I've been a bad blogger. Life sort of got in the way, which is ok, of course, because we all know life is more important than the internet.
*crickets chirping*
Don't we?
Anyway, here's what I've been up to lately:
Mostly, working two jobs. I started working as an Independent Arbonne Consultant in July, and it's been a lot of fun. If you don't know what Arbonne is, it's basically natural, botanically based skincare & wellness products that rock your face off. Well, not your face, really, just your wrinkles. Anyways, it's awesome, but starting any new business is certainly time-consuming. If you want some great products that work & aren't going to kill you with chemicals, I can hook you up.
Enjoying the (slightly) cooler end-of-summer outdoors. Until the ragweed ruined everything. I'm hoping fall gets here soon.
Watching Firefly. I went through the whole season and the movie in a couple of days. How did I not know about this sooner? I have some serious geek love for this show.
Aaand that's about it. Work has taken up most of my time. When I do have a few blissful moments of free time I want to sit and veg, not expend more creative energy.
Speaking of creative energy, these are the blogs I've been loving lately:
Notice how all of these revolve around clothes? I seriously think I missed my calling. Is it too late to switch my graduate degree to fashion design? Oh, I wish.
And just to avoid posting a blog with no pictures. . .
do yourself a favor, and go watch this.
(you can find it on amazon.com, or netflix instant)
In addition to the snowball incident, my friends Rachel and Anna and I had more than our share of adventures. There was the popcorn incident. There was the goldfish swallowing incident. There was the time Rachel passed out on me in the student union. One of the most memorable adventures, though, was the night we roasted marshmallows over the Eternal Flame.
Our school mascot was/is the Flames. As in fire. It's supposed to be all pentecostal and charismatic, I guess, but I've always thought it to be lacking. I think we used to be the Vikings back in the 1950s, but I guess it was too violent. Or too Nordic. I don't know.
So, because of the mascot we had this fountain with a gas-lit "eternal" flame in the middle. Only it wasn't eternal, because I think it blew out more often than it was actually lit. Anyway, on one particularly cold night, Anna and Rachel and I observed the fact that we had an extra bag of marshmallows, for whatever reason. We also observed that, if we bent a couple of metal clothes-hangers, we'd have the perfect equipment for roasting said marshmallows.
And thus it began.
The eternal flame was right across the street from our dorm, so we bundled up, slipped on hoodies for anonymity, and strolled nonchalantly over to the fountain. It being below freezing, the fountain had been emptied and was quite dry, so we proceeded to climb inside and begin roasting our 'mallows. Now, this sort of adventure was highly frowned upon by campus security, so every time a patrol drove by we had to lay down inside the fountain to avoid detection.
We successfully roasted and consumed several petroleum-flavored marshmallows, upping our carcinogen levels for the next few weeks. We figured that we didn't smoke or drink, so a marshmallow or two probably wasn't going to overwhelm our bodies defenses.
There may have also been a few Native American-style fire dances around the flame. To stay warm, of course.
As a refresher, here's the three of us, pre-roast:
My friends Rachel and Anna and I were destined to be friends in college. We all entered our college experience as members of the Freshman Honor Corps, a group of study-focused individuals (read: nerds) that spent the semester taking challenging courses together and participating in crazy team-building activities. Rachel and I became fast friends and became known as "the Rachels" (I miss you, other half!), and Anna frequently joined us on our adventures.
And we had many adventures, or rather, adventurous mishaps. The most infamous of these was the Snowball Incident of 2003, which began with us innocently enjoying a particularly heavy January snowfall, sliding around in the parking lots and making snow balls out of the fresh piles accumulating on commuters' cars. This progressed to a full-on snowball fight, after which, in a rush of pink-nosed giddiness, we decided to take our snowball fight into one of the dorms and ambush our friend Jackie.
