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What happens when Downton Abbey meets One Direction (putting a little HappyFantastic in your day!)

In case you're wondering if:

a)  I've all but given up writing "real" posts...

b)  I'm obsessing over just a wee bit too much over Downton Abbey...

c)  I don't get out enough...

Let me assure you:

a) I AM writing-- 

• I've got a total of 14 posts to write for the Bloom Book Club
• I'm continuing to publish for (in)courage, Deeper Family and Simple Mom
• I'm spending t i m e penning some deeper thoughts that require careful intention
• I'm trying to re-work my Parenting Series into an ebook (with added and revised content)
• I've got some double-nought secret stuff going on :).

b)  I'm recovering (nicely and as expected) from knee surgery

c)  So, no...I'm not getting out enough

These will be my last words (I think) on Downton Abbey til next season, and they're ones you'll want to pay attention to if you're a fan in mourning from last night's Season Finale:

a)  There's a good reason they killed off [you know who and if you don't, I'm not telling], and we can't blame it on series creator Julian Fellowes; it was the actor's choice to leave the show (a fantastic interview that helped ease the pain of his departure).

b)  If you quietly wondered if you're crazy having a Pavlovian response to the DA theme song?  You are.

c)  And this.  Oh, my.  A mash-up of Downton Abbey and One Direction's "You don't know you're beautiful."  So much fun and I cannot imagine the tedium of finding and piecing together this video, but I'm OH so glad someone did! Enjoy!!

 

 

Last, this BRILLIANT Marshall Ramsey cartoon, with thanks to my friend Dawn for sharing it with me (feel free to Pin, Stumble, Facebook and/or Tweet this gem!!):

Oh, my...soooo good.

 

Hope you'll keep checking in...good things come to those who wait...!

Giving (a piece of) yourself away

One of my favorite things to do is to gift someone I love with something I know they'll love:

Surcies, little love gifts, the value of which is seeded in the thoughtfulness of the gift, not its pricetag.  It's why giving a giftcard or cash is  s o  v e r y  h a r d; for me, gift-giving is an intimate, personal expression of my relationship with the recipient and not just anything will do.  Overall, gift giving is the least of my love languages because if you don't give to me (or I don't give to you) it doesn't mean I'll feel unloved or I don't care or love you; in my crazy head, Nothing itself is better than a hollow something (am I even making sense??).

One of my least favorite things to do is to give out of obligation or because a day on the calendar mandates it.

This is the part of the Christmas season I struggle with, excess to those who don't need a thing and a culture that shouts bigger is better and more is never enough.  Even in Christian circles, lovies.

I admire those who are smart enough, crazy enough, restrained enough or counter-culture enough to disassociate gift-giving with Christmas within their family, and instead give to those who have materially little to nothing. I do hope you hear me:  I'm not saying that Christmas gift-giving to family and friends is bad or wrong; but based on the time invested in shopping and the amount of money spent from Black Friday through Christmas Eve, sometimes our focus is skewed.  Again, even in Christian circles.

It's simple and yet so complicated.  We give because God gave.

Thinking on Jesus' humble, magnificent, unimaginably difficult, astonishing birth stills my soul's thrashing during the Christmas Season and helps me to align giving with joy--

 

Please, please, please continue reading Giving Yourself Away at incourage today; I've asked you to share a piece of yourself (but you'll have to read to understand that fully).  

 

The unexpected, very welcome, Thanksgiving surprise

One of my favorite things is an extraordinary, everyday miracle.

I'm not speaking of Miracles of Biblical Proportion; rather the simple things that mean little to anyone else and the world to you, and that most people would scoff at and roll their eyes for my diminishing the word "miracle" to something so... w e l l ...common.  

Perfect timing is an example.  Sometimes perfect timing is just what you need to get over a hump or to increase your faith or to be encouraged.  Perfect timing can be disguised as a song on the radio or a timely newspaper article or in words of wisdom from a friend.  

Today is my sister's birthday; every so often it happens to fall smack dab on Thanksgiving day.  

This year, we're 5,000 miles from home making it impossible to get together with our extended family.  I'm especially thankful my children are able to be with us; and an added special bonus is having my first cousin living only a few hours away, enabling her to make this a family celebration after all.

