees and use aloe vera gel in my hair instead of styling products (I can honestly say my hair has never been happier). The all-natural mascara, on the other hand, is taking some time to get used to – it smells terrible in the tube, but it does work pretty well. And at least it’s not toxic.

The shampoo discovery was just the beginning of a massive greening effort that will probably take me some time. I’m grateful for a supportive husband, even if he’s not fully convinced of the dangers. He’s even switched to mineral-based deodorant and natural toothpaste, and that, my friends, is love. Seran wrap and Ziplock bags are next on my hit list. I’m about to purchase some giant stackable bins to expand my recycling effort. We’re also drawing up plans to build a permanent clothesline in the backyard, so our skivvies won’t be on display to the neighborhood.

lessons of the week

• Extra Hot Rotel is not an acceptable substitute for salsa. Though it may be suitable if you have misplaced your neti pot.

• If you ever need help fast, call a friend, not the police department. Arrival time of Jason, Katie, Bryan, Ruth, & Cara: 8 minutes. Arrival time of Chattanooga's finest: 30 minutes. The PD's number will go into my phone, but the others just got promoted to speed dial.

• The first few months of marriage aren't pie in the sky by and by. Those comments of "Oh, it'll all be glorious for a while, then reality will come crashing in" can be ignored. Reality has no grace period.

• "Home" is a completely different concept to different people, even different generations. My grandmother's generation lived much more permanently than mine or even my parents'. Home to her is the specific house she shared with my grandfather for so many years, and she is grieving over the leaving of simple things like azaleas and forsythia bushes. My mother's ideal home is one with her children living nearby. And I'm just longing for a home with a little bit of stability, one that can keep me and my husband in the same place for more than a few days at a time. Really though, I think we're all yearning for the same thing. We were created for a better Home.
  

morning mercies

(Hunter Museum of Art, from www.chattanoogachamber.com)

"The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies never come to an end.
They are new every morning."

Lamentations 3:22-23

another notch on the cool-o-meter

(me and my little brother)

Growing up, I really liked my initials.

A lot of the kids I knew had boring initials, like SKR or GFH, senseless combinations that spelled nothing. Mine? Mine were cool. Mine were relevant to the poofy-bangs, leggings and legwarmers, MC-Hammer-pants era in which we lived.

I was RAP.

I have never scored very high on the cool-o-meter, so I took what I could get.

In case you can't guess, we just got married. The wedding was a blast, and I'll post some more pictures as I get them. There are so many new things to get used to - living in a new house, figuring out what sort of toothpaste to buy and how we like our eggs. I was expecting all these kinds of things, but I hadn't really given much thought to the whole name-change process. I've only jumped through a few of the 27 flaming hoops required to become Rachel Gates, but it's started to dawn on me that, huh, I have a new name (there are so many theological parallels that I could go into here!!! That will have to be an addendum for later).

And changing my name is a good thing, something I've chosen to do, and I'm so glad that I have the privilege of being identified in name with my husband. But I can't help feeling a tiny twinge of second-grade nostalgia when I think that I will no longer be RAP.

Now? I'm RAG.

As I rock out to a little Police and Rick Springfield, I grin at my own nerdy-ness.

'Cause I think I'm still pretty cool.