Thank You Ms Montgomery!

I can't deny - Anne Shirley was a big part of the reason that I longed for red hair when I was a brown-locked girl.  Fortunately, my hair dying ventures have been far more successful than her own and I've been enjoying the borrowed life of a redhead for nearly three years now. 

I went on Google last night, and was informed by this absolutely charming graphic that today marks the 141st birthday of Lucy Maud Montgomery, the creator of the most fabulous redhead I know.

Anne was a favorite of mine, growing up. She still is. You can't find anyone who can match her fiery temper, her hopeless romanticism, her strength and her determination. I loved growing up with Anne, watching as she fell in love and out of love and embarked on her adventures as a teacher and then a wife and mother. She had flaws and made so many mistakes. She was real, and profound and funny, and I always felt like she was a friend.

And of course there were the others.  The story of Anne would not be complete without Matthew or Marilla to take her in and be her family.  What would Anne be without her dear friend Dianna to fight with and get into messes, and accidentally cause her to become drunk?  And of course, what is Anne's story without Gilbert? Gilbert was one man I definitely had a literary crush on and nothing made my heart happier than when Anne finally gave in and fell in love.

So Happy Birthday, Lucy Maud Montgomery. Thank you for giving us a wonderful set of friends to laugh and grow and dream with. Thank you for Anne.

That Was, Like, Soooo Twelve Years Ago

It's been so busy around here the past month or two. Like, it's been crazies for realzies.  A lot of big changes have been a happenin', like...  we done gone packed oursselfs up and moved from the country and back into the city.

Which makes it sound like we moved to Chicago (at least if you are from around here). But we didn't. Move into Chicago, that is. But we're fifteen minutes closer.

A little bit of history:

Twelve years ago we lived in a neighborhood in a small town, and we'd lived in towns of varying shapes and sizes all our respective lives. We packed up and move 35 minutes away to the middle of a cornfield where you had to drive at least thirty minutes if you wanted to get to any kind of town, but the trips were usually longer than that. And it was glorious. We had five acres of land, tons of room to run around and play in and freaky possums that crawled into your barn and you would think that they were dead because there was a gaping bleeding hole in the side but then you came back later and it was GONE. You could hear the coyotes running through the corn at night and the wind blew constantly from mid-March until early June and wreaked havoc on your ears if you rode your bike down a north south road.  

We lived there for six years before circumstances dictated that we rent a house that was now only 15 minutes from the closest town, with three and a half acres and lots of cornfields. That would be this house.

No photo of the first country house because I don't have them on my computer and lazy.

There were great fruit trees all over, a big master bedroom for all five of us girls to share and manage to survive quite well and mold that grew on every available surface. The basement would take in water without fail every spring when the rains came and the snow melted and the farmers just let all the water run off their fields instead of scooping it into buckets or sucking it up with a hose or something like that. Rude. After six merry years of countless photoshoots, guests and family members driving past the house because it hid behind two large berms and the whole lot of us developing severe mold allergies... we up and bought this place. (End history)

So yeah, like now we have neighbors (whaaaaattttttt) and, like, we got people on HALLOWEEN and they were TRICK OR TREATING (Dudeeee seriously???) and stuff is all, like, only ten minutes away which is totes adorbs (Did we used to say totes adorbes twelve years ago? Or is that more recent.) And now I only share a room with TWO of my sisters instead of ALL FOUR and it's sweet man, super sweet. All this stuff that was a normal part of life twelve years ago is back and style I guess! We'll see how it goes...

What Words Could I Say

Unlike many bloggers, I don't often have much to say on current topics - whether it be breaking news, or hot button controversial this is blowing up Twitter kinds of things. It's not that I don't think about these things, it's just that I rarely end up writing about them.

I didn't have anything to write when the Planned Parenthood videos were coming out, I don't have much to write about the current state of American politics and the upcoming elections and future of our country. I haven't weighed in on the "Starbucks cup" fiasco, or the nonsense when a dentist shot a lion over the summer. And now over a hundred people have died in Paris, and I am still not sure that I have anything to write.

And yet, I want to say something.  Many times I start to formulate the words in my mind, but they don't make it out through my fingertips and onto the screen. I write blogposts in my head as I drive to work that no one but me ever hears.

I suppose part of it is the feeling that there are so many other writers who say what I want to say, and who say it better. In regards to the controversial issues - whether they be serious or not - I often feel like anything I say would be preaching to the choir. I am fairly certain that 90% of my readers agree or share at least 80 % of similar views as I do... so any impassioned arguments or attempts at persuasion would be pointless. I could simply express my thoughts, but again - a lot of other writers, a lot of better and more eloquent thoughts.

And in times of tragedy, what is there that I could say that would be necessary? How can you find the right words when the horrible murder of so many people has happened? When it continues to happen every day in countries all throughout the Middle East, as ISIS kills hundreds of people every day?

I've never been a good one for words of wisdom anyhow.  When friends come to me to talk about things going on in their lives, and their problems, I have a hard time finding advice or strong, comforting words.  I am a listener, and a shoulder that I gladly let others cry on, because I want to be there for them.

Still, I want to say something. I wish I knew someone in Paris, or in France, so I could reach out to them and let them know that over here in America I am thinking and praying. And even if I don't have anything to say, I care.