So, this morning I woke up to a lengthy kitchen to-do list and a heart full of gratitude for the blessings that filed through my mind.  At the top of my list is my sister, it being her birthday and all; she's a 15-year cancer survivor.  Since our mom died at 38 from breast cancer, we absolutely welcome each birthday we're given, realizing we've both long-surpassed her lifespan.

Lora is my best friend and I cannot imagine life without her.

I absent-mindedly flipped over my (in)courage Day Brightener and before I read the quote for today, I noticed it was one of mine.  ON MY SISSY'S BIRTHDAY!  Every year when I get to November 22, it'll be like we're already celebrating together!! Which probably doesn't make a whole lot of sense to you, because this is my common, everyday miracle, but it's the kind of thing that sends my whole day spinning happy.

Which is one of my favorite things about myself--the ability to see and celebrate the extras in ordinaries.

Then, when I read today's quote, I just had to share it with you:  

"Today speak life, love, affirmation, truth or forgiveness

into the life of another,

something they're desperate to hear."

 

Sometimes it's what we don't say that often hurts the most; sometimes we hold back when we know there's something that needs saying, encouragement that will make a difference in the life of someone we love.

Don't let that be the case today.  You're likely going to spend time with family or friends and I hope you'll speak life into them.  

And then this little blog post can be an unexpected, very welcome Thanksgiving surprise for you, too.

YOUR TURN:  Are you a celebrator of Everyday, Common Miracles?  Would you share your stories with me?  And would you accept my challenge to speak life, love affirmation, truth or forgiveness to someone who needs a touch of your grace?  That will be their unexpected, very welcome Thanksgiving surprise.  

Happiest of Thanksgiving holidays to you, from me with l ♥ v e. 

Remember DaySpring's Super Sale through Monday -

30% off site-wide with code: 30SUPER
 Perfect time to get an (in)courage Perpetual Calendar

(Photo credit:  istockphoto.  Affilliate links used.)

25 Years and Fanciful London Doors

Based on how old I feel, to be celebrating my 25th wedding anniversary I must've gotten married when I was 13.  In fact, if it wasn't the case the year following my silver anniversary I'll be celebrating my golden birthiversary, I'd swear it.

In lieu of exchanging gifts (and to take advantage of the closeish proximity of living in Germany), my husband and I decided to make memories.  In London.

I had no idea how much I'd love it.

I know for many people, London is at the top of their Travel Wish List; but for some reason, it wasn't on mine.  I'm not a Royal watcher, I didn't get up at dark-thirty for Kate and William's wedding (though I have to admit I watched Di's and Charles' back in the day), and I couldn't have cared less about seeing Big Ben or Westminster Abbey or the Tower Bridge.

What the heck was wrong with me?  It was frickinfrackin spectacular!

It only took a walk a few hundred yards from our hotel and I was smitten--London's Natural History Museum was ~that close~ followed by the Victoria and Albert then Hyde Park and Harrod's and Piccadilly Circus AND OHMYWORD WHYohWHY had I not been doing everything I could to get there?!

Ignorance, in this case, was not so bliss.  It was kinda stupid.

Anyways, in upcoming posts I'll share more of our sights, but for now a series of doors on a solitary street, somewhere between King's Cross Station (where Harry Potter would crash through Platform 9¾ to catch his train to Hogwarts) and the British Museum.  I was drawn to their color and whimsey, not just in the painting of wood but also in the patterned tiles leading to entry.  

 

Sometimes basic black isn't basic at all.

 

I absolutely LOVE the tile in this one, complimenting the coral door and avocado trim. And the yellow leaves need to remain there all year!

Checkerboard tile makes me wanna sit and play. Simple and striking.

Isn't it amazing how a subtle rotation of the squares turns this from checkerboard to houndstooth? J'adore!

Understated color; overstated tile or just right?

 

They've got sunshine...on a cloudy day...

 

This one conjured thoughts of Tin Man. It almost scared me as much as flying monkeys.

Again, basic and black and OH so beautiful!

Thanks to my friend Lisa for inspiring me to share something as simple as this.  The doors she photographed are much more diverse, likely because they weren't all located on the same street!  

If you have a favorite, shout it out in comments!

I'm curious if one is more popular than the others.

Wanna guess what mine is? 

