Election Day Love

I love Election Day.  If making it into a national holiday wouldn't "water it down" by eventually changing it to a Monday and turning it into an extended weekend of sales at the mall, I'd say that I'd love to see Election Day become a national holiday.  More friends and families heading out to cast their votes together.  Holding canned food drives at polling places.  Planning Election Day dinners and parties. 

This country, of all countries, should be as enthusiastic about Election Day as it is about the Fourth of July.  Red, white, and blue-sprinkled cupcakes in the bakery shop windows.  American flags whipping in the wind on every house-front.  Lines to vote as long as lines to watch parades.  

"It's not the voting that's democracy," playwright Tom Stoppard (author of my favorite play, Arcadia ♥♥)  notes.  "It's the counting."  Mike and I will walk to our polling place together tonight when he gets home from work, and then it will be a night of sandwiches and spinach-artichoke dip in front of the TV as we watch election coverage.  

I found a number of American flags while out on a walk this morning.  

I love that.  I love seeing the colors, the pride, the lack of apathy.  Today matters.  

Whenever my Italian grandfather would hear some story of "only-in-America" craziness on the nightly news, he would shake his head and mutter, "What a country!"  And always, always, he would follow that with "But I wouldn't want to live anywhere else." ♥

"You kids," he would tell us.  "You just don't know how good you have it." Like most of what Papa said, that is always a good thing for me to remember when I need some perspective. 

This morning shined bright in my neighborhood.  Leaves glittered in the sunlight as they fell from the trees.

After a dark week of rain, this morning's sunshine was a blessing.  A renewal of hope both in and out of the voting booths.  Senator John Kerry's 2004 concession speech beautifully reminds us that "in an American election, there are no losers, because whether or not our candidates are successful, the next morning we all wake up as Americans."  ♥  I wish Papa had lived just three years longer so we could have talked about that.  He surely would have been nodding appreciatively at Senator Kerry's words.  "See," he would have told whoever was there in the living room with him.  "He knows.  He knows." 

Crunchy fallen leaves on sidewalks.

Last week's Halloween jack-o-lanterns still sitting on peoples' stoops and front porch steps.

I love the whimsy especially when it is in the form of adult-carved cat-faced pumpkins feet away from political signs and bumper stickers.

I am just pleased to see people take an interest and vote, no matter their choice.  We tend to associate political campaigns with so much negativity, but it seems to me that that is mostly found online and in the media:  In "real" life, I think we all tend to be pretty respectful of each other.  And excited about this day.  Mike's and my old polling place was an elementary school gym, and outside it, the kids would sit at folding tables with hand-drawn-in-crayon "VOTE!" posters taped to the fronts and sell voters cookies.  I really think that when those of us of voting age turn off our televisions and computers and get in line to cast our ballots, the same simple excitement and wonder is ours, as well.  "Hardball" and Fox News and this week's poll and yesterday's "best" attack ads and last week's hard-hitting blah blah blah blah blah all slip away, and We the People are at the polling place with nothing but hopes and dreams and ideas about Changing Things and Making Things Better on our minds.  ♥  Happy Election Day.

Kindness is the only service that will stand the storm of life. ~ Abraham Lincoln

This week was the first in this apartment that found us sleeping in a "real" bed, since we just this past weekend assembled our newly-bought bed-frame and headboard.  The bedroom is the last room of our new-even-though-we-moved-in-August-1st-of-2011 apartment to be arranged and decorated, so finally, this Monday night, we slept in a properly made-up bed in a room that looked like a bedroom and not just The Room We're Unpacking From.  And it was the strangest of juxtapositions, the cold winds of Hurricane Sandy howling and its rains pelting the windows while Mike, Stuffed, and I curled up under quilts and comforters with a space heater on at the foot of the bed and a battery-operated candle flickering on Mike's nightstand:  Never before had we had such a snug and sound sleep in our new home, and all the while, so many were suffering so horribly.  Mike and I had watched CNN and the Weather Channel for hours before going to bed, in between checking on friends in New Jersey and Connecticut, so we  knew it was getting bad and going to get worse, but it was still shocking, when Mike woke up at 2 a.m. Tuesday and read aloud a news alert that had come across his phone:  "18 people dead."  That number has since risen, of course, but at 2 a.m. Tuesday, to hear such a thing while safely cuddled up against my husband and cat in a comfy new bed, was stunning.  And what was there to do at such an hour but cuddle closer and pray.

