This past Saturday, TLC, Her Sweet Hubby, our long-time and dear friends, Autumn and Her Sweet Hubby, My Sweet Hubby (MSH) and I spent the afternoon watching a FANTASTIC Texas Rangers’ baseball game in Arlington, Texas. Autumn and HSH’s Sweet Son (he's a tres handsome young man, too!), who grew up with TLC, now works for the Rangers’ organization. He kindly helped Autumn get some great seats. In the shade! What a day!
During the 6th inning, we watched three Rangers hit three homeruns. Back to back. To back. (MSH said later, “In all of my years, I don’t think I’ve ever seen three homeruns in a row.” Since it was his birthday, it was, needless to say, a wonderful gift.) Still, it wasn’t enough to get control of the game against the Toronto Blue Jays.
All coming from three different directions to The Ballpark, we’d agreed it would make sense to leave by the top of the 9th. It was a soldout game—something like over 44,000 people in attendance. We planned to listen to the end on the radio. At the bottom of the 9th, as we drove West, TLC and her Hubby drove North, and Autumn and Her Hubby drove Southwest, the game was tied: 5-5. Yep. Overtime.
Little did we know we’d all get home and be able to watch the Rangers finally win: 8-7. Autumn and her hubby got home first. Then TLC and her hubby arrived at their casa in time to pick up the 11th inning. MSH and I live the fartherest away, so it was the bottom of the 12th when we raced in and turned our TV on—frantically searching for the right channel (the other two have a different TV provider or we’d have known what it was and could have saved precious minutes!). It was totally AWESOME. In the bottom of the 13th, Josh Hamilton hit in a two-run homer to put it away and to be The Hero! Wowzer.
Today, as we smile about our lovely experience Saturday, Americans everywhere are celebrating Memorial Day. Some are with their families. Having picnics and barbeques. Some are at baseball games—professional. Or Little League. Some are at water parks. Or theme parks—like Six Flags Over Texas. Some are having a quiet day—doing chores. Watching movies at home. Or the Food Network. MSH and I are awaiting the arrival of Little Mama and Little Leighton. They’ll only be here for about 24 hours. We’ll take it—we’re not picky. We’ll cherish every second! But it's Not Just Another Day.
Loving country music the way we do, TLC and I believe Lee Greenwood, who served in our Military before becoming a famous country singer, sums up today perfectly:
And I’m proud of be an American,
where at least I know I’m free.
And I won’t forget the men who died,
Who gave that right to me…
Lee Greenwood
(We know he means women, too...)
TLC and I pray to Almighty God that everyone each of y’all love is safe today. Happy. Healthy. That all of us Americans will remember to be grateful to be living in the United States of America. How blessed we truly are. We must not ever forget the sacrifices so many have made for each of us.
Please say a prayer for Our Troops—past and present, okay? It’s the very least we can do, don't you think?
Can you ever go into a Target and not spend extra moolah on
something fun and frivolous? I find it virtually impossible.
I love Target for many reasons. The affordability. The
variety. The quality. When ELC was visiting over Mother's Day weekend, our
first stop was to, you guessed it, Target! It started out innocently enough. I
simply needed to return a tank that was a smidge itchy.
"Well, we're already here. It wouldn't hurt to browse. Just for a few.
Don'tcha think?" I sweetly asked ELC.
She was eager to oblige. The closest Target to her house is 45 minutes away.
We began by perusing the maternity section. I have recently deemed all pants
(most especially jeans) horridly uncomfortable. They're beyond hot, and I
refuse to wear them. Thus began my endless (well, it should end sometime around
July 24th) search for cooler, summery dresses. Something flattering.
That doesn't make me look too blimp-ish. Though I have found that's becoming
increasingly challenging as my baby hump (formerly bump) becomes rounderer. (I
doubt this has anything to do with my recent addiction to Oreos.)
Somewhere along the way of our "brief browsing," we ended up in the
bedding. And there she was! The most fabulous quilt I HAD TO HAVE.
Rightthatsecond. There was one Full/Queen left. I took that as a sign. It was
destined to be mine.
As many of you will agree—a bed is much like a woman. It needs accessories. AKA:
PILLOWS! My husband hates pillows of the decorative kind. He doesn't get them.
He thinks everything should have a purpose. A function. If he isn't
"allowed" to actually lay his head on a pillow, why, then, must we
own it? I always have a simple answer: Because it's pretty. That's why. End of
discussion.
