what you'll find.

  Do not pass quickly in judgment over the smallest of yard sales or bargain shops. Over the past couple of years, I have found some of my favorite articles of clothing, decor, and small joys in the most unlikely of places. Well, as unlikely as Goodwill and antique shops can be. Nonetheless, do not underestimate the goods within the building. My advice: do your research. Know the items you would like and be open to items that are not the exact replica but possibly a close second. Next, try it on. Though the orange stalls of fitting rooms in the local Goodwill is not too appealing, it does no good to end up with an item a couple sizes too big or even one size to small. Finally, take time to look at things. Small holes or stains, which will not be nice to you, create disappointment and frustration even if the item is only a few dollars. (A quick tip: having a mother who can somehow form a unique treasure from a once ill-fitting pair of pants never hurts.) I cannot say that thousands of hours have been apportioned to adventures to various yard, garage and estate sales, but I have been the fateful recipient of an eight dollar vintage Samsonite suitcase and a navy maxi skirt that makes summers in Georgia that much more bearable. Purchases aside, fun always accompanies a trip to the antique store. My sweet fiance posed for me in the above bow tie during our recent trip to "Paris on Ponce" in the VA highlands. Thanks to that hipster-friendly fabric, my man just might sport a Churchillian trademark on a date in the near future. Fingers are crossed here. Be creative. Try something new. Appreciate seasoned possessions.

Currently Listening: "Jolene" by Ray LaMontagne

looking forward.

In a matter of months, this will be me. Embraced in the arms of my best friend, reciting "I do," and beginning a new adventure. I did not expect the past year to look as it has, but I would not change a single detail if I could. A new city, a challenge and many big steps will end with a summer leading up to marriage. In my most fragile state, I feel as though I conquered more than I ever have. I shall leave New York City as a proud "New Yorker," returning to the South to be the Belle of the only ball I want to attend. The end of yet another season is almost over. The same measure of nervousness and  nostalgia has come over me in the past week or so. The Winnie the Pooh quote has been said many times lately, but it is true. "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." But what is even better is that good things wait on the opposite end of this journey as well. 

Currently Listening: "Old Friend" by Low Tree Grow Tall

penelope.

 No better way to spend a brisk morning than walking over to Penelope on Lexington Avenue. A brunch date with my friend, roommate as well, and our adopted big sister from the House of Susan B. Anthony. Going into explaining the relationship and how it comes to be is irrelevant, but the goat cheese omelette with spinach and mushrooms was enjoyed over a conversation and coffee. Penelope is small. A small entrance of four steps and a bench to the right rarely accommodates the lines of guests awaiting their table. To ease the strain of close quarters, the cafe offers complimentary coffee to those waiting in hopes that the service overshadows the hunger. One thing to know about Penelope is to expect a wait. Also, expect to wait. For two times before today I tried to stick out the wait, but sadly failed. To my delight, brunch was served today in the cozy, window seat corner.
  There are those people who come around that challenge you. For whatever purpose or way, it happens. Sometimes it occurs in a theological sense, at other times by wit, but today it was by language. Maybe I do not read enough novels set in the nineteenth century, or possibly my time is spent speed reading for class the following day. Regardless, it puzzles me how some speech is eloquently strung together with words I have never heard before, or maybe I have but do not think to place them into my sentences. Confidence might have a part to play in the situation. Who would ever use an obscure verb to state something that could be explained with be, being or been? I like to think that my words almost sound lyrical or profound, yet often they fall of my mundane lips with carelessness. It gets me to thinking about how much I think about words, their meaning, and why we use them. Did we not create certain words to serve a purpose such as this? To better relate what a person is trying to say to another? I believe it is the purpose but profane words and slander too quickly become verbiage. I did it there. Verbiage? It is speech or writing that uses too many words.
  Too many words. Is that the problem? To make excuses for a poorly spoken thought, there is a temptation to add a few more words to it. Whatever the cause, I am challenged by those words, however archaic or mundane they may sound.

holiday.

  If anyone has the opportunity to live in New York City, I am a firm believer in the fact that they must be in the city for the Christmas season. As if the city were not glamorous enough, all of the stops are pulled out as Christmas. Fir trees dressed in twinkle lights and some form of ribbon or bows adorn every store window, building entrance and home. Lights are strung around fire escapes and occasionally someone brings out the "big old bulbs." Years from now I will be able to look back on my first year in this city and get to say that I lived across the street from the 34th Street Macy's. Because the city is so short on space, normal happenings that take place on large plots of land in the South line the streets near grocery stores or plant nurseries. I was walking home from the grocery last night carrying festive eggnog to make a holiday punch along with ingredients for some brownies to bring to a Christmas party later that evening. All of the sudden I could smell the faintest scent of evergreen and I could not see where it was coming from. A few more blocks and the sweetest batch of bare Christmas trees, large and small, were patiently waiting to meet their family for the season. 