Soon after, I dreamed that I was walking past a store that had a group of Salvation Army bell-ringers out front, but they were not only ringing their bells hoping for the usual handfuls of change to be dropped into their red kettles for charity, but also singing, and it was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard, the most beautiful a cappella choir, their voices rising to the sweetest notes and harmonizing perfectly.  I was so moved by the sound of it, I wanted to cry out to tell them how beautiful they were and what a tonic their voices were, but of course, I didn't want to interrupt.  Dropping money into their kettles seemed almost too crass a thing to do in response to a moment of such beauty and grace.  I tried to catch the eyes of some of the singers, but--it being a dream--they were staring above and beyond me while they sang and I couldn't get anyone to make eye contact with me.  I decided just to leave whatever money I had on me, but after scrounging through my pockets and bag, I only came up with 37 cents.  After wrestling with my embarrassment for a few moments, I decided that if that was all I could give, then it would just have to be enough--better that, than nothing--and I dropped my handful of coins into one of the kettles, trying again to make eye contact with the singers while I smiled at them, hoping they understood my appreciation and my offering. 

This week with all its news of Sandy-related destruction and fledgling recovery has so heartbreakingly highlighted our fragility and strength.  "True strength is delicate," as the saying goes.  I have made my small donations to the Red Cross and the Humane Society, and I pray that those at this moment trapped in flooded homes and digging to find anything salvageable in burned-out yards can somehow sense all the prayers and good wishes we have all been sending and find strength in them.  "I don't feel God around me at all right now," I remember whimpering in disbelief to my favorite teacher the day after my best friend died in high school.  But He is here, he reassured me, explaining that God was my friends and my parents and anybody else who did anything kind or good to help me through my grief.  I still believe that, seventeen years later, so now I pray that we are all somehow putting our best selves forward for each other, being the little kids' God who gives away not just clean dry clothes but also coloring books and Halloween candy in makeshift shelters, being the adults' God who sends rescue boats and helps with insurance forms and who hands out hot coffee too.  Let our prayers and our offerings, even if they strike us as small, be enough today and in the days ahead.  I believe that love changes the world and that God is always here, masquerading as Halloween candy, warm blankets, and handfuls of coins.  

 

A Place for Everything

I woke up at 4:45 this morning feeling rested for the first time in days, if not weeks, so I got up and started straightening up the apartment while Mike slept.  I read an article a couple weeks ago about sugar's negative effects on the immune system and decided to cut it out from my diet for awhile to see if it helps, since I seem to be sick more often than not.  I've been this way for ages--my mom called me Typhoid Mary as a kid because I was sick so often--and it seems to be getting worse as I get older, so I figured giving up sugar was worth a shot.  (As an aside, did you know that "Typhoid Mary" was a real person?  And what a sad story hers is.  My goodness.)  The combination of the sugar-withdrawal and a flu shot last weekend have had me completely wiped out lately, but so far, so good today, so this morning has been spent putting away groceries and dishes that had accumulated in teetering piles on our one kitchen counter and on our dining table and otherwise organizing some of the odds and ends that had been making our little apartment feel out-of-control and annoying this month.   Cookbooks tucked back onto shelves.  Mixing bowls re-stacked.  Kitchen floor scrubbed.  Plants re-potted and watered.  Paints and stationery sorted.  It always feels so good to get things done.  'Nothing like a to-do list with a bunch of check-marks and crossed-off items.