Now, for the BIG REVEAL:
Ta-da! I already owned the yellow pillow (a previous Target purchase, naturally).
It was residing in "ELC/Grammy’s Room” at our casa. I consider those
“savings” rather frugal of me, right? Totally.
I remember this English ditty from my childhood—and especially being of Royal heritage and all. You understand. It does, though, seem to get a little violent, doesn't it? Something about a rabbit being skinned? Although I do have “babies” on my mind, I’m talking about a Painted Bunting.
My Sweet Hubby (MSH), TLC and I moved to the country eleven years ago, I started collecting my “Texas” books: Texas Wildflowers, Texas Snakes, Weird Texas (your State probably has one of these books—they are hysterically funny and tres interesting). I didn’t have a book on Texas birds until we’d been here for a couple of years. Mostly because I was never going to be one of those people who are obsessed with birds. (Right, like I wasn’t going to be a “dog” person, either. Sigh.) I’ve enjoyed seeing all kinds of birds in my life. However, I’ve never wanted to be a “birder.” No, no thank you.
We were having a party for one of my nephews in mid-May of 2002. He’d graduated from our local StateUniversity with a Horticulture/Landscape Design degree. We had lots of family and many of his friends over for burgers, etc. Several of us were on our front porch—rockin’ and visitin’. I’d walked into our house when I heard a really loud THUD. I began looking around our Great Room—trying to figure out what had fallen—when I heard some shrieks. Coming from the porch. I could see people looking down at something.
As I opened the front door, MSH firmly said: “Watch out! A bird just crashed into the door!” There, at my feet, was a stunning bird (we were immediately certain it must be a male). I thought he was some kind of fancy parakeet. That must have escaped from his cage, gotten lost and flown—in confusion—into our door. Landing on our “Welcome” mat.
MSH suggested I go find a box—to put him in. So he could bury/dispose of him. Being the “hoarder” Hubby thinks I am (but which I am NOT), I always have an empty shoe box. As he picked the bird up and placed him carefully into the box, the bird moved! I put the lid on and took him into our house. Less than five minutes later, I could hear the little fella moving! I began to wonder where I might find a bird “Rescue” and/or Sanctuary.
One of our clearly worldlier-than-us guests thought it might be a bunting. I got the “B” of our World Books and looked that up. There was no picture, but he did sound like a Painted Bunting.
Thirty minutes later, we could tell he was virtually recovered. We realized he’d mostly been stunned. MSH took him back outside and walked over to the edge of our hill. When he took the lid off the box, away flew the Bunting—into the wild, blue yonder! Many of us (okay—mostly MSH, three older women, yes, including moi, and TLC) sighed with relief. Said a little prayer for him. I’ll never forget that day. Mostly because of OUR DISTINGUISHED GUEST—ThePainted Bunting.
Turns out he probably wasn’t “lost.” I soon bought a book called Birds of Texas, by Fred J. Alsop III. I learned Painted Buntings can be found in Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas and Missouri. They’re declining on the East Coast. The males have dark blue heads, lime green backs and red “underparts.” Females have green and yellow-green coloring. The males can be highly aggressive. During breeding season, they can be solitary. Or you might see them in pairs, as they are mostly monogamous. Before laws prevented it, they were sold as “cage” birds in the United States. They can be shy, secretive and often difficult to spot. Most often they forage on the ground for seeds and insects.
MSH and I had not seen another Painted Bunting since that party. Nine years. Not until…could I have a drumroll?...late this morning! Hubby was about to walk out our back door to go over to the Barn when he said, as I walked nearby: “Shhh! Come here! Come look!” During this scary snake season, I become a nervous wreck when I hear him say words like that. As I got to the door, he pointed to one of our feeders on the hill behind our house. I could immediately see the bright little bird! We both stood in silence—and awe. Watching him feed.
Knowing he’d fly off if we opened the door, I still went to find my phone. I took this picture—through the glass. (This could possibly be like Where’s Waldo?) Squint your eyes—be determined—and I think you’ll see him in the background—on the feeder. At the right. You’ll get the general idea of what we watched. Today. Sunday. The Lord’s Day.
When I encounter a gift like this dear little bird, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude to My Lord God. And His Son, Jesus Christ.
