List #3: Morning Rituals

I love mornings. (I REALLY love mornings after about 12 hours of sleep, but…) Even with limited sleep, however, wave a cup of coffee under my nose and give me a minute to think and I’ll be up and singing in the shower within minutes. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the power of mornings and new days, and the hope that comes with an AM address. I’m a routine-loving girl, and throughout my long and illustrious life I’ve had multiple routines that made mornings special.

• Opening up the coffee stand in Bonanza, Oregon. I wrote about it here, and I can still smell the coffee, bleach and fresh-country-air smell of those days.
• College. A shower, a granola bar and my North Face daypack and I was out the door. It was always hotter than I expected, even after four years I was always shocked by t-shirt weather in October. I was the only one in House 9 Abilene who actually PLANNED to have 8 o’clock classes, so I usually walked or drove to campus by myself, meeting up with my roommates later when they were in more charitable moods. (I’m the only morning person of the four of us, so I probably noisy-ed my way onto their morning bad side more than once. Sorry.)
• Wrangler mornings. Smashing a cowboy hat on my rumpled curls and clomping out the door with Ami, my wrangler buddy, in the grey, misty dawn. It would be 100 degrees by noon, but in the morning, the air was brisk against our cheeks and smelled of wet grass, yesterday’s dust and horses. We’d get ready to bring our herd in, pouring grain, opening tack rooms and hay bales. The day would be long and dusty, but in the morning we were excited, refreshed, talking to our horses like a couple of doting moms and laughing at inside jokes.
• Summer camp mornings. I worked as a counselor on and off in-between wranglering, and I would wake up much later than wranlger mornings, but STILL be up and get a shower before the kids did. GLORY HALLELUJAH. This was also where I learned how to have a “quiet time” with the Lord, which I try to still have as my morning routine.
• Early OC days. When I first moved to the OC, I lived with my grandma and went jogging every morning in her neighborhood. Then I went and sat at my desk and ate bagels and candy all day, so I still gained weight, but at least it was a good habit. Right?
• Dana Point. When I moved to my “bower” in DP, I woke up at the butt-crack of dawn, brewed a pot of coffee in my hobbit-sized coffeemaker, made myself a lunch and commuted up the coast for 40 minutes, occasionally early enough to see the pink morning sun glisten on the water and imagine myself alone on Pacific Coast Highway. I also gained weight at that job, what with the sitting on the butt and the drinking of many lattes. Office life, it does me no favors.
• Married life. Adam makes coffee. I get spoiled. I hunker down with a Bible and steaming cup and then I get to work – blogging, writing, calling, talking, sounding like a professional. I love that pause, right when I have a fresh brew and a moment to glory in the peace of early morning and the possibilities that come with it – as Anne Shirley said, “Tomorrow’s a new day, with no mistakes in it yet.”

What makes your mornings special?

 

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Let’s Get Shopping! {Cake Stands}

A couple of days ago, I asked if anybody would like to read about my latest cravings/purchases/lusts, despite how out-dated they may be. Two of you said you would like to read it, (which is by no means a majority) (I hope) (crap, maybe Jon is right). Anyhoodle, even if there is only two of you fellow shoppers – as my poor Hubs knows, since when do I need any kind of impetus to spend money on adorable things? Since never, that’s when.

For now, I’m going to focus on spending money on things of the adorable homey/kitchen-y variety, because you probably don’t want to read about jeggings in six months. So – Let’s Get Shopping!

As you may know, getting married makes people crazy. I was considerably more sane than most because what I decided I needed more than anything in the world, what would make my nuptials complete and my life a dream was… a.. cake stand. Yes, my dears, twice a year I make a cake for my diabetic self and my sweets-hating Hubs, and there was nothing to be done but spend too much money on a breakable (BUT OH-SO-BEAUTIFUL) cake stand.

After being married for two years, and looking for a cake stand for the same amount of time (no, I did not regain my sanity and forget that I wanted it) and one day, lo and behold, I was in an adorable store and found it. A butter yellow, beautiful, ceramic cake stand. BEHOLD:

Isn’t she lovely? I’m so thrilled. Also, I got 60% off. (See, Hubs? It was on SALE. I needed it!)

Anyhoodle, since it took me two years and endless searching to find this beauty, I’ve been looking at cake stands for a while, so I have a lot of favorites, and as the generous person I am, I thought I’d share with you. Trust me, you will feel a need to bake delicious sweeties and place them artfully around your house. They’re so pretty!

