Love hurts

Love is you, love is me

Love makes the world go 'round

Love is all you need

But sometimes those we love, don't love us back. Such is the case with me.


This past weekend was glorious! The sun was shining. The temperature was right where I like it - in the 80s, pushing 90. Sunday I went to a picnic and was able to wear a sundress. I love my sundresses and seize any opportunity to wear one.

Yesterday was the hottest day of our 4-day weekend. I jumped for joy when I realized I could wear my favorite tank - a blue and green tie-dye. Even though it was hot as hell, I spent the majority of the day outside. I loaded the midgets up and took them to Rita's, we walked around a cemetery, visited the graves of my Pap and my Dad, and eventually ended up at the park.

I love the sun! Especially after the past 2 months which have been more rain than anything else. Last night I learned that even though I adore the sun, it does not love me. Actually, I suppose I should give the sun some credit. It only loves parts of me.

You see, if you were to look up "white girl" in the dictionary, you would see a big ole picture of me. That teensy bit of Irish floating around in my blood? It shows in my skin color. You think I would be smart enough to apply liberal amounts of sunscreen, but my infatuation with the sun at the beginning of the season is so great, that all that other important stuff slips my mind.

My feet are doing a happy jig because they're nice and tan. However, the left side of my body is wishing that I wouldn't forget the important things, like SPF 50.

Anyone have some aloe I can borrow?

Those were the days. Maybe?

Liz at a belle, a bean, & a chicago dog is doing a meme of sorts. We all remember how incredibly awesome we looked in high school - crazy clothes, wild hair. Ya, good times!

I love sharing old pictures because sometimes they're good for a laugh. I had to get in touch with a friend of mine. She is the queen of all picture circa the high school days. Also? My mom can't seem to find my actual senior pictures. I even went through her boxes of old pictures myself. If I didn't know any better, I'd say my brother is loved more than me. Thanks, mom! (love you)



I would love to lie and tell you that this is my senior prom picture because I think it's a great picture. Other than the "hold you date just so" pose, of course.

But my actual senior prom photo is this....

We looked so thrilled, don't we? And yes, that is a tie-dye shirt my boyfriend (now husband) has on under his jacket. It wouldn't have looked so bad if he wore a tie that didn't have some nature scene on it. Owls, I think.

I'm still not sure why, but I was hell bent on wearing one of my mom's old dresses. I loved the color. I loved the way it felt on me. What I did not love was how I stood out compared to my friend's dresses!

No one told me short was the *the* style in '97!

Before you start wondering what kind of crazy looking hotel our dance was in, we were on a boat.


I went through a lot of different looks in those four years. My freshman year started with crazy patterns accompanied by sky-high ponytails held in place with a scrunchie and teased bangs.

The middle years were full of ponytails held back with the first thing I could grab in the morning, rock hard bangs curled under, only covering half of my forehead, and clothes any color that resembled black.

In my senior year, my mom jumped for joy when I slashed her grocery bill by abandoning hair spray. But the black clothing? That stayed with me for many more years.

My year book picture.

Looking at some of these pictures, I'm not sure if I miss how I looked in those days or not.

The games we played

I remember being very young, perhaps three or four. The light from my Grandma's small corner lamps bounced off the dark paneled walls. The folding card table was placed squarely in the room. Surrounding it were my Grandma, my mom, and various uncles and aunts. Their hands overflowing with cards, the table lined with rows of cards. They played games such as Pinochle and Canasta. Games with too many cards for my little hands to hold.

When it was my turn to play, we would play Go Fish and War. War was always my favorite because I was so good at winning!


As I grew older, cards continued to follow me through my life. Many nights I played Cribbage with my parents. I can almost hear my dad shuffling the cards. I can almost feel the soft, smooth wood of the board against my fingers. But the rules of the game have since slipped my mind.


When I was seven, I found my best friend. As we began to hang out more, I learned that her family loved to play cards as well. Her family could often be seen around their dining room table playing a game of Pinochle. It brought me back to the days of watching my own family play.

We could never quite figure out how to play the games the adults played, but her and I became quite good at playing 500 Rummy.


I will never forget a family vacation to a cabin in the woods when I was a young teenager. My best friend was allowed to join us and we were both so excited. The cabin was anything but small. The ceiling in the main room spanned 2 floors and the walls were lined with glass. My parents slept in the first floor bedroom with my younger brother, while her and I had free reign of the remaining four on the second floor. If we closed the door, we could talk and laugh into the wee hours of the night.

We would spend our time talking about friends and boys. While we talked, we always played a card game. We would play the fast-paced game of Spit, or the guessing game of Golf, and we always ended with 500 rummy.


One of those night in the cabin, that game of 500 turned into 1000, 1500, and on and on. We played until our eyes couldn't stay open for another second. We had heard noises in the woods. A loud bang, and a scream. Oh my goodness, what do we do? Waking my parents meant walking down the dark, narrow steps and through the tall open room. If there was a killer on the loose, surely he would see us through all of those windows. Quietly playing cards would surely make everything alright. And that's what we did. We finally fell asleep shortly before the sun woke up for the day.

To this day, my best friend and I get together as often as we can to play cards. We still play the same games. We still talk about friends and boys. We still laugh too loud.

I could tell you about playing Trouble as a child until we broke the popper. I could share a story about the time I agreed to play to long version of Monopoly with my dad, and it lasted a week.

I love games and I have played many in my life, but cards will always be what I turn to. They seem to bring out the best in the people who gather around them.