Almighty God,
Thank You for our country home on this spectacular hill in Your incredible world. Thank You for all the blessings You’ve given to me and my husband, especially TLC and Little Leighton. Thank You for the joy my husband and I felt this morning—as we watched one of Your creations eat his “brunch.” It was truly an honor to be a witness to such GLORY. Thank You for Your Amazing Grace.
I was tres lucky to spend Mother’s Day weekend with TLC! From Friday afternoon until mid-afternoon on Sunday. We got a lot done—in Little Leighton’s nursery. In TLC’s kitchen. Finally found a couple of pairs of sandals for TLC’s expanding feet. Two Liz Lange Target dresses for her expanding waistline. I even had time to find some sandals for myself! Little Leighton might have received two more tiny outfits. She needed them.Promise.
We also went to a movie early Saturday evening. The Five-Year Engagement. MyReview: Loved the beginning. Liked some of the middle. Last 20 minutes were very entertaining. I simply don’t understand—and no, it’s not because I’m technically a Senior Citizen—why there has to be bad/awful language and gross stuff. Please don’t tell me it’s for the “younguns.” That’s very discouraging.
My Sweet Hubby and I have been “organizing and purging,” for the past couple of months, our STUFF/treasures?/JUNQUE over at The Loft of our Barn. And in The Barn Apartment. I’d been searching for some items I knew I’d kept. In some box. Somewhere. TLC hoped I’d locate some of her Cabbage Patch dolls and a little stuffed Gund bear MSH had gifted her when she was less than a year old. She didn’t know, of course, until she was , the story behind the little bear. MSH had been at a meeting in Dallas for a couple of days and had stopped at Neiman Marcus in Fort Worth on his way home. Since he was already calling TLC “Sugar Bear,” he was determined to find the right one that was from HIM. Only him. He let me pick the perfect name: Marcus. Yes, yes I’m extremely clever and creative. It’s almost a curse.
And so Marcus had an honored place on TLC’s bed for many, many years. She never really dragged him around. He was often one of her “students” when she played school. At some point, he got shoved into her closet. Then into another closet. Then into a box. What box? I had no clue. We’d moved out to the country right at the end of her sophomore year in high school. I was finishing up my Masters’ degree in Counseling at our local State University, so many of the boxes I had packed weren’t labeled as specifically as they should have been. I was certain, though, that Marcus was there. He really had to be.
After two weekends in a row—literally hours and hours…and hours—of searching, I was becoming a tidbit frantic. When he wasn’t with the box of Cabbage Patch dolls and some other treasured stuffed animals, my hopes were beginning to fade.
Can you spot the scary Troll Doll in the background?
How were those ever popular?
Also, this is only a fraction of TLC's Cabbage Patch Dolls.
Clearly I needed to locate a box of clothes. Sheesh.
The Sunday of the second weekend, I was in TLC's closet in her (ex) Barn Apartment room. I had four big plastic tubs to search. Marcus was in the fourth! I'm not gonna lie. There were tears. Bless his little stuffed heart—he looked a mess. But he was alive and well!
I picked out a few of TLC’s dolls and took them, with Marcus, to her last Friday. Having no real room for the dolls—at this point—she sent them back with me. They’ll be re-packed and stored. With a better label!
We decided we had to try to wash Marcus. He looked, well, sad. First we put him into her kitchen sink for a good soak. (Thank you to whoever invented Biz. It’s simply THE BEST. CeeCee told me about iteons of years ago, when I was learning how to cross-stitch. I’ve used probably hundreds of pounds since.) Next, TLC squeezed him with all of her might. Then we put him in the dryer—choosing “Air.” I checked on him fifteen minutes later. He was okay, but the dryer was full of water! TLC got the brilliant idea to put in a clean, dry towel (Can y’all believe I’d never shared with her what a friend told me—at least 25 years ago? Put a wet towel in your dryer with a load of clothes like shirts and pants. The towel will help knock out the wrinkles. Often works like a dream!). I dried the inside of her dryer—Tee Hee Hee. We set Marcus and the towel on the “Delicate” setting. For 30 minutes. He could not have emerged more handsome. He did need a skosh more drying, but we let that be by literal “air.”
Scrub-a-dub-dub!
A shiny, sparkly Marcus, lounging on Little Leighton's glider.
Perhaps Little Leighton won’t appreciate Marcus' history for a few years—but TLC, MSH and I always will.