So, we began the journey from our current parking lot across campus to Jackie's dorm, carrying our carefully-packed snowballs. Attempting to outdo the rest of us, Rachel kept rolling her snowball into each patch of fresh snow we encountered. The snowball was the size of a tennis ball, then a softball, then a small cantaloupe. Right before we ran into the dorm, she took advantage of one more undisturbed spot of snow, primly located in the dormitory's landscape area. The snowball was now rather bowling ball-sized; it was no longer white, but was covered in a fresh layer of mulch and dirt from the landscape area. A slushy landscape ball, if you will.
The three of us ran up the stairs, knocked on Jackie's door, and waited. She opened the door, hair freshly washed and dried and a clean outfit on. Anna and I threw our dainty snowballs. Splat. Splat. We all kinda giggled. We looked at Rachel, and she threw the monster. SPLOOSH.
It landed on Jackie's head and kind of slid down the side of her face. And then we feared for our lives, so we ran.
Jackie didn't speak to us for weeks. It took lots of apologies and "please forgive us" cards before we could be friendly again. We even volunteered to come shampoo the dirt out of her carpet.
I've never laughed so hard in my entire life. I haven't seen or talked to Jackie in years, but as for Anna and Rachel and I, that snowball cemented our friendship.
I have several amazing, lifelong friends, a blessing of providentially epic proportions. It is something which I have taken for granted nearly my whole life, and am only now beginning to realize the full weight of.
Jessica and I like to say that we've been best friends since before we were born, since our mothers were best friends, and our grandmothers were also good friends. We lived down the street from each other until we were about 4, when her family moved to Texas, and then to Florida. From then on we faithfully drew each other colorful stick-figure pictures, progressing to chicken scratch-covered postcards, which eventually blossomed into real letters. They visited Tennessee over the holidays; we made the trek down to share in steamy Florida summers and whirlwind trips to Disney World. Somehow the states between us (ok, state - Georgia is HUGE people) didn't seem to matter.
(awkward much? yeah, we were)
I think I took having Jessica for a best friend for granted, because she was just always there, writing letters, calling, loving me for who I was, even though we are really different in a lot of ways. When it came to friendships, she put Jesus skin on and lived in it.
I was overjoyed when Jessica transferred to my college, and we got to share my senior year & her junior year of school. She also stuck around after school for a while, so we got to live in the same city once again. Now that she's moved back to Florida, it's harder to keep up with each others day to day lives, and I'm sure I'm back to taking her for granted all over again.
Sarah and Allison were my daily companions, my playmates, my partners in crime. We held Barbie yardsales, had birthday parties for our stuffed animals, built forts in the backyard, and did all of this in layers of dress up clothes. Our visits became more infrequent as we got older, and we lost touch when we all went our separate ways to college. Then, I was at an Irish pub with friends a few years ago, and the server that came up to our table to was Allison. I jumped up and hugged her; I think she kind of stared at me with her mouth open for a second. We discovered the three of us were all in Chattanooga, and now we get together fairly regularly for dinner or a cookout.
It's a wonderful thing when you're around old friends. It's just comfortable. I don't worry about my hair being frizzy or the dishes in the sink. Old friends know exactly who you are, and somehow still want to be around you. The most recent childhood friend I've reconnected with is Emily. Emily also spent a lot of time at our house when were kids. Fun loving and accident-prone, she was the instigator of many of my childhood injuries, like the time we played golf with a broom and I ended up wearing a pirate-like eye patch for three weeks. After her family moved to Michigan, Emily and I were also regular pen pals. Between Emily and Jessica, I probably wrote more letters in my pre-teen years than most people do in a lifetime.
Em, her husband, and their three kids recently moved back to Tennessee. Although we hadn't seen in each other in a decade and hadn't even spoken in years, it was so easy just to pick up conversation, to catch up and reminisce.
I wonder if, when time ends and we meet Jesus face to face, if it will be like reuniting with an old friend. I imagine he'll tell us how much he's missed us, how glad he is that we're finally there. And then we'll sit down together, and he'll tell us about how he hung the stars, and why he had so much fun creating sea turtles, and we'll rejoice together that everything has been made new and right again.