 

when it snows, i write love letters

snow fall and tear drop

No matter the number of children you deliver, how can it be that each is your favorite, for reasons as many and varied as the things that shade their differences? Intense and deep affection, seemingly dulled by the dailiness of living, is fierce lion lying in wait, patient and certain.

You never see it coming.

When it springs, it grabs you by the throat and has its way with you.  You're completely at its mercy.

Love is a king. 

You never see it coming but don't you always know it's right there?

* * * * * * *

It's too quiet today.  The silence screams for notice, and I do, because this silence means something.  He's home.

Home is where his heart is, home is where his friends are, home is his comforts and familiarities, home is where they speak a language he understands.  

Home is not with me.

This is my son, my always-baby by virtue of birth's order, the thing he didn't ask for but will always be.  

He's done a hard thing without complaint, believing a future purpose that didn't feel true in the present.  Well done, we tell him.  Well done, and he knows we mean it. 

He's earned a pride that swells my chest and stings my heart the good way, and I sing this lovesong to him as best I can and he hears it as best he can.

But he won't be able fully to hear it until he sits where I sit, a lifetime from now.

This one is light and life, kinetic energy, noise maker.  He thrives on laughter, he's friend to all, his concern is for others, he can't hold a grudge.  He has no idea the rippling of his super powers, they're boundless; which is yet another of his super powers.

Six weeks ago, he came with a plan.  There were many things he couldn't control so that plan was lifeline, full of things that mattered to him.  It had a beginning, and more important an end, and it compassed his way til he was done.

There was one thing in the plan, though, that he couldn't control:  the weather.  Did he really put weather in the plan?  THAT was ridiculous.  

Snow.  

 

Wow--click this to enlarge the photo and you'll see a beautiful, perfect snowflake on the rose's petal!

Snow in October?  A rarity, even here.  Last year it was minimal and didn't arrive until later, but that didn't matter to him.  He had hope.  And, I understand it, I do, because I share this fizzy delight in snow's fall--enchanting, frozen pixie dust as far as I'm concerned, likely my adoration shaped by its scant in my life.

 

And then, wouldn't you know it--the weather inched toward winter and at the beginning of the week snow, indeed, was forecast.

Oh, ye of little hope, all hail the one with great hope!

...in a thing that mattered to a boy...

But timing is everything and he was already flying above the snow when it finally showed up below.

And what normally thrills me to the center of who I am, that which sends my spirit dancing and happy, this morning it is only reminder that he missed his wish by inches and hours.

Love is lamb and lion, king of beasts, conquerer.

First snow...the beautiful letdown.

Selah.

Natural beauty

One of my favorite things about living in small town Bavaria (among many favorite things)) is riding my bike.  To the store, to a friend's house or just to ride, the places I go are typically accessible by two wheels instead of four.

Even after eight months, I still thrill to the streets of my hometown.  If I go one way, I see a castle; if I travel the other direction, I trail through neighborhoods.  The architecture is strikingly different from home, and my favorite feature is the flowing flower baskets at each window.

Yesterday I was headed to the store by car--we're already flirting with Winter temps over here--when my son and husband shamed me into a bike ride.  Actually, they couldn't believe I reached for keys when they were reaching for jackets and gloves--THAT was the shame!  So, I protested and grumbled, slipped on my coat, slathered on chapstick...and slithered out the door, completely out of sorts.

I peddled quickly past them to warm up (I'm convinced my skin is thinner than theirs and that's why I'm always cold), soon losing site of them behind me (they must have stopped to do something; I'm usually that much slower than them.).  

And THEN I received a spectacular reminder of why I love living here, reward for riding my bike, reason to kiss my husband and son, testimony of God's majesty and creative brilliance.  A perfect dahlia waving me over for a quick visit--

 

I want this canvased on a wall in my house.  Never mind that I don't have a drop of pink anywhere in the house.

 

 

Flax, wool, love and magic

I've been known to play favorites and there's a reason I couldn't include this post with yesterday's feature on Burgfest:  I fell head over heels with this precious lady.  Her top slipped down revealing her ancient cleavage...and she just giggled and hiked it back up.  How could you not love someone who didn't let a little thing like public boobies interfere with her joie de vivre?  That's her husband in the shadows; he knows he's married to a free spirit. 

 

She didn't speak a lick of English and yet she managed to explain the entire process of spinning yarn from flax and sheepen wool.  She LOVED having her picture taken--she even staged her shots.  

