Friday, November 20, 2009

Thursday, November 19, 2009


I've decided to post a few choice photographs from my childhood.

It all started with my dad's hairy leg and split 80's bathrobe.
Not really (cracking up at this photo! what in the world? what am I so confused about?).

Let me begin again.
It all began with a pink onesie.

From there, my love of eating (and sneaking bites when I thought no one was looking) began. Other than looking like a child of Spock, I'm loving my haircut & t-shirt here.

Once a cheesy smile, always a cheesy smile. (That's Ryan & Heather next to me.) And I want to know what's up with all of our mis-shapen diapers?

This one's my favorite. Just crazy! And I'm pretty sure I've had the same haircut since I was two.

Ryan would kill me if he know I posted a pic of him wearing a diaper on his head.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009


This fellow's style is perfection.

I saw this photo today (compliments of you know who) and just can't get enough of it. I keep going back. So many flawless details.

#1, his haircut is just great. It sits atop his brow like a soldiers cap. Off duty, but ready for action.

#2, his jeans. The wash. The rips and holes. The mini cuff. The lengh.

#3, nice hands; enough said there.

#4, the t. Clean. Cuffs!

#5, his stance; even though he's not standing, he's at ease. It's like he was taken by suprise, but at the same time doesn't give a rats tail that his photo is being taken.

#6, he prefers a bike. That's just the cherry on top, isn't it?

I just love his look so much. But why? Mm, probably because it looks like he's not trying. That's key. In fact, that's HUGE. The most important. You lose it all when you try too hard. Effortless, but hits the mark.

Then (just now) I realized he's idential to my late favorite uncle, Gentry. Looks just like him! Tragically, my uncle died in a motorcycle accident when he was 30. But what I remember of him is beautiful!

He was my mom's only full brother, 2 years younger than her. He'd visit occasionally, and when he did, I preferred to ride on his back like he was a wild donkey. I was that little. I remember he'd light up a room when he walked in. He was tall and lanky, sensitive but hilarious, and would play harmonica on demand. When he was there, the volatile home I lived in was at peace.

Here he is.

(on the back of this photo, he says: "65 lb backpack with guitar, flute - small box behind my head - crawfish trap. Note: the fish hanging I caught him the first morning." hahaaaa. How can you not love him?!)

It's funny how you can miss someone you hardly knew, and even less remembered. But he is one of my only wonderful memories from when I was that age, and so I treasure those memories!

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Fabrics make me so happy.


I'd prefer to keep this simple and short.

WHY, oh why, do I strive for a thing which cannot be gotten by way of desire, hope, daydreaming or tears?

THING. Meaning: a confidant stance before the living God.

That thing, that promise, is a gift given to those who believe. If I believe it, that gift allows me to stand blameless and perfect before Him, to find my purpose in Him, and to find my end in Him.

And on that weighty thought, I'll end this post and go to bed.