Even while we're remembering the past, we're forming new memories.
Here are a few pictures from our recent Florida trip. I want to remember the beach this way, before the oil came and blackened the pure white sand. It'll be beautiful again someday, but it's going to take a long time.
I love this picture of me and my grandmother. I'm not sure who was more wary of getting in the water, and I think we both feel the same today. :-)
I grew up going to Florida nearly every year with my mother, grandparents, aunt, and cousins. Grandma grew up in Pensacola, so we would go down to visit family and play on the beach. My memories from those trips consist of happy nights snuggled in homemade afghans at Aunt Marylou's house, playing in the red dirt of her fire-aunt infested backyard, and picking up seashells on the beach. Most of my beach memories include my cousin Melody.
For visual reference, Melody is on the left, next to Harvey.
For many years, we would go to Pensacola to see family, then head over to Panama City for our relaxing beach time (this was when it was just starting to become an airbrushing, go-carting tourist trap. don't judge). I have great memories of Melody and I playing in the surf for hours, building sandcastles, getting eaten alive by sand fleas, and even dancing around in our matching grass skirts. Our annual trips got more infrequent as all of us grandkids got older, and the long car rides got to be too much for my grandfather.
My grandfather passed away several years ago, but my Grandma still likes to go back to Pensacola every couple of years visit her nieces, and be reminded of the place she and Grandpa met, I think. Last week my mom, aunt, and I had the privilege of joining her on such a pilgrimage.
I'd had high hopes for the trip, because of all those wonderful memories. But wasn't everything I'd hoped it would be.
Grandma was sick, and wasn't quite herself. In between coughing fits, she was bossy and irritable. I probably would have been, too, if I was 80 years old and felt as bad as she did. Mom and my aunt were both stuffy and snoring, so no one slept a whole lot. Melody wasn't there, neither was my little brother. Neither was Grandpa. I had no desire to collect shells, because they didn't match my house's decor (snooty, huh). This trip was just different. I wasn't a kid anymore.
There were many really good things about the trip, too. The beach was beautiful and clean, still unspoiled by the coming oil slick. The weather was perfect. The hotel was great, with a nice little pool and a great view. We saw amazing sunsets. We got to visit with family. I got to talk with my aunt a lot, which I don't think I've been able to do it years. I think I had the most fun of the whole trip when mom and I went out to the beach by ourselves on our last evening, walked along collecting shells for a craft project she wanted to work on, watched the sunset, and entertained ourselves by setting the camera's timer and attempting the perfect jumping-in-the-sand photo.
We can't get the past back, obviously. But the present can be good, too. And I'm so grateful for such wonderful grandparents, who took the time to share their past and present.
And, in case you're wondering, our timer photos were hilarious, if unsuccessful. :)
I have nothing but good memories of my early childhood and elementary years. This is mostly thanks to my wonderfully creative, stay-at-home mother. I was an only child until I was eight, but my friends Allison and Sarah, and often two or three other kids, were our house every day. While we had plenty of free reign, it was my mother that helped orchestrate, and often joined in, our grandest adventures.
Summer was the best of all. We constructed elaborate slip n'slide set-ups in the back yard, where we'd tack tarps onto the end to make it longer, and still ruined the grass and our stomachs from overzealous sliding. My dad would bring refrigerator-sized boxes home from work, and we'd cut and color and open our own drive-through restaurant in the driveway. Bicycles were the vehicles of choice, and the "food" was usually tacos made from magnolia leaves. Sometimes we'd even schlep the plastic play food outside. Super Soaker water fights were a common occurrence, as were trips to the library and the public pool.
But the day that stands out above all the rest, the one that we still talk about as adults, was the day my mother
let. us. have. a. pie. fight.
She even bought the supplies. She was that cool.