 

Her partner in crime never stopped working.  Their affections are carved in the marrow and they have a silent understanding.  I have no idea what it is, but I'm sure of it.

 

I think she had a crush on me, too, because she'd grin and wave every time she saw me.  The last time I passed by, she motioned me over, opened my hand, pressed something into it, and closed my fist around it.

A tiny little vial of honey, harvested by her man.  That's what they call your husband in Germany--"mein Mann."  

It's golden and gold.  Precious treasure.  

A stranger's hands, ancient and industrious, storied and wise...these hands have loved well.

She doesn't hold the whole world in them, but she holds enough of it to make a difference in the lives of others.  Mine.

A single touch told me so.

* * * * * * * * * *

Thank you for following my 31 Days in Europe series; I hope you'll share it with others through your favorite social sharing spots ~ Facebook, Twitter, Stumbleupon, Google+ and your favorites.  And don't forgot to subscribe by email or in a reader.  Tomorrow we're going on a roadtrip and I'd hate for you to miss that!

 

A modern-day fairytale: My Sister, Katie Couric and the Traveling Red Dress

________________________________________________________________

I'm cracking up after she commanded me to "Wink!"  Now those pictures are FUNNY because, news to me, I look like a circus freak when I wink...

My sister took a thousand pictures⁽¹⁾ of me last week...

and I can't decide if she loves me that much or just hates me.  Have you ever had to sift through a thousand pictures of yourself and choose a handful of favorites?  It's painful at times and narcissistically⁽²⁾ sickening.

But I'm ahead of myself...I need to back up a bit ~

Over two years ago Jenny, a long-time blogging friend,⁽²⁾ began a ballgown-revolution when she published The Traveling Red Dress, a blogpost celebrating women, joie de vivre and carpe-ing the heck out of diem.  It resonated with me because I wholeheartedly believe every girl needs a Princess Dress and had written about it just a few months earlier. 

Jenny's following is tall, wide and deep, and soon the Traveling Red Dress became legend.  It single-handedly almost broke Twitter one night when good people of generous spirit joined hands, offering free photographic service for those who'd wear a red dress, or buying and giving away red dresses to those who needed a smattering of pixie dust.  

The Traveling Red Dress is magical--whatever you need it to be it is.

It is reckoning force, a whirlwind of fire and tulle.   

Eight months later, Jenny (aka The Bloggess if you haven't yet been introduced...a loveable, wickedly-brilliant and creatively-expletive writer) followed her first TRD post with another⁽⁵⁾ and by then its story had even caught the eye of Forbes.

* * * * * *

When I unpacked after arriving in Germany, I realized I had forgotten to bring my Princess Dress.  

An upside to living between two countries, not being able to speak the language, and starting out a fraidy cat was our anticipated travel within Europe.  With basic expenses covered through my husband's employer (i.e., airfare to Germany for starters), we planned to visit as many places as possible while on the continent.  

I dreamed of traveling to cities I had only read about or seen in the movies.  

Since finances aren't unlimited we'd have to pick and choose. But s t i l l --Austria, Switzerland, Italy and the Czech Republic were within driving distance; a short flight or longer drive, and France and London made the cut.  

Sugar plum visions stirred imagination--twirling in my Princess Dress in front of the Eiffel Tower, riding a gondola in Venice's Grand Canal...but mostly walking the grounds of my neighborhood castle.

Then I remembered the Traveling Red Dress.

I emailed Jenny to see if the possibility existed to bring it on a European vacation, explaining I would be in the States two months and could bring it (and my Princess Dress) back on the return trip. 

She clapped her hands and squealed, "I likey!"

And then I wrote the Queen of Spain who graciously dropped it in the mail to me.

Which sounds absolutely crazy but is 100% true⁽⁴⁾.

* * * * * * * * * *

Then one day Katie Couric decided to create her own TV show.  

THE Katie Couric I had spent years of mornings with after the birth of my first baby, right after her temporary Today Show gig became permanent.  I remember when her second daughter was born, then when she lost her husband to colon cancer...and how brave and strong and influential she was following his death, leading the way to early screenings and making a "colonoscopy" not quite so scary.

I thought about her when I had my own.

Katie likes to surround herself with smart women, so she agreed to speak at BlogHer this year.  Four thousand amazing women, each with a personal sphere of influence that collectively reaches millions of people.   