My personal fave:

From Whitney Smith Pottery. GREEN! Birds! At $140 each, it’s a bit steep for my liking, but so pretty! If I open a bakery, I’m buying this. Maybe before I open a bakery. You never know when I may need another cake stand!

From jimbobart on Etsy. Hand-drawn peacock feathers! Sign me up! Also, I think I might need this one even sooner, since it has TWO levels. TWO! Cookies on one, chocolates on another, cake on my lovely yellow number? Yes. Yes. Somebody give me a raise, this girl needs another cake plate!

From E. Isabella Designs on Etsy – I’ll be honest – I just picked one of their several amazing vintage plates. You have to go look. It’s like the Jane Austen of cake plates. Fanciful, delicate and always aware of it’s social status.

From thfabricate on Etsy. This fun number reminds me of my sister-in-law (we share an undying love for cupcakes) and would be perfect for a girl’s night or kid’s birthday party. Doesn’t it make you happy?

Ones that I couldn’t get pitchas for: Embossed Heart Cake Stand from Sur La Table (Red! Valentiney!) Simplicity Cake Plate with Dome from Target (Simplicity itself. Classy.)

So, did I live up to your expectations, dear shopping friends? What home decor/delightful piece of unnecessary joy would you like me to dig up next?

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I’m hopped up on caffiene so this might be the best you get

Yesterday, I’m trying to get Wee Cowgirl to ask her horse to walk. She keeps insisting that the correct word is “go” and I insist on “walk”. Finally, she looks at me in exasperation, tiny toddler curls falling over big brown eyes. “Miss Dani, WALK!”

I lost my sunglasses. My eyeballs hate me.

I’ve grown to love so many bloggers whom I’ve never actually met… and I just bawled over this.

Adam has become Head Lighting Dude at church, and last night spent a few hours working out lights for Sunday’s service. He was very excited about LEDs and colors and all kinds of techy stuff. I stayed home and watched “My Trip to Al-Qaeda” and wrote this. We are both very nerdy.

I get to be in another wedding this weekend. Expect much waxing eloquent on love and friendship.

Valerie is going to Chick-fli-A without me. I want to eat waffle fries with her on the way to class instead, walking through the funky-smelling Jelly Bean to get said fries and out into the crisp West Texas fall.

My Hot and Godly husband makes coffee for us nearly every morning. Love manifests itself in the sound and smell of fresh coffee beans grinding and brewing. What perfection.

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So many things have happened, my dears.

I know, I know. It’s been over a week since I blogged here, and you are all dying of suspense. I’ll tease you with this… we went to Texas, and our patio looks different now. Eh? EH?

Pictures and substance to come!

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TGIF, man

Except that I don’t know how to say “No, I’m busy enough already, thanks, and I would like a day to sleep in and eat carbs, please” so I will be going to work tomorrow as well. So I guess my TGIF is a little half-hearted. No rest for the wicked, and the righteous don’t need none. I’m taking that gem to heart these days, for lack of better inspiration.

HOWEVER, nearly everybody else gets Friday nights as fun nights, so we hermits get to see people, people like the newly-wedded ScAmy from awesometown. Amy and I will chat away and admire their adorable little married home and drink adult beverages, while Adam and Scott will grunt and likely begin a competition of some nature. I cannot wait. Not too long ago, Adam and I were hosting get-togethers and various hospitable affairs in our home quite often, but lately we haven’t had energy to do anything but hole up together and watch our living room get messier and messier around the edges. Getting out tonight will be the official “The Nichols are back!” announcement to ourselves, after which we will throw ourselves back into the fray of public life with a variety of hang-outs that will spring upon us like so many adorable kittens.

And…. I’m already out of energy, out of things to say, out of time, oh jiminy I need to put on jeans and boots and get going. TGIF!

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Everybody’s talking about lists.

Well, maybe not everybody. But Katie is, and she also remembered Valerie‘s love of lists, which is what comes to my mind too, when I think of listy things. I also think about Adam’s cramped hand-writing insisting on “GOOD string cheese” on the magnetic grocery list on the fridge, a request that caught our friends’ eyes and made for quite of bit of good-natured ribbing for my poor cheese-craving Hubs.  I think of the list of to-dos that always comes to mind right before bed-time, and of the longer list of to-dos that I always manage to forget when the sun is shining and more exciting activities are calling my name. I think about packing lists, and how much I love to make them, knowing that it means we’re going somewhere soon. I think of wedding registries, and how it’s the best list EVER, and how shopping is never as much fun as when you’re hoping to receive all of these lovely home-things in a new home with your love. I think of my shopping wish-lists, and budgets, and gift-cards. I think about how good things come to those who wait, about hanging on to my lists and allowing my desires to wait, instead of rushing out yesterday, the moment I want something, the way I used to. I think about how there’s a lot of lists in the world, about how people think, the best movies, or why people live longer these days.