I don't know where the idea came from, probably Bugs Bunny or Nickelodeon, but we got it into our heads that slopping whipped cream pies into other people's faces had to be the epitome of a good time. Maybe because you just don't see people walking down the street, slapping whipped cream at others' heads, I dunno.
So, mom went to the store and bought a carload of Cool-Whip and pie tins. We donned our bathing suits, laid the pie tins on a picnic table, and began divvying up the Cool-Whip. We had amassed quite a few more kids at that point, I think, so this was a big deal. Everyone got two or three pie plates full, so you had to aim wisely. Our backyard was immense (at least it seemed to be back then) and full of shrubbery. Trees and bushes became fortresses, globs of whipped topping met would-be invaders.
I'm sure the fight lasted only minutes before our supplies were depleted, the grass was coated in corn syrup and hydrogenated oil, and we were sticky, dirty messes. So my mom did what any reasonable mother would do.
She broke out the slip n' slide.
(That picture up there really makes me want a Little Mermaid t-shirt.)
I love Donald Miller. His latest book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, is really profound and incredible in so many ways. I recommend you read the entire book, but this post is going to be about a paragraph in the very first chapter.
Miller notes how little of life we actually remember - only a tiny fraction of a fraction of all the minutes and days we live. He says that his friend, Bob, writes down everything he remembers. Every minute detail, and Bob has filled more than 500 pages with his memories.
"He's the only guy I know," writes Miller, "who remembers his life. He said he captures memories, because if he forgets them, it's as though they didn't happen; it's as though he hadn't lived the parts he doesn't remember."
How much of life do you remember? Sure, you remember the big things, like major birthdays, weddings, trips to Disney World. But life is made up of thousands of small moments, of seemingly meaningless choices and habits and routines. Why are you the person you are now? It seems that we are made up of memories, and if we forget, we won't know who we really are.
One of my greatest regrets in life is not writing down my Grandpa's stories when I had the chance. Now I have to try to remember them on my own. That is why I'm going to start blogging about my memories this summer. Let's call it the Summer of Stories. I'd like to say that I'll write one every day, but I'm trying to be realistic here, so let's just say I'll try to post as often as possible. No memories are off-limits, whether they be childhood adventures or moments of teenage angst. I'll try to make sure there's some semblance of a point to everything. Please join in the fun by posting your own memories in the comments section.
As Miller continues, "The thing about trying to remember your life is it makes you wonder what any of it means. You get the feeling life means something, but you're not sure what. Life has a peculiar feel when you look back on it that it doesn't have when you're actually living it."
Summer is almost here. I can tell because the days are getting warmer and more humid, my second semester of grad school is officially over, and the sun is staying up nearly as long as I am in the evenings.
I am so grateful for the reprieve that is summer.
I received very, very good news this week. I am not allergic to any foods, much less the entire food pyramid. Apparently skin testing (which I had done this week) is much more reliable than blood testing (what I had done a couple weeks ago). As in, blood testing has a 50/50 reliability rate, while skin testing has a 95% reliability rate. I wish I had known that before, but I don't regret cutting all that stuff out of my diet for a few weeks. I diversified my food repertoire quite a bit. I've added everything back in except wheat and dairy, and I think I'm going to stay away from those for a while just because I feel better.
I decided against taking summer classes this year, just because I need a break and some time to finish settling into our new home. I'm excited to (finally) unpack that last room full of boxes, to paint my kitchen and bathroom, and to hang things on the walls. Time at home that doesn't involve sleeping or doing homework will be a good thing.
Summer hours start in two weeks. I love working at a school.
I hope you find rest and reprieve in at least some small way this summer, even if your work is not dictated by the school calender.
Have you ever woken up, and thought, maybe for just a split second, that perhaps yesterday was just a nightmare?
I did that today.
After a scary weekend of allergic reactions to an unknown substance, I went to the doctor this week and had some blood work done to see if I was allergic to anything. I got the results yesterday, and they're not good. In fact, I feel like someone has suddenly taken away any shred of freedom and independence I may have had.