  Christmas trees are one of my favorite parts of the holidays. As I grew older, my responsibility in the house was to decorate the tree each year and I did not take the task lightly. The tree needed to be evenly lit with twinkle lights, really old ornaments and the red banners and bows my momma made years ago. Yes, dressing the tree is exciting, but the most wonderful part comes after the house is quiet. Late into the night, when many have gone to bed, I love to sit in the living room just watching the tree. As a young girl, I remember laying underneath the branches, looking up to the illuminated ornaments hanging from the boughs. Maybe that is where the magic was for me. My family never believed in Santa Claus, though our hearts are knitted closely to A Miracle on 34th Street. Magic came from the beauty in the season. I was awe struck as a young girl in my living room and the feeling returns each holiday. 

 

  Disappointment was my friend near the start of the holiday season. We all know that the important part of the Christmas season is being with loved ones. My flight home was scheduled for December 21st and I found myself wishing that I had more of the season with the ones I love. Little did I know that my precious Jason would surprise me with a trip to the city. It was one of the best gifts I could have ever received. All I wanted to make this Christmas in New York better was to share it with the ones I care for the most, and I got to have Jason come be a part of it for five whole days. We walked together in the brisk, cold air and went ice skating in Bryant Park. We enjoyed hot drinks that warmed our frozen hands and meandered through holiday markets. We played music together and sang Christmas tunes. I implore all those who are with the ones they love right now, be quick to spend time enjoying them. Life walks us through many seasons with many purposes. Not to say that any are better than others, but learning to appreciate what is in the season is important. In my season, there is the hope of burgeoning friendship. There is the light from Macy's outside of my building. There is a family in Georgia waiting for me to get home. Merry Christmas.

Currently Listening: "Silver Bells" by Bing Crosby and Trudy Erwin

home.

  I am missing home. I doubted that it would happen. Maybe just to the measure that I am feeling it at the moment. It could be due to my listening to Kenny G's Christmas albums while working on my twenty-page term paper. I am suddenly at home. Thanksgiving is over and every tummy is stuffed. I always get excited because I know that the next day we decorate the house for the holidays. The season begins with smells of cinnamon from momma's T-ring and this music fills the house as wreaths, garland, stockings and trinkets accumulated over the years are hustled up the stairs to adorn the house. Every room is decorated. The bathrooms are given their penguin fountain and snowflake candles. A Precious Moments nativity scene is set up in one of them. By this time I have already had some hot coco and the house is close to being done.
  It is almost as if muscle memory takes over when opening the boxes. Each decoration has its place. The carolers sing from their hymnals atop the entertainment center and the large red teapot that has the bear as its lid and a candy cane handle goes in the bookshelves. Needle point pillows go on their respective couches and the angel garland greets my sister and I above the hallway entrance to our rooms. I forgot what it means. To be home, I guess. The smells aren't in this apartment. Momma isn't cleaning the house so that the decorations are put out on dust-free surfaces. I can decorate with the few items I have and put an evergreen plug-in in the wall but it still isn't home.
  How long do you have to be somewhere for it to be home? A year? Two? Maybe the difference is when loved ones are with you. Maybe when things are familiar it changes. Regardless, I am left here writing about my missing the one home I have known for the past ten years. I won't know what the Christmas tree looks like until the 21st of December. Someone else will take over my responsibility of stringing its lights and placing the ornaments on the branches. I never thought that being pricked by the fir tree's needles would be something I would miss. I will miss it.
  The most wonderful time of the year. I still believe that it is with all of my heart. It will just look different this year. It will have less hugs from family than before. It will lack baking with my mom or going to the Children's Christmas Parade with my daddy and niece and nephews. Different.
  34th street is decorated. They brought in the large wreaths and tree into my apartment building lobby just yesterday. This is an experience that most dream of and I find it hard at times to not wish it were just a dream. Waking up tomorrow I will still hear sirens and taxi cabs with their horns and shouts. I will look out the window and see the sun working its way between buildings and at some point it will find the streets. New York City.