But the best lists are those about our little lives, the list that I made for Adam about why I love him, the aforementioned list on the fridge, speaking of home-cooked meals and brown-bag lunches made with kisses in the kitchen, the lists of gifts for my dear ones, the bachelorette parties and weddings and birthdays and babies to come.  Lists keep me centered, remind me of what’s to come, give me pause, make me think.

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There’s a mouse in my house

Or rather, in my vacuum cleaner.

People are coming over tonight, so rather then make them walk through our Cheeto-and-beer-cap dusted floors, (we eat Cheetos, and flicking beer caps with incredible speed and sometimes accuracy is one of Adam’s favorite party tricks. Don’t judge.) I decided to vacuum. I’ve never actually owned a real vacuum before, and certainly have never been good at said appliance maintenance. (Remember when Joey came over and fixed our very-beyond-dead vacuum at House 9? How we jumped for joy and were amazed by the dust and vacuum parts on our living-room floor?)

But despite my abhorrence for the job and general ineptitude, I was trying to vacuum today. Adam had assured me that the new filter would be great and all that, and that keeping it outside under the tiny porch is TOTALLY safe, even if it rains. I believed him.

Anyhoodle, I was vacuuming away, singing loudly, when I saw large <poofs> of dust billowing from my newly-filtered four-wheeled friend. Like the prudent housewife I am, I just kept right on vacuuming, thinking it would be totally fine, ’cause you know, stuff usually just goes away with no effort on my part. THAT’S WHEN I SAW THE MOUSE. Right there, in the place my vacuum just vroomed over. Grey and fluffy and oh-my-gosh-I-really-hope-it’s-not-dead-what-if-its-squished-into-the-floor-but-what-if-it-isn’t-dead-and-runs-under-the-bed-ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

Just when I was punching a frantic speed-dial for Nichols Family Pest Control (they have a really friendly guy there, his name is Adam and he kills creepy-crawlies on sight). I peered a bit closer and realized it was not a mouse at all, but a very large clump of crap from our super-clean house that had just been ingested into my awesome vacuum and belched out – an owl pellet of apartment leavings.

Laugh away – but I’m not completely hopeless. I can learn things from ridiculous situations (like, maybe it’s time to change out my contacts, since I was very geniunely fooled.).

Vacuuming Lesson #1 – At least it wasn’t a real mouse.

Vacuuming Lesson #2 – Dust bunnies sound cute. They’re not.

Vacuuming Lesson #3 – If you call your husband with a long question about the filter being very dirty and how the vacuum might be ka-put and then tell him you squealed at a Dust Mouse, he’ll laugh. Be prepared to realize that this is a very weird/funny/gross situation, and laugh too.

Except when you have to pick up bits of said mouse. That’s just icky.

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Food Network, baby.

I love cooking shows. I love cookbooks. I love making up recipes and hoping that they don’t combust or taste like bad gravy on a Goodyear tire.

Yesterday I made some lemon-lime-raspberry muffins and sent them to work with Adam for testing this morning.  So far I’m hearing good feedback, although I’m beginning to think I need to set up a little recorder to really get detailed reports like I’m hoping for.

There’s something creative and freeing about cookery, not to mention all the pretty wedding-ish accessories that I love an excuse to use.  It’s a creative outlet and stress relief to cut up potatoes and measure flour and fry sausages, although washing dishes still remains decidely mundane.  Tonight, however, my husband is going to grill up some Carne Asada, and I am going to enjoy not cooking for an evening.  I’ll probably end up baking something tomorrow to make up for it… or maybe just watching the Contessa show me how.

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Bits of awesome

So I’m super addicted to American Idol this year. I don’t think I’ve ever cared this much on my own.  Granted, we spent a lot of time waiting for another adorable wink back in the day, but we really only cared about one part of the show, and that was the Aiken.