According to that blood test, I am allergic to dairy, eggs, wheat, soy, corn, peanuts, walnuts, and sesame seeds. I was expecting maybe one or two things, but everything?
At first, I thought I could handle it. I eat very healthily anyway, so I'll just make substitutions, right? That worked until I realized I was allergic to the substitutions as well. Anything that's made gluten-free (without wheat) is usually made with at least some corn flour, but I can't eat corn. Anything made without eggs usually involves corn starch. Anything without dairy usually has soy in it. Even packaged dressings and condiments have corn syrup and soybean oil in them.
I literally cannot eat anything from the grocery store.
I have to make everything from scratch.
Now, if I stayed at home all day, this would be somewhat feasible. I could carefully control my food intake. This isn't possible, though, because in addition to a full time job, I'm also a grad student. I barely have time to take a shower in the morning and water my garden in the evening, there's no way in hell I have time to whip up a vinaigrette from scratch every time I have a salad.
But the thing is, I have no choice.
Yesterday, I was really sad. I cried a lot. Today I'm angry and bitter.
Think about how many things in our lives revolve around food. Birthday parties, nights out with friends, weddings, parties, church events. I can't participate in any of it, because there's no way of telling what's in something or how it was prepared. I can no longer eat at any of my favorite restaurants. I can't eat at any restaurants.
My two favorite things to do are to cook and to travel. Cooking has lost all of its joy, and I'm not sure if I'll be able to travel because I will never be able to eat anywhere.
I have an appointment with an allergist that's supposed to help me sort all this out and do some further testing, but it's not for three more weeks. There's a chance that I won't always be allergic to all of these things, but there's no way to know.
And in the meantime I have to somehow focus on work and finishing the semester of grad school.
I'm sorry this post is so depressing. I know I should be cheerful and chipper, determined to overcome and beat this, but I'm not. I'm just overwhelmed. And defeated.
Want to do something good for yourself & the environment? Try adopting a few easy habits to celebrate Earth Day this year.
1. Recycle, recycle, recycle! It may seem obvious, but I'm amazed at how many people still don't recycle. If you live in Chattanooga, go to http://www.recycleright.org/ to sign up for free bi-weekly recycling pick up. You don't even have to sort it!
2. BYOB - Bring your own bag! Plastic bags take hundreds of years to break down in a landfill. Most European stores eliminated complimentary shopping bags years ago. Many grocery stores now offer reusable bags for purchase, or round up all the old freebie canvas totes you have around the house. I keep a pile of them in the trunk of my car, so I'm always ready for a grocery run.
3. Shop thrift or consignment first. Before you buy a brand new item of clothing, see if you can find what you need in a thrift or consignment store, or on Ebay. You'll lessen your environmental impact, and the impact on your wallet. If you need some inspiration, you can read about my year of no new clothes here and here.
4. Ditch the dryer. If it's nice out, hang your clothes on a clothesline outside. It's that easy! You'll save energy and extend the life of your clothes. We lived without a dryer for more than a year when we first got married, and I didn't really miss it much at all. Now, we just use it when it's raining or we're in need of clean undies, stat.
5. Drink tap water. We have the safest drinking water in the world, so ditch the bottled water, folks! All those bottles just create most waste, and studies have shown that the chemicals in plastic water bottles can leach out into the water. Use a water purifier or filter if you're concerned about taste. Carry your water to-go in a stainless steel (not aluminum) bottle, or make sure whatever bottle you're using is BPA-free.
I could go on, but I promised these would be easy! Let me know if you have any questions, or need more suggestions. The best thing you can do on Earth Day is go outside and enjoy it!
"The earth is the LORD's, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it." ~ Psalm 24:1
My grandpa told stories. Action, romance, mystery – I was captivated by them all, even those I could quote by heart. He told stories of his life, his adventures in the Navy, how he met my grandmother. She used to come in and tell him to leave me alone, that I’d heard all the stories before. I’d grin, and wait for grandpa to continue. I wanted to hear them all again and again, because not only were the stories special, so was the storyteller.
