auntie margaret

My mom returned from a little garage sale shopping this weekend with a cute set of drinking glasses to replace the ones that they've probably had since well before my birth. My dad checks them out, smiles, and says "they look just like the highball glasses Auntie Margaret and Uncle Ed's always poured their whiskey in."

Screeching record player halt.

Whiskey? Thinks I.

Hey Dad. Auntie Margaret and Uncle Ed, they drank?

Oh yeah. Says Dad. Their liquor cabinet was always fully stocked.

Really. Says I. Interesting.

Here is where you scratch your head and say "So?"

You see, my family, my dear sweet family, they don't drink. Or so I thought. I am learning as I get older that my family is not as by-the-book as they appear to be.

I remember the first time I ever saw my dad drink alcohol. It was at Ryan's wedding (the boy I was madly in lust with in high school, I thought I was destined to marry him. Clearly, my destiny-meter was off. Thankfully). When it comes time for the toast they offered sparkling apple cider or champagne. Dad went for the champagne.

Insert 20 year old Courtney's dropped jaw.

Silly me, I thought that was my dad's first ever sip of alcohol. No, no, a few years later I discover, it was not.

My family is the discreet kind. They hide their quirks so well it takes me years to find them. It can be very confusing and frustrating for someone trying to figure out right from wrong, and fulfilling expectations laid on you by previous generations.

My family doesn't talk about drinking. At least not drinking for the enjoyment of it. Drinking is only discussed as drunkenness and foolery. So when a highly regarded family member is spoken of in respect to their expansive liquor collection, without any form of disdain or disrespect for said family member's enjoyment of alcohol, I take notice.

And I think, Damn, I knew I shouldn't have left my entire bottle of Jameson at my old apartment in San Francisco for fear of disrespecting my elders. Clearly, if they were still alive, they would've encouraged me to bring it over and pour them a shot over ice. Clearly.

When little (seemingly insignificant) details about family members who have passed surface, I begin to wonder even more about what they were like. I wish I could've known Margaret and Ed as an adult. I adored them both as a child, but I wish I could've had the opportunity to speak with them about life, about how they lived it, and what was important to them.

My mom told me a few years ago that she always felt most comfortable with Auntie Margaret, as opposed to the other women in the family she had married into. Auntie Margaret was fashionable, loved to hostess, and had a wonderful laugh. And apparently she wasn't a complete goody goody like the rest of the family. So I'm interested to learn more.

I think this calls for a trip to Grandma's house. Time to learn some family history.

THE GLAD POST | No. 4

Snooping around my great grandparents' house that my grandma has basically turned into a storage unit.

Opening a random closet, finding a box on the highest shelf, and opening it to find it full of letters written by my mom and my aunts while they were away at college.

Reading my mom's thoughts as a young adult. Seeing how her handwriting has evolved. Thumbing through her pretty stationary. That brings me joy.

THE GLAD POST | No. 3

Finding this photo of my grandparents from back in the day makes me happy. Mostly it's the expression on their faces.

Especially his.



They had a pretty fantastic kind of love for each other. I want that someday.

music for your Monday

The Lumineers singing Flowers In Your Hair.

THE GLAD POST | No. 2

Opening the mailbox to find my first set of Pantone Matching books makes me happy. 
So happy. 
Here's to feeling that much closer to a real designer. 

music for your Monday

The Head and The Heart singing Rivers and Roads

the glad game

This past month in my life could probably, extremely likely, most definitely be described as... mopey. I had my ultimate mope-down last Thursday. It involved the angry throwing of clothes behind closed doors, silent shouts of profanity (we all do that, right? Right?), long aimless walks that end in plopping down in the dirt, and using fallen tree branches to hit other things in nature, like: berry bushes, small bodies of water, dead trees, the ground.

Sometimes life doesn't go how we think it will. But then that's when I remember that Hey. This is my life. And I am solely responsible for my own happiness.

I often forget that I am the reason for my own unhappiness. And that I can just as easily be happy.