I'm so sad I won't be there to hear her in person; I've got a date in Paris instead.... I've got a date with Paris instead...!

But Katie had heard about the Traveling Red Dress, though.  And she decided she needed it more than me...

...but not before my sister took 1,000 pictures.

To be continued....

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : 

(1)  Oh, how I wish I were exaggerating....

(2)  I see no reason why I can't adverb narcissistic AND verb adverb.

(3)  Jenny Lawson, recently turned best-selling author of "Let's Pretend This Never Happened: (A Mostly True Memoir)."

(4)  Jenny didn't actually clap and say "I likey" but she liked the idea.  The Queen of Spain, however, did send me the dress.  Mocha Momma had sent it to her....

(5)  The Bloggess is rated NC-17 for content and language but not nudity.  Yet.  You've been warned. 

 

Love Stuffed

I visited a friend recently whose home had been invaded by giraffes.

Stuffed with fluff and mile-wide toothless grins, they told me plenty about the home I was visiting:  it was a happy sort of place with a lot of littles underfoot.  Three to be exact, stairsteps from nine months to four years.

Oh, I remember that time of life! Just like my friend Kim, when my third was born my oldest was months away from her fifth birthday.  The days were long and some of them demanded e v e r y t h i n g  of me just to make it to bedtime.  Theirs...and then mine.  No one could have loved their babies more or savored each season with more relish than me, but that doesn't mean it wasn't hard at times.

Motherhood and ministry, Jesus and Germany, life and love--our conversation never stopped.  And no matter where we wandered in her home ~ usually to follow her babies ~ there was a giraffe or two smiling back at me.

I couldn't help mentioning it; something about them pricked my mama heart, I suppose the memory of my own daughter's collection of lovies.  Usually kitties, now given or boxed away. except for Princess, her Velveteen Rabbit.

But our time was limited and talk of giraffes swiftly moved on to other things.

Too soon it was time to go.

As we walked to the door to hug our good-byes, Kim pressed something soft and cuddly into my hand:

* * * * * * * * * *

Please continue reading Love Stuffed at (in)courage today where I figure out the absolutely BEST gift to give (or receive) :).

 

I had NO idea just how exciting this could be...how excited I would be!

Last fall I was contacted about contributing an essay for a collaborative print book project; everything about it seemed perfect:

• I've highly regarded the publisher almost as long as I could read (an arm of Guideposts).
• Through this Inspiring Voices project, author Margaret McSweeney compiled over 50 WONDERFUL essays related to motherhood from a diverse group of veteran and new authors.
• And what maybe thrilled me more than anything else, all proceeds from book sales was to help struggling women and children in true need:  
  • WINGS:  to help fund a safe house in the Chicago suburbs, where mothers and their children can flee from domestic violence; and
  •  Hands of Hope: to help build wells for school children in Uganda

Legacies, lessons and love were the over-arching themes of the collaboration, and, not only did I know I had to say yes, I knew exactly what I was going to write about--something that encompassed all three!

 

Eight months later I received my copy today...and I'm downright giddy with the end result!!  Smack dab in the center of the book, pages 80-82 to be exact, you'll find my essay.  

Is it a big surprise its title is A Princess Tale? 

As delighted as I am with a single chapter, I cannot image the joy and sense of accomplishment of writing and publishing an entire book!  Mother of Pearl: Luminous Lessons and Iridescent Faith would make a lovely gift for the mother, daughter, grandmommy or special lady in your life, and serve as a lovely mama-encouragement for you!  And proceeds from your purchase will make a difference in the lives of sweet mamas and children you'll likely never get to meet but who are grateful for strangers who care.

A little bonus I didn't expect was to see my sweet friend and Very Accomplished Grown-up Writer, Holley Gerth, with an acknowledgement on the front page.  That made all this tripley sweet.  

This seems to be a theme, too, with projects I've joined the past several months; both collaborative and related to motherhood. Before this Mother of Pearl project there was the beautifully written collaboration with another group--you might remember it:  The Mother Letters (grab that one for a steal!), brainchild of Seth and Amber Haines.

Sincere thanks to Amy Lathrop for seeking me out and connecting me with Margaret.  I'll be forever grateful to her for this beautiful milestone.  

(In case you'd like to purchase the book, I've included my Amazon affiliate link below.)