These Hoes Are Legit

I've been meaning to share this little gem for a while, so please peep this email from one of my best and most beautiful friends...long may she dream! Bahahaha

"...as a side note, I guess Hannah's email to all of us had me thinking of y'all because last night, I dreamed(/dreamt??) we all tried out for the "X Factor." And, I must have had Ashley on my mind too, because our song of choice was Katy Perry's "Firework." Bahahaha.

P.S. We got booed off stage in the first verse of the song even though we had a killer dance routine :( "

 

 

life is certainly beautiful...

Make Me A Bird, So I Can Fly Far, Far Away...

Ok. So. I'm back on the hunt for fabric to upholster the multiple amazing wingback chairs that I have (luckily!) inherited/bought/discovered from relatives + Goodwill. I think I'm up to 4 or 5 now, all of which are in desperate need of some fluffing, stuffing, and re-covering. I've seen so many examples of reupholstered chairs that it's a little overwhelming. Do I want traditional? Artistic? Preppy? Toile or houndstooth? Oh, the pressure... 

My first thought was to have at least one chair covered in some sort of blue and white stripe (duh). However, after seeing this photo, I'm loving the leaf-themed print and how cozy it looks next to that window.

Something about this fabric reminds my of my Aunt Margo--who was always super stylish--so maybe that's why I'm lovin' it.



I've always really liked the idea of having mismatched chairs at a big, chunky dining table. These wingys are cool, but I'm thinking you'd need a really tall table or a chair with no arms to accomplish the appropriate "scooted-in" feel. Also, I'd probably be rll stressed about spilling spaghetti sauce or lentils or red wine (winter only!) or some other tragically staining substance on them--my middle name is Grace, after all.

Mmmm...I don't know why the color yellow is always taking a bad rap. It's cheerful and bright and deliciously sunny! Look at it. So pretty... 

Ok. Obviously I was drawn to this like a squirrel to a bird feeder. However, I think it would be a bad call for me to spend (a lot) of time and money picking out swatches, figuring out the best panel placement, and mixing/matching the colors only to change my style in a year or two. Sigh. I will appreciate from a distance and harness my inner middle-school taste buds...

All right, all right. It's not exactly a wingback. But--everything about this print is pulling at my heart/purse strings.  I've always been a fan of chairs that are more long than wide. If that makes sense. Perfect leg-curling potential...

Anyway. Thursday!? Yes, it's true. Only a day left until I'm chillin' on a dirt road (kind of), stuffing my face with local seafood, jamming out to fresh playlists, gorging on Bailey's cake, and ridin' dirty (top down, chrome spinnin).

My hard-knock life...continues. 

xoxo, Hannah

A Lovely Notion

"I will never forget, years ago, driving through the city one November 1 and seeing a family, dressed as if for church, filing through a cemetery gate with what appeared to be a picnic basket and an Igloo cooler. Later, I saw people eating oyster po'boys and drinking root beer in the shade of a crypt. I saw fathers and sons toast grandfathers and great-grandfathers with a clink of Abita bottles.

As I walked between the rows of stained granite and crumbling brick, trying not to look like a ghoul or an armed robber, I smelled something on the breeze that seemed odd here in such a holy place, a smell harsh and sweet at the same time. Only one thing smells like that. "Bourbon," I said. I watched two middle-aged men, brothers, I guessed, take a drink from a pint bottle of brown liquor, pour a swallow into the grass and dust, and shuffle away, not drunk, but apparently feeling better than when they shuffled in.

What a lovely notion, I remember thinking, that no matter what your faith, you really do live on and on, as long as someone, anyone, is willing to come see you.

One fall I went to Holt Cemetery, a resting place for the poor, where generations are buried not in stately crypts but in this almost liquid earth, and watched old men get down on their knees and smooth the dirt the best they could in a place of wooden crosses and tinfoil angels. One old man could not remember the name of the little daughter he had buried there, but came to see her, anyway."



--By Rick Bragg

Everything's So Golden Delicious

Such a good weekend--on Saturday, I headed to Carter Mountain with friends to start the season off right with some apple-picking, cider-drinking fun. I haven't been to the mountain since I was really little, so I was super excited when Eileen suggested we make a weekend out of it and head for the hills. Caroline and I drove down to Fredvegas to meet up with everyone, then we headed into Charlottesville to eat BBQ, climb trees, and stuff our faces with as many apples we could handle.

Bang-arang! CarSex could barely contain her flannel-filled excitement.



I think BBQ is a little weird to serve at an orchard, but the apple cider donuts were potent and delicious.

Just a little worm!

(Look, I know it's not a vineyard, but you get the idea.)

How you like them applez? Rob was on the hunt.

Baby Lily was a rock star and wasn't letting any leash hold her back.

Gotcha Eileen--only the trendiest apple picker out there.

Yumm, so many choices

I spy...

Teamwork.

Virginia is for lovers, see?

This was a big weekend for Caroline--she tried apples, ate tomatoes, and even drank some wine! Three cheers?

 

Later that night, we (Rob) made homemade pizzas and Yuca/Mandioca.

We had great plans to make caramel apples, but let's be real--we were in bed by 10pm. Grannies to the max.

The rest of the weekend was equally great and included such festivities as pumpkin loaves shaped like Dala horses, more crock pot sensations, breaaadddd, and the busting out of warm LLBean slippers. It was a freezing ride to work this morning. I think it's safe to say that Fall... is here.

Countdown till CC Oysterfest 2011: 4 days!

xxx, Hann

Peep This

Big Ditto On That

Breaking news: we finally checked off a goal from the white board and went out to the wild unknown... a wharf. A wharf, you may say? Why in god's name would you choose a wharf for a weekend adventure?? I'll tell you why--it's got fish. And crabbies. And weird people trolling around and natives chillin on their house boats and little mangy fat squirrels running around eating everyone's leftovers. Who wouldn't want a piece of that??

We started off bright and early with a homemade PumpkinSpiceLatte (VP PSL), put on some serious walking shoes, and headed downtown. However, before we left, we were faced with the most daunting task of all: surviving Hayley's guilt trip.

Sooo sad! How much is that stupid doggie in the window, because she's rll cute.

God. CarSex is just as depressing. Matching sad faces? Give me a break people, we'll be back in a few hours! Lock it up!

Moing on. We made it to the cityyyyy. And saw some birds on a light post.

This is A dock.

We found some boats. See?

This was the cutest one of all. Green thumb + waterfront + shady canopy + picnic table = everything's better down where it's wetter, take it from me.

The fish market!

...visions of Cape Charles danced in her head.

Ouch Ouch Ouch!

Fried oysters...mmmm......

After we stuffed ourselves with the appropriate amount of seafood, waded our way though traffic, and weaved in and out of blobs of small children, we wandered to the Mall to revel in all that was the National Book Festival. BOOKS EVERYWHERE!

Exhibit A: this is not a Land Baron.

Yes, yes--awkward pictures aside, this was a brilliant discovery and we stocked up on !free! posters, pamphlets, and delicious readings from some of our nation's finest writers. Can't you see we are bursting with culture?



Unattractive giddiness taking over!

All in all--weekend success! Got our exploration on; ate some seafood; wandered the city; returned my North Face jacket to [finally] have the hood repaired; ate lunch with Jeanne; shredded; and watched some weird Sunday-night movie. Hip Hip Hooray!

Sunday snuggles <3

xxx,
Hannah