A vintage Neiman MarcusGund bear. FABULOUS!!!
p.s.—MERCI to Precious Lauren for having Brunch with me and TLC Saturday morning! She gave me the sweetest “Grandmother” book. I will treasure it, Lauren. As I will always cherish your dear, dear friendship!
Happy belated Mother's Day! I hope everyone now has the loveliest memories. I was extra blessed because I spent the entire weekend with My Sweet ELC. We were beyond productive. And she was incredibly generous for my first official Mommy's Day. I have a few new fabulous finds for my home and Little Leighton’s nursery that I can't wait to share. (Recap and finds to follow soon.)
Yesterday afternoon, after ELC headed south—back home to her country casa—I was thinking about my favourite “pregnancy products” I simply cannot currently live without. So please allow me to share them—via a list. (Y'all know how much I heart lists.)
In no particular order:
1. An occasional Skinny Vanilla Latte from Starbucks. To keep me sane. (I promise they’re well below the daily caffeine-intake restrictions. That’s my story. I’m stickin’ to it.)
2. Lemon wedges in my water. Because sometimes "plain water" doesn't cut it. I need variety. It's the spice of life.
3. Anthropologie Dish Towels, which I use to tie around my right foot. I know. This sounds weird. But said foot (and it is my right foot only) has taken to super swelling by the end of the week. The Anthro towels are "flappy" enough to secure the ice pack, thereby successfully combating said swelling, and yet they're still fancy and fashionable. All at the same time. Fabulous.
4. Gap maternity leggings. Nuff said.
5. Muu-muus. AKA: extra large nightgowns. At the encouragement of ELC, I purchased two muu-muus from Macy's three weeks ago. They’ve literally revolutionized my evening comfort. I’m more than willing, at thirty weeks, to sacrifice style for comfort. Even as my husband asks me:
“Do pregnant women YOUR AGE really wear muu-muus?”
I have no clue if anyone else MY AGE wears these. This Preggo Mama does. Period. End of Story. (Honestly? I wish I could wear them to work. And don’t think I haven’t legitimately considered it. I could add a belt. No one would know the difference, right?)
6. Mini Yellow Fan from Target. It's already HOT in Texas. The fan at my desk at work keeps the air circulating, and circulating air equals one happy Workin’ Mama.
7. Sperry's Leopard Print Flip Flops from Dillard's. My feet have gone up half of a size. Already. I'm worried that come July, flip flops won't even cut it. I'll be in house slippers before I know it. In the meantime, these floppers are cute, comfy and sassy.
Do y'all have any pregnancy must-haves you'd like to share? I love new ideas! PLEASE dish. (It is your duty—as a past—or currently—pregnant person.)
This is one of those cute little “Gift Books” you find at Hallmark stores. REALHallmark Stores. Or you can sometimes find these in the Hallmark/card aisles of Walmart, Walgreens or CVS. Those aisles are convenient, yes, but simply not the same. Seems like the stores are slowly becoming extinct, doesn’t it? Makes me tres sad. I’ve always known I could cheer myself up if I could find a Hallmark store and read their hysterically funny, touchingly sweet cards for about an hour. It’s great therapy for me.
TLC gave me this little book a few years back. (And, yes, I am one of the few people on Earth who actually reads every clever little book I receive.) My Sweet Hubby (MSH) and I tried to role model thoughtfulness while raising TLC. He made sure she remembered Mother’s Day and I, of course, always encouraged her to do something special for him for Father’s Day. As with most of you Moms and Dads, we’ve received the homemade gifts, the schoolmade gifts, the “Wonder-What-The-Heck-This-Is?” gifts. MSH and I have read some flowery, yet sometimes gut-wrenchingly tear-jerkin’, cards, notes and letters from TLC. We’ve saved them all. They’re treasures to us. (Especially the ones we got after she’d misbehaved—those are extra funny—I mean, darling.)
Growing up, as the oldest of four kids, I positively despised hearing the words: Because I Said So. Like all kids, of almost every age, I was determined I was never going to say them to “my kids.” Ever. I was ALWAYS going to make sure they understood why I was saying “NO!” They would get a real reason why they couldn’t do something/go somewhere/buy something/eat something/etc. Not that copout line.