Sweet Autumn Weekend (or Val's Homebody Activities)

A sweet and simple fall weekend ahead:  Lunch with Mike in a few hours, a walk home through the leaves, and then a quiet night reading and catching up on my letter-writing.  These are what my ex-boyfriend used to call "Val's Homebody Activities."  :)  I gathered a bunch of especially pretty leaves this morning to include in the letters I'll be mailing Monday, and I've found both a sweet card for Aunt Laurie and the perfect anniversary card for my parents.  "Whenever we're together, blessings are served," reads Aunt Laurie's card, and the illustrations inside and out are of two bears talking over tea and of a flowers-and-pie-filled tea cart.  The Psalm verse "God has given us these times of joy" is printed on the inside, and especially since this will be the first mail I'll have sent her since our little gnome party three weeks ago, the card is perfect.  Mom and Dad's depicts one rabbit serenading another outside their cottages, and if ever a card looked like Mom, this is it.  Mom found me and Aunt Laurie sheets of autumn-themed stickers during our visit, and if I can part with them, they'll be on this weekend's letters soon.  (Pink Coneflower stickers!  Be still my heart!)  Cards and stickers are the only things I really enjoy shopping for, and I hit the jackpot with all these.  And tomorrow is Apple Cobbler Day because I'm hoping I can use it to bribe Mike into playing a game of Life with me.  I recently found the 1980s version of it that my brothers and I used to have, and I am willing to set aside Maple leaves and Chrysanthemum stickers long enough to fill a plastic car with pink and blue peg-people and then inherit a skunk farm.   (I always inherit the skunk farm.)  Sweatshirts, space heaters, and lap quilts on and rain all weekend.  These are my favorite kind of (fall) days.  

A Gnome-Themed Dinner Party for Mom and Aunt Laurie

Click to enlarge.  :)

When Mom mentioned a month or so ago that Aunt Laurie would be visiting the weekend of October 5th, I knew I wanted to do something special for them as a thank you for the sweet little anniversary party they put together for me and Mike in April.  In 2003, I made a Halloween meal during Aunt Laurie's fall visit, and almost a decade later, she's still giggling over the beef-stew-in-a-pumpkin pot and the sour-cream-and-black-olive-topped-potato-"ghosts."  By this September's end, I had decided to greet Aunt Laurie and her family with  a gnome-themed dinner the evening they arrived.  Mom and Aunt Laurie have a thing for gnomes.  Their flower gardens are full of them, they find odd little gnome gifts for each other, and they openly admit to wishing that they could live in miniature mushroom houses.  I had wanted the meal to be a surprise for both Aunt Laurie and Mom, but since I was holding it in Mom's house, I had to let her in on it, and in about two weeks, in letters and phone conversations, we planned our gnome-themed party.

I found gnome and toadstool stickers, 

and gnome napkins and tiny table decorations.  

Click to enlarge.  :)

Mom mentioned one night that she'd been making a small table-piece of a toadstool table and chair set for Aunt Laurie to keep and that she had found two garden gnomes on an end-of-summer clearance sale table.  Mom bought autumn-themed paper dinner and dessert plates too.  All of that with a scattering of autumn leaves, pumpkins, and gourds seemed like decoration enough. 

   

I focused on the menu and arrived at my parents' house October 4th with bags of groceries and baking supplies.  Aunt Laurie and her husband and son were to arrive the following evening, so less than an hour after I walked through the door that night, Mom and I were running into each other decorating her kitchen island with all our gnomes and I was baking toadstool cupcakes and gnome-shaped sugar cookies.  As we laughed and tripped over each other, we would spot yet another everyday kitchen item that was suddenly striking us as looking distinctly gnome-ish--"The funnel!  It's a gnome hat!  Look!"--and Dad could be overheard muttering, "Crazy, crazy, crazy" from the living room.  Before Mom went to bed that night, I finished transforming a yellow vinyl tablecloth into a dinner menu-backdrop to hang behind her kitchen island, and we laughed some more as we looked it over together before saying goodnight.