Currently Listening: "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" by Kenny G

post sandy.

  I arrived back to my home in the big city this afternoon. I was lugging the couple bags I took for evacuation to New Jersey and eerily noticed the normal state of the city. Herald Square was buzzing with tourists carrying way too many shopping bags and New Yorkers were routinely dodging the upward gazers. The East coast experienced one of the largest and most tragic storms in history at the beginning of this week. From what I could tell, many did not bat an eye.
   I walked to work with the cold November air stinging my face. I had pulled out my winter box full of scarves and gloves, for a sweater was no longer enough. I hastened to get to Times Square. After experiencing the welcome New York brought me this afternoon, the state of normalcy on 42nd street carried little shock. Vendors were back on the streets with their carts cooking hot dogs and men with dozens of handbags to sell lined Broadway. I passed families with young children taking in all of the glamour of the city; most of whom probably had no idea what took place here a few days prior.
   It is a strange place to be in. What do we support? I assume normalcy is the goal after a devastation of that measure. Is it usual for people that were unaffected by the storm to go on as if the the Atlantic Ocean had not recently scarred the East coast? I suppose I was on my way to work without a change in pace. Instead of immediately jumping to creative ways to help the city and the displaced families, I focused on the inconvenience it was to not have the subway system to take to school (which was ironic because three trains which I would need to commute to school came alive today). Maybe America is tired of dealing with devastation. Perhaps after Katrina, Tsunamis and Earthquakes the nation is burnt out. This proposition fails to eliminate the fact that people are missing and millions of homes were destroyed; just like all of the other disasters.
   I am in no way saying that there are not measures being taken to restore this city. Rather, my thoughts center around the strange way that theatre's phrase "the show must go on" funnels into a week like this one.
   Be safe. Do what you can.

Currently Listening: "Morning Song" by The Lumineers

a storm.

  The thoughts began on Friday evening. My roommates and I decided to make a run to Trader Joe's to pack the pantry with granola and the suggested non-parishable goods. We followed directions closely and bought large bottles of water, just in case ours was lost. Onto the next stop, we decided that bending the rules due to a natural disaster and possible power outages was acceptable. Ivory colored candles in hand, we hopped on the F train North to the Herald Towers.
  Reports on superstorm Sandy increased and found ourselves in prayer on Sunday morning trying to make the best decision. We worshipped our savior over some coffee and banana bread with chocolate chips. It was a sweet time. It brought us closer as roommates but even more than that, as sisters in Christ. I have had to choose relationship in this city. As with any new place, relationship does not just happen. I do not believe that a disaster of Sandy's nature is needed to produce this closeness, but it certainly opened the doors to opportunity.
  The outcome of our time together was the decision to pack up a few things and head to our roommate's papa's house in New Jersey. It was a feat to find Penn Station. Who knew that it was only two blocks from our apartment yet we chose the scenic route. We traveled up to Times Square and on to Port Authority Bus terminal. Lousy directions placed us on the opposite corner of where we should have been. A few days worth of clothing became much heavier when carrying them across New York City. Finally, we found Penn. We hastily hopped on the train headed towards Trenton and an hour later we were in safety.

  It is amazing what just a few miles outside of the city can do. There were beautiful trees with their leaves changing to bright oranges and reds. We got to know the small town of Audobon. A small tour of the town's popular places left the three of us starry-eyed and trying to soak up all of the Autumn color while we had it. We saw the church where her Papa grew up. We saw the land full of five or more houses where all of his family lived. Tales of Thanksgiving were told; he would run from house to house gathering scattered ingredients. Sometimes I wonder what life like that would be like. My family was always close on holidays, but never neighbors.
   Once in the house we snuggled up. Coffee was brewed. Heat was turned on. We felt safe.
   This stay has been full of laughs, homework, baked apple pie (inside of the apples I may add), and cooking a dinner with whatever we found in the cabinets. The storm was tragic. We have seen footage on the television of our home in the city and scarcely recognize the place we frequent. Subways are filled with water and homes are left in shambles. The city is in recovery mode and we have yet to see it. It is difficult to not feel disconnected, even when your home is in the city of devastation. We are calloused to the people that lost their home just a few streets away. The city will have to rebuild. Selfishly, we focus on the inconvenience of not resuming class, or not being able to utilize the subway system. It's not about me. It's not even about The King's College. It is an opportunity to be selfless.
   So I sit here. I write my small review of this past week and await the trip back into the city.

Currently Listening: "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" by Sufjan Stevens