As humans, we understand our lives by telling and listening to stories. We relate to each other through these narratives, not cold, hard facts. This is the essence of Walter Fisher's Narrative Theory, the theory that prompted me to pursuit a graduate degree in Mass Communication. Sometimes, when deadlines are looming both at school and at work, it is easy to forget the bigger picture, to get so caught up in the details of this specific sentence and chapter that I forget where the story is headed.
When I step back, I realize the point of the story is I have a new life in Christ. His story tells of his never-ending love and faithfulness. It's beautiful and intricate and breathtaking. If I lose sight of that, and forget to share that story, then the little chapter I am focusing on and laboring over so intently is not going to make much sense. No one will have any idea what the story is all about, and I'll miss out on the amazing stories others have to tell.
This week, I encourage you to consider your story. What is its theme, its purpose? Perhaps, like me, you become so focused on the syntax that you forget the plot. Remember and share your story, and pursuit the stories of others. You may be surprised at the epics we take for granted.
Hey guys! Sorry I haven't posted here in a while. I've become a regular contributor for http://thebudgetfashionista.com/ , so I haven't had much time to write anything else. If you like fashion but don't like spending a lot of money, you should check it out! :)
Sure, there are certain advantages. You get to stay up as late as you want (and pay for it at work the next morning), eat whatever you want (and bulge out of your jeans), or watch TV as long as you want (and generally turn into a pudgy sloth with no social life).
We’re in the process of buying a new house, and selling our current abode. It has been a great little house (emphasis on little) for the first two years of our marriage, but we’re ready for more space and a big, fenced-in yard for our behemoth dog to run free in.
I’ll be honest, buying a house while working full time and attempting to get through grad school is a little bit insane. Some days, my brain just doesn’t want to work anymore. Big, adult decisions like house-buying are scary. There’s no one else to blame if you make a mistake. What if you buy the wrong house and get stuck with a money pit a la Tom Hanks? What if we lose our jobs, or incur huge medical bills, or encounter any number of ruinous circumstances that leave us financially screwed and we can’t pay our mortgage?
If I take a deep breath, I realize that I’m overreacting. We already own a house, and owning a slightly bigger and more expensive one won’t be all that different. We’re careful with our finances, but what it really all boils down to is that God is sovereign, no matter if we have money to spare or if we’re financially ruined. We’re called to be good stewards with what we have, something I take very seriously, but the moment I start worrying and fretting and trying to hold onto money is the moment I miss the point completely.
So I’m crossing my fingers, praying, and hoping all grown-ups don’t end up like Hanks’ Walter Fielding.
I successfully went a whole year without buying any new clothes. Shocked?
I am a little bit, too.
Last year, when the presents were unwrapped, the bubbly uncorked, and people were resolving to be thinner, wealthier, and better-looking (or something like that), I decided to challenge myself to buy no new clothes for the entirety of 2009. “New” is really the key word here – I bought clothes that were new to me, just not new to the rest of the world.
I like clothes. A lot. Legend has it that I began to pick out my daily attire at age two, because something my mom had chosen for me didn’t “mats” (I was apparently aware of the color wheel long before I had enough teeth to say “ch”).
I treat clothes like souvenirs. I like to buy them when I travel, bringing a little piece of the world home with me. Currently, my closet holds shirts from Dublin, scarves from London, a skirt and sunglasses from L.A., Cubs shirts from Chicago. . . it’s kind of like World Market, without the well-coordinated décor, edgy music, and off-brand Nutella.
And, being a good, thrifty Presbyterian, I am also highly susceptible to the “itsareallygooddeal” disease. This illness can strike suddenly and without warning, usually within a tight radius of the Gap clearance racks. And no matter how cute that $12 Target bargain is, those add up fast, and were leaving my closet too full and wallet too, well, empty.