Click to enlarge.  :)

Since I was doing all the cooking and baking, I stayed up to get a head-start on everything I could.  I went to bed in the early morning Friday and got up again to continue cooking around 1:30 in the afternoon, about four hours before Aunt Laurie was to arrive.  And when I finally did see Aunt Laurie and her family pull into my parents' driveway at 5:00, I shouted to Mom and Dad, "Stall them!  STALL THEM!" as I put the finishing touches on the food and took a final few pictures.

Everything on the menu was gnome-themed, and except for the cupcakes, since she doesn't like cake much, everything was gluten-free for Mom. 

We had pasta with meatballs into which I'd rolled-up salami-slices to make "gnome heads-wearing-gnome hats," and tomato-mozzarella "toadstools" with Parmesan sprinkled on top:

Click to enlarge.  :)

We had two baskets of "gnome hats"--chocolate-peanut butter Bugles and plain Bugles--and I cut gnome shapes out of garlic bread dough to make gnome-shaped bread:

Click to enlarge.  :)

 I made a tray of fruit "gnome kabobs" and a tossed salad with toadstools carved out of radishes:

Click to enlarge.  :)

And for dessert, gnome-shaped sugar cookies:

Click to enlarge.  :)

and because we like what my mom calls "a wide assortment," toadstool house cupcakes:

Click to enlarge.  :)

 and frozen yogurt gnomes with whipped cream beards and, of course, waffle cone hats:

Click to enlarge.  :)

When Aunt Laurie walked in, she immediately saw the decorated kitchen and all the food, and me standing beside it, grinning like a fool, and Mom and I laughed in delight at her surprise over everything. 

Click to enlarge.  :)

I adore Aunt Laurie, if this isn't beyond clear by now.  If I weren't my mother's daughter, I'd be hers.  Who besides me and Mom gets such a kick out of themed food, after all.  Just watching her ooh and ahh over our crazy menu and decorations was fun enough, but I still had to show her, my uncle, and my cousin "The Tree."  Knowing none of us is the wear-a-gnome-hat-for-photos kind of person, I had instead edited a bunch of photos of the six of us in attendance at our little family dinner with the addition of gnome hats and gnome outfits and attached them to the limbs of a decorative tree Mom keeps in her dining room with garden twine, toadstool stickers, and twinkly Christmas lights  If we laughed over the food, we positively howled over the Tree photos.  ♥

Click to enlarge.  :)

Click to enlarge.  :)

Click to enlarge.  :)

Oh my gosh, this was truly all so funny.  My dad, uncle, and cousin had long since headed into the living room to watch baseball or football or whatever it was, and Mom, Aunt Laurie, and I just laughed like loons as we looked at all the pictures and food.  I caught Mom's eye at one point and we just smiled at each other.  I think I can speak for all three of us when I say that if you asked us a hundred years from now about some of our favorite moments together in this life, we would all remember to mention our laughter during this silly gnome party.  While everyone got settled to eat and Aunt Laurie took a few photos with her camera, I escaped into my parents' bedroom for a minute to send Mike, who had had to stay here for the weekend, a jubilant little text message:  "Aunt Laurie arrived a few minutes ago.  Is giggling over everything and loves it all.  Mish-shone accomplished!"  :)

Click to enlarge.  :)

In addition to these cell phone pictures, I took an entire roll of film that night with a disposable camera Mom had bought for the occasion, and I found out from the one-hour photo place yesterday morning that for the first time in the 25 or so years I've been taking pictures, my entire roll of film was blank.  Blank.  An entire roll of film just--somehow--gone.  The store developed it, and it was just blank.  A bad camera or a bad developing job, who knows.  My photo of me hugging Aunt Laurie beside the Tree:  Never to be seen.  The one of Mom and Aunt Laurie laughing beside the gnome-themed buffet and big menu:  Gone.  The candid shot I captured of Aunt Laurie just as she walked in and saw the party for the first time:  Blank.  I spent a couple hours upset about it yesterday, and then I decided just to get on with things.  Aunt Laurie will share whatever photos she took, and I have the cell phone food pictures and at least this one blurry cell phone picture of Aunt Laurie beside the food and photo-tree, 