I think TLC would admit MSH and I did our utmost, while raising her, from the time she was a toddler until she graduated from high school (oh, who I am kidding, I'm still tryin' to raise her), to explain our decisions to say “NO.” Still, despite my best and most patient efforts, this came out of my mouth several/too many times: “Because I said so. Period. Now stop asking me. If you ask me again, you’re grounded forever/in more trouble/never leaving this house for the rest of your life.” The truth? I still want to say it to her. For old times' sake.
This Mother’s Day is especially poignant for me and TLC. Here come the tears. Sheesh. In two months, Little Leighton will arrive and she’ll be as cherished and adored as TLC has always been. She’ll get mad at TLC. She may even get mad at Grammy. But I pray she never doubts how much we love her. We’ll teach her the meaning of Mother’s Day. That it’s not about gifts you buy. It’s about telling the women you love and admire they ROCK.
To end on a smiling/giggly/happy note, here are a few of the “funnies” disguised as advice in this charming little Hallmark book:
Everything’s better with a little dash of guilt.
If you think I dry DISHES fast, you should see the magic I can work with tears.
For the perfect getaway, pack plenty of snacks, some magazines and extra underwear. Husband and kids optional.
Moms. . .they always know more than you think they do.
If you have a problem meringue can’t solve, you’re not using enough of it.
Mom always cheers, even when she has no idea what’s going on.
The old-timey 50s and 60s pictures are perfectly precious. Hallmark writers? AMAZINGLY creative peeps.
Everyone/thing needs an update, right? Yes, yes we/it do/does. Homes. Wardrobes. Maybe even our lifestyles. {Please, however, don’t think ELC’s hairdo needs a change. Because, despite Kit’s (ELC's hairstylist for 26 years) extraordinary efforts, she can’t convince E to give up her hot rollers. Medium? Short? Longer-ish? E’s hair always looks the same. Blonde and Big.}
ELC had been bugging TLC to find a blog designer since our one year blogiversary on January 9, 2012. TLC, being preggers for the first time, basically ignored her mother. In a sweet, yet quite dismissive, way. Finally, E took matters into her own hands. She contacted someone both of the LCs adore: Ruthanne at Eclectic Whatnot. If you’ve never visited her blog, you simply must. Her humor and honesty will get right into your soul. Trust us.
Ruthanne, being the kind young woman she so genuinely is, got right back to ELC and gave her Danielle’s info.
After going to Danielle’s website, Take Heart, and sending her some preliminary questions, ELC ordered what Danielle suggested. In a matter of three days, VOILA! Our new design!
We are OVER THE MOON happy! It is everything we hoped for—and more. Much, much more. (We’ve been trying to cut down on our exclamation points lately—just overall—even in emails to each other—it’s kind of a bad habit we both have. When we talk about Danielle and our new design? IMPOSSIBLE!!!)
If you ever require (or just desire!) design work, please visit Danielle’s website. Look at her Portfolio. Some of her other services include: business cards, Twitter and Facebook cover photos (ELC has no clue what this means—however, she and CeeCee plan to have Twitter accounts—soon—therefore, she’s confident they’ll need whatever the heck this is), photocards and invitations. Read Danielle’s blog. It is charming, sweet, touching--exceptionally exquisite.
THANK YOU to Ruthanne for her fabulous recommendation. Merci and GRAZIE to Danielle—from the bottom of The Leightons’ hearts. Because of both of you, these Texas Gals are on Cloud 33 (ELC’s favourite number, you know) in Blogger’s Heaven. Yes, yes it is a real place. (Okay—perhaps only in our minds—but that should count, Sillies.)
Thanks to YOU—for stopping by. Please come back to see us soon…
I try to take Teddy Buddy Boo Bear on a walk, to our gate, every morning. A mile round-trip. Five days a week. If at all possible. My Sweet Hubby (MSH) usually takes him on Saturdays and Sundays. TBBB looks forward to these walks. I do, too. Coming back up the hill is still a challenge for me, though. I can’t even begin to guess how many trips I’ve made to the gate and back in the eleven years we’ve lived out here (heading into our 12th this month!). Our hill? Still gets me. I usually have to stop a couple of times and take six to eight deep breaths before I finally make it to the top.
At the first of last week, TBBB and I headed out one morning at . It was already a beautiful day. He got too far ahead of me (I like to be able to see him—at all times), so I ramped it up. As I rounded the first big curve, I saw him, thirty-ish yards away and stopped in the middle of the road. Completely and seriously focused on something that looked like it might be a turtle. When I got within approximately ten yards of him, I realized it was a coiled-up snake. Yep—I stopped dead in my tracks. Started yelling: “Come here, Teddy Bear! Now!” He glanced up at me once, as if to say: “Look! Look what I found!” As he looked back down, the snake made a strike at his sweet, precious face. Missed. Whew.