So. In an effort to retreat from my most recent poor attitude towards life, whenever something gets me down, I'm going to find something that kicks that unhappiness in the ass. Because being unhappy is a waste of any part of my twenty four hours.

Okay. Have you read the book or seen the movie Pollyanna? Well, I like Polly even more. Polly is Disney's 1989 remake of Pollyanna. You guys. There's musical numbers with Keisha Knight Pulliam and Phylicia Rashad (you know who I'm talking about. Mrs. Huxtable AND Rudy Huxtable). Winning!

Back to the point.

Polly faces all kinds of hardships. Her poor missionary parents die, and she's shipped off to live with an aunt she's never met. Let me tell you, this lady is a sourpuss. Beautiful, rich, and bitchy. A common and unpleasant combination I've seen in a lot women. Anyways, the town she moves to, Harrington, is segregated, frustrated, feeling down and full of a whole lot of bitterness.

WELL. In comes little Polly. Nothing gets this kid down. She plays what's called "The Glad Game." You think of something glad and hang your hopes high on that. No matter what happens, there's always something to be glad for. Because of this movie, I've always told people to do just that. But sometimes you have to remember to practice what you preach. So. Now I'm going to be thinking of some glad things. And those little things that bring me  joy.



When the lining with the scalloped edges peeks out from under my funny little dress. That brings me joy. I mean, the lining IS why I bought the dress to begin with. I love little hidden details like that.

music for your Monday

Okay, so there is an advertisement preceding this video, bummer, but just struggle through it. I promise it'll be worth it. This is Sydney Wayser singing Potions, from her album Bell Choir Coast.

music for your Monday

I originally heard this a while back on Meg's blog, The Wild and Wily Ways of a Brunette Bombshell, and I was hooked. I've watched this video dozens of times by now, this song is just so beautiful.

This is Bryan John Appleby singing Cliffs Along The Sea.

my next project

This photo reminded me that I've been wanting a red bicycle for a few years. Now that I've got all this time on my hands I'm thinking it might be appropriate to get a few cans of red spray paint and spray away! We'll see how far I get once I start taking my bike apart and realizing that I might never get all the parts back in their rightful places...


Image found here.

My friend and I went for a walk around her little neighborhood the other day. Walks are my favorite. Especially when the setting sun casts a warm glow on everything it hits.

I am always hesitant to say goodbye to summer. The long days. The warm nights. The beautiful light.

You know, I just realized that with every changing season I always claim the one we are leaving is my favorite (well, except winter. Winter is not my jam). I don't think I will ever have a favorite anything. There are to many good things, too many little aspects that create the whole, each one special in it's own way. If I were to super categorize my life then I'm sure I would be able to find some favorites, but really, who wants to spend the time categorizing and picking favorites when they could spend that time enjoying the very things they're picking apart.

Oh look at that. Pretty sure I just wrote some incoherent ramblings. Don't think I'm going to take the time to proof-read it, though.

Nope. Don't think I will.

music for your Monday

One of my greatest friends, Lia, left yesterday morning for her two year commitment with the Peace Corps in Ukraine. I've had a hard time expressing how excited I am for her because, being a selfish person, I am very sad that I won't be able to call her up to come over, or go split a bottle of wine with her, or have an impromptu dance party wherever we may be (I may have been crying most of the two hour drive home from our goodbye's the other day, it went something like this- "I have no job, I'm back at my parent's house, AND now my best friend is going to be on the other side of the world" Insert pathetic tears here). I'm going to miss her in ridiculous amounts; two years is a very long time to not see someone that you've gone on some of your most memorable adventures with.

I am so glad to have gotten to have her as my closest confidant and friend for the past two years, I can't wait to see where these next two years take her and to hear all about the crazy adventures she's going on.

And I hope that when she gets the occasional onslaught of homesickness that she'll remember that things will be all be fine, that these next two years will be incredible and wonderful and sometimes lonely but oh so worth it, and that the folks she digs here in California will be here waiting for her when she gets back in time for New Years 2015.