I also stopped buying new clothes to lessen the environmental impact of all those clearance rack spending sprees. If I don’t buy a new sweater, it means someone has to make one less sweater, and those materials and energy aren’t used. The consignment shop sweater has already been made, it’s already “out there” in the world, and by reusing it, I reduce my resource consumption, albeit by a very, very small percentage. While one sweater isn’t going to make a very big difference (or for that matter a whole year of clothes purchases) it is still something I can do, and in the end has changed by buying habits.
The rules of my experiment were simple. No buying new clothes. Consignment stores, thrift stores, garage sales, Ebay, and Craigslist were all were acceptable clothing sources. In an effort to learn a new skill, I was also allowed to wear anything I could sew myself (which sadly turned out to be, well, nothing). I could wear anything given to me as a gift, because I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings (and I have a rule to never, ever turn down free J. Crew. Just sayin.’).
Surprisingly, my year-long experiment was much, much easier than I expected it to be. Probably the most difficult was when I traveled to L.A. and had to deal with the candy-shop assortment of colorful boutiques laid out before me. I bought accessories (not forbidden) and sought out some cool thrift stores and consignment shops. I didn’t get to clear out the H&M as I would have liked, but my shopping need was well satisfied. For the rest of the year, I found a few key thrift store jewels, and got creative with how I put the rest of my wardrobe together.
If I had to summarize everything I learned this year in one word, it would be this: Ebay.
No, seriously.
I never knew what a treasure trove of fashion awaited me in cyberspace! Ebay-ing for books, electronics, and Christmas presents was old hat, but clothing was a new challenge. One that takes patience, proper measurements, and some more patience. In order to be a successful Ebay clothier, you need to know your measurements and stick to brands you know and trust (for me it’s the ever-lovely J. Crew). I would scour Ebay for the particular item I was looking for (most of the time jeans or boots), add a bunch of items to my watch list, watch as most of them went out of my desired price range, bid on a couple, and maybe win one. It took me about two months before I finally found the tall, brown boots I was looking for (new shoes weren’t off limits, just more than I wanted to spend), and I had to buy two pairs before I found one that fit (after a few forlorn sighs, the other was promptly re-listed). But in the end I ended up with a great pair of brand new $300 boots for $60, that I wear almost daily. Jeans are a bit tricker, but if you find a brand and style you love, keep scouring Ebay for them. I bought two gently used pairs of (J.Crew!) jeans for under $12 each, and that is so much more satisfying than buying the same jeans out of the catalog for $80.
I ended my retail-fashion-fast on New Years Eve by stopping at an outlet mall somewhere in Indiana. Or maybe it was Kentucky. (We were driving home from Wisconsin on our Christmas adventure across the Midwest, and I’d spent so many hours in the car at that point, I wasn’t even sure what state I was in.) All I know is, while we were chugging along I-90, my sweet husband suggested we stop and stretch our legs and let our dog relieve her ever-patient bladder. And then we pull up in front of the J.Crew factory store. Yes, folks, my husband loves me.
All that to say that one pair of cargo pants, corduroys, and a sweater later, my fast is over. And while it will be really nice to walk into a store and buy a white dress shirt if I need one, rather than scouring every thrift store in town, I don’t think I’ll be returning to my old shopping habits any time soon. I still plan to turn first to Ebay whenever I’m looking for a new pair of jeans, and thrift stores can more than satisfy any hint of “itsareallygooddeal” disease that may come my way.
And for all of you who stopped reading five paragraphs ago because this post is so damn long, here’s a recap: I didn’t buy any new clothes for a year, I survived (thrived, even!), and you should try it too.
I threw that last little encouragement in there for good measure. If you’re thinking of giving up new clothes for a while and need some pointers, let me know.
In the meantime, I’m going to try to figure out something to resolve for this new year before I blink and it’s 2011. Any suggestions?