I’ll admit the snake was not big. In fact, it was probably a baby. Maybe 18 to 20 inches long. Hard to tell since it was coiled. It was dark in color, so I don’t think it was a copperhead. It wasn’t far from The Big Tank. Could have been a water moccasin. MSH has had to kill four rattlesnakes since we’ve lived out here. A friend of TLC’s killed a four-foot rattler eight years ago. It was at our gate early one summer evening. (That actually has a funny MSH “story” to it—will try to remember to share it another day.) We’ve found, while getting our Christmas tree out of the storage room in our garage three different years, rattlesnake “skins” that have been shed, probably in the Spring or early Summer. (Just shivered.)
I tried to stay calm with TBBB. But firm. He sincerely wants to be obedient, so he finally decided I was determined he was leaving that snake. I put him on the leash as soon as he got close enough for me to lunge at him. We scurried up the hill at a faster-than-usual pace. Surprisingly, I didn’t have to stop for any deep breaths. Not even once. I told Teddy MSH would walk him back down later that afternoon (assuming he wouldn’t be too scared—MSH, not TBBB). I was officially done.
Why didn’t I take a picture? It never occurred to me. That evening, MSH and I had a long discussion about my morning walks with TBBB. And snakes. I can’t agree to carry any kind of gun. I’ve only shot a rifle and shotgun once, each, in my life. A pistol one time—many, many years ago. At a target. I have no confidence about guns. Since I also wouldn’t agree to carry a knife (Lordy), Hubby suggested I take one of our big walking sticks. Because that would surely protect me. Right?
Last Friday, at lunch with two of my precious “young” friends (they are amazing women who I’m so proud to know) I work with (work being, perhaps, on my part, a loose term—I contract at an agency where they are part of the Staff—putting in three to seven-ish hours a week—me, not them), I was telling Marie and Ela about the snake incident. Marie went to her car and got some pictures she had just retrieved from Walgreen’s. Pictures of her Jack Russell named Pepper and a hognose snake Pepper went after in Marie’s yard (Marie, her husband and son also live out in the country). Hognose snakes have several nicknames, including spreading adders. That’s what Marie called this one. (I can’t tell you what TLC called it. It’s wrong. Funny. But very wrong.) According to Wikipedia, these snakes don’t want to hurt anyone. Awww—that’s tres sweet.
I am summarizing/paraphrasing Wiki:
When threatened, these snakes will flatten their necks and raise their heads like a cobra. And hiss. If this doesn’t work to deter what they perceive as a predator, they’ll roll onto their backs and play dead.
WWWHHHHAAAAATTTTTT? COBRAS?
Here is Pepper Fierce, doing her darnedest to let that sCaRy cobra understand who is BOSS:
Marie lives approximately ten miles from me—as the crow flies. This snake was in her YARD. At her house. I repeat: her yard. I am quite certain, if I see a snake like this in our yard and/or pasture, whether I’m walking with TBBB or outside watering my plants or just headed to my garage to get into my car for a trip to town, I’m going to need something bigger than this stick (what I currently walk with and taken in front of our wellhouse--not an outhouse!):
I’m going to need to borrow Pepper. And buy a portable heart defibrillator (because when I fall on my back, I won’t be playing). Do y’all think it would be too much to carry a defibrillator on my walks? Are they heavy? I’ve also got to carry TBBB’s leash and my iPhone.
Gotta scoot. Must go watch a Modern Family or read a Ballard’s Design catalogue. Drink a Diet Dew. (With perhaps a little Belvedeere in it. J/K--it's mid-afternoon--way too early.) Something—anything—to get my mind off that snake.
p.s.—I want to give a belated shout-out to Autumn for coming to meet TBBB last week! Did I get a picture of that? Nope. Not one. Sheesh. Because of the distance between our homes, a round trip is well over an hour. Add to that her efforts to pick up a delicious lunch for the two of us and she made an almost four-hour commitment to our visit. TBBB and I didn’t even want her to leave. It went by tooooooo fast. I’m hugely grateful for her friendship. Merci, Autumn Doll!!!