Click to enlarge.  :)

and that, with my drawings (which will be saved to include in future scrapbook-gifts for Aunt Laurie and Mom) will have to do.  Memories of this little shindig won't fade anytime soon, after all.  Aunt Laurie sent a thank you note this past week expressing as much.  'Updating now to add that she has passed along the following photos she took:

Click to enlarge.  :)

And even without more pictures from the night, "gnome is where your heart is" anyway, as Aunt Laurie and Mom would giggle and remind me.  ♥

Flea Market Cat and the Year of (Not) Letting Go

While making my way through muddy paths and blustery winds at the flea market with family last weekend, I spotted this antique toy on a table.  I'm not one for knickknacks but fell for this simple old black and white cat, and after handing my eight dollar bills across the table to the elderly woman who was racing to cover the rest of her wares before the next rain, it was mine.  The older I get, the more I love the quote from William Morris that advises us to "have nothing in [our] houses that [we] do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful."   This cat fits the bill for me.  I also love the advice to get rid of a few things for every one thing you bring into your home, so sometime this week, I'll be putting together another bag to donate to Goodwill.  A memoir of my mid-thirties would surely have a chapter titled "Clutter Be Gone."  Too much "stuff" makes me antsy.  Unless it's of books, I despise piles. 

At 24, I wasn't like this.  While discussing one of the "Hoarders" TV shows a couple weeks ago, I told Mike about the time I was shopping at a Salvation Army store in my hometown a few weeks after my family and I had finished cleaning out my grandparents' house and came across some of their belongings on the store's shelves:  My parents had donated to the store the items from Papa and Grandma's house that no one in the family had claimed.  I hadn't wanted these things before, but I suddenly felt sick at the thought of strangers owning the contents of Papa and Grandma's home.  I bought back all their books that I could find on the shelves, along with a porcelain swan that had always sat on top of their piano and that was now marked with a neon green price sticker.  My grandparents had just died in the two months before, and I wasn't ready to let go even this little bit.  Not ready at all.  I made peace with it eventually, and at some point, the books and swan made their way to the Salvation Army a second time, but I spent the spring and early summer of 2001 surrounding myself with boxes and piles of Papa and Grandma's belongings and berating myself for not having "saved" more of it from their house in the first place.  And what little money I was earning that miserable year and the next, I spent too much of on more "stuff" that further cocooned and comforted me.  One afternoon, the mailman delivered an embarrassingly tall stack of packages onto my doorstep only to return to his truck for a second stack--and in front of my younger brother, whose respect is chief amongst those I'd never want to lose.  It was easy for awhile to tell myself and others that I was just buying what I needed for my new apartment or "treating" myself after a hard year of too many disappointments and losses.  Although I was far from a hoarder, I was, in those heartbroken days of 2001 and 2002, surrounding myself with Any Little Thing That Would Make Me Feel Better, even if only by association--This "new-old" damask tablecloth is just like one of Grandma's--or because of misplaced hope--Maybe I'll be wearing this new sky-blue sundress the day my ex-boyfriend finally comes back to me.  I don't laugh at the people being buried alive by their possessions on TV shows.  Sometimes tablecloths and dresses mean so much more than tablecloths and dresses, and sometimes you need to hang on to them awhile.  Some peoples' "awhile" never ends, as those hoarding programs show us, and I feel sorry for them and their loved ones. 

