Pretty in Green

This last Sunday after church was over, I stayed a little while to chat with friend in the hallway before going into Sunday School class. She complimented me on my dress; "It's awfully pink!" I said feeling a bit strange about wearing a brighter color than my typical muted color things. She said that when she was a little girl she really only got in trouble one time and it was over a pink polka dotted coat. In turn, I shared with her my own story of getting in big trouble only one time that I could remember; I think I was only about six years old. I think it could be a sign of a charmed childhood when you can remember the one and only time your daddy disciplined you.

I will also confess that my mother swatted my behind when I was sixteen years old. For whatever hormonally deranged string of words I was throwing her way as she stood at the kitchen sink and I stood at the dining table, among them were the words "just shut up!" She in fact did not shut up, but instead marched over to where I stood and gave me one well-deserved swat. It had the affect she was going for. I was almost too shocked to cry. Almost. Sometimes a sixteen-year-old girl needs a reason to let out all the tears that build up simply for the fact that she's sixteen years old. I ran to my bedroom, did not slam the door but closed it very quietly, and had a good long cry and a nap. The next day when I came home from school, I found on my pillow a new pair of Legg's pantyhose and a York Peppermint Patty. I couldn't even remember what I had been so upset with her about; I went into the kitchen and gave her a hug and told her I was so sorry for being sassy to her. She just hugged me a long time and told me she loved me and that I was a good girl, which of course made me cry again; this time tears of relief and love. I went back to my bedroom and curled up with my latest novel and my chocolate peppermint. My favorite after-school activity; chocolate and reading.

In my efforts to thin out my wardrobe of items that are too trendy, and are not made of natural fibers, I realize there is a common theme that is running throughout most of my clothes; some variation of the color pink. Taking a cotton blouse off the hanger and holding it up to myself, I try to imagine my life without it. For sure it stays. Maybe I'll go for the one that has too wild of a print and see if I can part with that one. Yes. Progress. And then if I haven't worn something through all four seasons of the last year then it has to at least be moved to the "maybe it stays or maybe it goes" pile. Ultimately I don't have that many places to go anyway that requires anything other than denim and a tee. I mean, so far this summer I've chased a racoon off the front porch, waited on the same porch with three of the grandie-girls for night-fall so the bat that was hanging out above the front door would fly away and we could go inside.

I texted Natalie and Elisabeth to give them updates on their daughter's wilderness adventures. Elisabeth promptly texted back with warnings about bats and how though they are cute they can be deadly. I immediately googled "danger of bats" and wished I hadn't. Elisabeth was, of course, correct.

I won't be found petting any bats any time soon.

I took a trip to Florida to see Wyatt, Megan and their littles. Did I overpack? Yes. But did I remember to take my childhood dresses to get their pictures taken in? Also, yes.

In the midst of the little girl's all-day-long changing of play-clothes and princess dresses, I was able to convince them to change into grandma Ally's old dresses for just a few minutes. It's a bit of a tradition when we can make it happen. I also had my picture taken in my own grandmother's childhood dress when I was around five years old. I wish I knew where the dress was now. At least I have the photo. If anyone were to ever question why I take so many pictures, this is why.

My grandmother was an amazing artist, designer, gardener and decorator. An unheralded Martha Stewart of her day. She would sew her daughter's dresses; often matching. There was a Christmas that she sewed my sister and me matching green velvet dresses.

One time when I was around sixteen years old, she took me by my shoulders, looked me in the eyes and said very seriously to me "You have green eyes, and when you wear green it makes them pop! You must wear green as often as you can!" I had a hard time not laughing at how serious she was being. Just wanting to break her gaze, I vowed "I'll wear green all the time! I promise!" Other than what I was wearing at that moment I really don't think I had anything in my very small teenager's wardrobe other than 501's and a few graphic and polo tees.

Except this pink prairie skirt.

And this pink dress.

The other day, I came across a little strip of fabric; in my favorite color. Just enough to make a throw pillow.

I think it'll be perfect on the right side of the couch. The throw pillow (also thrifted) on the left has the beautiful combination of deep blue and olive green that my grandmother loved. I think I'll make the new throw pillow have velvet olive green piping. I just need to source some green velvet and try to remember how to use the zipper foot of my sewing machine.

I headed out on my evening hike; hiking stick in one hand, phone in the other so I can take pictures of wildlife and plants. No moose or deer this time; they must be higher up on the mountain these days. Plenty of mosquitos though. I'll need to tell Elisabeth I'm more afraid of those than I am of bats. They are relentless. Time to start hiking with bug-spray dang-it.

I love the approach back to the cabin. It looks pretty in green; with pops of pink flowers on the porch.

The best post-hike beverage I got from the Instagram account @lucymakes

2 Cups watermelon

1/2 cup greek yogurt

juice of 1 lime

1 Tbsp honey

Blend and serve over ice. (how could I have forgotten to put a little sprig of green mint on this for the pic! Too obsessed that beautiful pink color me thinks)