This is probably my favorite performer. I actually like a lot of people on the show this year, but this chick is dedicated and real and sounds like she’s been smoking for 20 years, even though she’s only 16. I get the feeling that I would totally buy her CD and listen to it on long road-trips with the windows down, ala Evanescence in 2004.  Allison Iraheta, everybody:

I also really like Danny Gokey and Michael Sarver, I think because I like the “regular guy” element of American Idol.  I think Adam Lambert is incredibly talented, but he’s a music industry guy, so part of me feels like he “should” get a contract some other way. I know it’s a tough business and he certainly deserves a break – but I have a soft spot for singing moms like Lil Rounds (talk about deserving a break! she’s in a league of her own) and of course, you know I love me some blue-collar types.  (Speaking of Lil, I didn’t believe that was really her name for a while, but now that I know it really is, I like her better. So there’s that.) (Also, why does Kara turn black when she talks to Lil? Does she think that makes her cooler? Because it totally doesn’t and just proves my point that she has zero personality of her own. Also, she always talks about “notes she didn’t even know existed” that contestants are hitting. If that’s true, Kara, than you need to listen to more good singers. It also probably means that you’re a bad judge and probably an even worse songwriter, which might be how you got this gig in the first place. Anyways.)

I also really really want to see Simon reach over and spike Paula’s Coke cup one of these days. I’m positive that it happens at least every other commercial break.

Last night, Adam and I caught up on American Idol while eating INCREDIBLE homemade burgers, grilled by the one and only My Husband.  While burgers grilled, he demonstrated his pull-up abilities to me on his new Metolius Rock Rings. What a stud.

Also, tomorrow! Adam and I, in conjunction with one of our favorite couple-friends, the infamous SCAMY, are going whale-watching! I’ve never seen a whale in “real-life” (translation: not at Sea World) and cannot. Wait.  Hopefully the big fellas will be drifting about by the dozens tomorrow.  Maybe we’ll even get some tail-action.

In the spirit of this post, that is, being totally unrelated to anything I just said, you all know that I like to get my homemakey on. These are just the next homemakey accessory I need. Can’t you see little Apple Crisps in there? Salads? Side dishes? Adorable dinner parties on the deck with individually baked goodness? I totally can.

And finally, some post-wedding “hear, hear!” for your reading enjoyment. Why is it so tough to RSVP? This one of the Great Mysteries of Life.

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Newlywed Diary, Day 37

Today is a Day of Jubilee. Because today, our downstairs neighbors moved out.  Remember them? The ones who pounded on our door when we moved furniture and yelled at my husband for walking too heavily on the floor and followed me up the stairs to insist that we were maliciously doing violent aerobics in the dead of night for the sole purpose of keeping them awake?  Oh, right. You don’t remember. And how could you, as I never documented their atrocities in this public venue, as I was too polite scared spitless to do so.  Anyways, they are gone!  I am free to do laundry without fear of passive/aggressive notes (Yes, they left angry notes on our hamper about moving stuff out in a timely manner. Don’t EVEN get me started.) and can pull pots and pans from cupboards at will and bang them about as much as I please.  I spent a half-hour rocking back and forth on the Particularly Squeaky Floorboard in-between the bathroom and office, just out of sheer joy.

Today I went to the DMV. Well, let me back up. A week ago, I filled out an online form that I thought would get me my new Driver License.  Unfortunately, it was not a form, it was just a non-form craftily disguised, which finally told me that I had to call an 800 number to get the form I really needed. OK. I can make phone calls.  However, our street name is Spanish. And we have an apartment number. And computers are dumb. So Automated Voice Lady continually could not understand me, and put me on hold which is really the kiss of death in almost every situation. NEVER GO ON HOLD. It’s the Chateau D’If of telephones. After 45 minutes, I started to really believe the recorded warning that the wait time “could be more than 10 minutes”. At the 50 minute mark, the smooth jazz began to crackle and I was abruptly disconnected, and event which spiraled me into a deep despair, the kind which only chocolate chip cookies can restore.  So I decided to take matters into my own hands. I drove to what I thought was the nearest DMV, only to be greeted by a line OUT THE DOOR.  A sour-faced woman wearing a purple hat confided to me that the wait time was nearly four hours long, and seek as I may, there was nary a name-change form to be had.

Bleh.

I went to Target instead.

Today, however, worked out much better.  I found a closer, smaller DMV from the directions of my husband, (note to self, always listen to Adam rather than Google,) and was greeted by a sweet lady with 80’s hair, who seemed genuinely pleased for me and my marraige-y name change. I got a new picture and everything, and am now officially a Nichols in the eyes of the state. Yahoo!

I love getting my homemakey on.  For instance, I have a bunch of over-ripe bananas, I think that they’ll be delicious muffin material, and honestly nothing gets me more excited. (Well, maybe round-trip tickets to Rome would, but come now. In a girl’s day-to-day, baking muffins is about as good as it gets.)  I’m addicted to recording cooking shows and thumbing through my small collection of cookbooks, testing recipes and Adam’s tolerance for experimental cooking.

Married 37 days. Wowza.

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