My own "awhile" lasted about a year and a half.  By the end of 2003, I had donated or sold on amazon and eBay most everything that had before seemed so soothing.  I had healed some.  The vintage tablecloth wasn't necessary.  The sundress wouldn't be seen by the ex-boyfriend.  I would continue to remember reading on Grandma's lap as a child even if I gave away most of her books.  Papa and Grandma's house would still live in my memories after its foyer's porcelain swan found a new home.  Eventually, I just realized I'd be okay without it all and that I was, when it came down to it, okay without Papa and Grandma and the ex, as well (if I had to be, and God knows how stubbornly I struggle to accept a loss).  But what you need--all that you really need--I learned in those years, you carry within you.  Death cannot steal it from you, not really.  Goodbyes do not negate it, even when your present seems to have cancelled-out your past.  If the wooden flea market cat makes me happy, I enjoy it.  (It suits me, for sure, and it does look sweet amid the autumn leaves and little pumpkins.)  I enjoy it all the more knowing--finally and truly--that I'd be okay without it too. 

Want to watch Stuffed for a minute?

Volume up. :) A week ago, I figured out how to make a short video on Mike's phone. Enjoy our stuffed animal of a cat for a minute. He's pure sweetness. ♥

Dawn

A dear friend died last night after a couple years of battling serious illnesses. Dawn, who I had yet to meet in-person, was working on her doctorate degree at the same time I was working toward my Masters, and we met through a grad student support group however-many years ago. We would make each other laugh throughout long nights--and years--of reading, researching, and paper-writing by describing our "work clothes" to each other. "I think I have you beat tonight," I would tell her. "Charlie Brown 'zig-zag' t-shirt, candy cane-striped pajama pants I got for Christmas, and my hair's pulled back into one of my dad's Pirates baseball caps. It will be a sad day when I have my degree and am not this fashionable anymore!" She would share her own crazy outfit--and no small amount of love and wisdom, as well--and another night spent trudging along on the long road toward our goals would pass with much laughter to combat the exhaustion and stress. I finally earned my degree in 2006, and she finally became "Dr. Dawn" in 2009. In a recent email, she wrote, "You are so dear, and I miss our chats about the most outrageous outfits. I'm currently wearing a worn-out Henley 4 sizes too big, and boat shorts. . . . will shortly add an ancient 2 sizes too big maroon sweat outfit and white fuzzy slippers."

"I don't know how you do it," I told her as she plodded along on her new and more difficult journey of cancer treatments a year ago. "But you do it. I admire your persistence." Big-hearted and brave, Dawn responded, "I do it because I'm one stubborn old broad, and because I have a lot of help from my friends and my dear sister and from God." To all her friends and family, 62-year-old Dawn has been the epitome of love and friendship, so often the one we would all look to her inspiration and advice even while trying to support her in her own battles. The student group through which I first met her is heartbroken today. To find anyone in this life who loves you and makes you laugh is a gift, and to find someone who loves you, makes you laugh, and makes you try to be a better person is a whole other level of a blessing. Dawn was a treasure.

"OK, I am tired, gotta go," she signed off in one of her last emails to me. "God bless wonderful, faithful Val." Bless you too, my dear. But friendships do not die. If you're sporting sparkling wings today, Dawn, then you finally have me beat. But you would want me to try, at least, and as a respecter of tradition, I don't mind telling you that I am wearing an oh-so-80s neon green nightshirt with screen-printed stars on its front, rainbow-striped underwear that is probably showing through in the back, and pink rabbit slippers. And I miss you so much already. And even when I'm 102 years old and find myself wearing some nutty mismatched outfit, I will think of you and laugh. And always, always, I will be grateful for your goodness to me and to so many others. Your heart was as big as your sweatshirt. 

Pink One-Year Anniversary Party

This Saturday marks six months since Mike's and my one-year wedding anniversary. The weekend of April 15th, we rented a car and went back to the town where we'd gotten married to have a couple days away. My mom had asked us to tack on a side-trip to her and dad's house for an anniversary dinner on our way home, and especially since my dear aunt Laurie was staying with them for the weekend, I was looking forward to the visit. This would be the first time dear Aunt Laurie and her family would meet Mike too, so I knew it would be a sweet afternoon. I did not know, though, that Mom and Aunt Laurie had been planning a pink anniversary party for me and Mike for weeks, and that Aunt Laurie had arrived at Mom and Dad's Friday evening with a car full of pink paper lanterns, baking ingredients, candies, silk flowers, and handmade anniversary gifts. Since Mike and I had "run away and gotten married" and hadn't had an actual wedding or reception, my mom and aunt decided, unbeknownst to us, to go all out for our first anniversary.

They had spent the weekend before our arrival transforming Mom's colonial blue kitchen and dining room into a pink party space.  I couldn't believe my eyes when I walked into the house--Mom is synonymous with the color blue to me--and ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the transformation. They had thought of everything from pink heart-shaped paper doilies to pink paper lanterns, and it was all gorgeous. "We wanted it to look like our Vally," Mom smiled.
(That's Papa and Grandma's old Hoosier cabinet above at left. :) ♥ Click to enlarge any photo in this post.)
 
The food, like the decorations, was all in pink, spring green (like my wedding dress/jacket), and white too. :) Aunt Laurie had baked pink-and-green-frosted sugar cookies. Mom had made pink heart-shaped marshmallow-adorned Jell-O salads. She had ordered a pink Roses-topped marble cake from the local bakery. They had set up dishes of pink and green M&Ms, tiered tidbit trays of pink foil-wrapped candies, plates of white chocolate-covered pretzels, and pots of pink wafer cookies. 'Just dreamy, a sea of pretty colors.

Mom and Aunt Laurie had cooked our traditional Thanksgiving dinner for the meal: Turkey, stuffing/dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet potato casserole, peas, green bean casserole, pickles and cream cheese-and-olive-stuffed celery, rolls, and ham too. The ham was somewhat of an in-joke between me and Mom, because in the late 1980s or maybe early 1990s, she and I had been tickled by an article in one of her decorating magazines about a pink and white wedding that "continued the pink and white theme" with overlapping slices of (pink) ham and (white) turkey at its dinner reception. It was such a pretty detail, and I remember squealing to Mom at the time, "Ooooooooooh! Just THINK, Mom! We could color-coordinate the whole MEAL!" And now, decades later, she had remembered to make up platters of the turkey and ham. ♥ One of my sisters-in-law contributed a cucumber salad that was a pretty mint green. Aunt Laurie had dyed hard-boiled eggs in pinks and greens. Mom had made pink lemonade (especially for Mike, who likes it, but you know the punch bowl would have been pink-filled somehow). The cups, napkins, and plates were all pink and white, as well. Rachel Ashwell, eat your heart out. ;)
After lunch, we opened Aunt Laurie's incredible gifts.
And then Mom and Dad stunned me and Mike with something I had wanted for our little apartment since the summer before. While Mike and I finished our cake and caught up with everyone, my dad and brothers disappeared outside and then returned carrying a heavy oak fireplace mantel. My mom had paid for the wood for it, and Dad had built it. (He also built the mantel that's beside the "pink Roses/twinkle lights tree" in the third photo from the top. And Mom's beloved kitchen nook/booth to the right of the Hoosier cabinet. ♥) I finally have my mantel! ♥

He said he hated to leave it unfinished, but that Mom had told him that I'd want to paint it and doll it up anyway, so he resigned himself to giving me a plain and unstained wood piece. :) Fixing this up is one of my next projects. It will be colorful and trimmed in Roses when I'm done, to be sure. Dad made it the perfect size for a specific wall in our apartment that I'd mentioned I'd been saving for a mantel. I still had "mantel wanted" ads posted on craigslist when Mom and Dad gave us this one, so this, like the rest of the visit, was a real treat. ♥

After taking more pictures and saying our goodbyes, Mike and I got on the road, the car's backseat and trunk filled with pastel-colored foods and our other gifts. The real treasures, I know you know by now, were the people waving at us as we drove away.