Continuing on the Path...

I decided yesterday to re-start my dress project.

After promising a stop at Chipotle and to drive, Jeff agreed to make the trip to the material store with me. Since I ran out of material on my first attempt, I had to make sure I purchased enough this time. After opting for a light green and white design, which also happened to be on sell, we headed off for some quality time over Chipotle burritos.

In order to visualize the dress in my mind, I had spread everything all over the kitchen table. I decided immediately to change the pattern for my dress. I didn't think the new material would look as great as a pocket-ed summer dress as that bright yellow material did. I knew I had drawers full of vintage patterns, I figured I would find another that would fit me much better the the one I had previously selected. I did, almost immediately upon opening my drawer.

I loved it. I needed it. It was thee one.

Alas, it was not. Hence the penciled wording on the outside of the package, it did not contain the dress pattern, only the jacket pattern. The lack-there-of, of the perfect pattern was not the clincher. My shoes were.

A few weeks ago, before starting the original dress, I made a trip to the department store for one specific purpose: fire engine red lipstick. I had decided that red lipstick would be my (to quote Jeff) toe-hold on the horizon of my new life. It would be my inspiration. With my red lipstick in hand, while leaving the department store, these shoes called out to me. They were colorful, vintage, and on sell. Plus, they matched the yellow material perfectly.

With fire engine red lipstick and new shoes, I knew life was going to start going my way.

Until this whole dress-making crap.

It was starting to lose its initial spark. I lost all interest in it at that point. Did I need to make a dress, when I could go out or hell, order online, have it dropped off at my house, put it on and leave. No measuring, hemming, adjusting, making sure the pattern was on the grain when I cut it out, nothing. I could be sitting, quite contently and finish reading my book.

Instead of giving up like I normally would have, I decided to press on. Despite the original set-backs, the dress is almost completely finished as we speak. There is only one thing, the original pattern called for neckline and armhole facing, which doesn't fit. After another trip to the material store for even more material, the dress should be complete for Saturday.

Inspiration Comes In All Shapes and Sizes...

'Elements from the Past and the Future. Combined to make something not quite as good as either.'

I cannot begin to tell you what draws me in. Possibly the music? Or maybe the touch of British 'Monty Python-isc' humor? Whatever it is has me hooked, no possibly, shall I say obsessed?

You could bet one hundred smackers that when I turn on a computer or sit down to one, the first page I'll navigate to is youtube.com. I just type in those four little words: mighty. boosh. top. ten. Any where, time or place I can guarantee my response will be giggles.

I. can't. help. myself.

On a more serious note, the show has been some weird form of inspiration for me. Aside from the five or so main characters, each episode is completely different then the next. Completely random would probably be a better way to describe it. It's sort of the British, Post-Modern, Monty Python-Style Odd Couple. Howard is a jazz-lover and intellect versus Vince, the punk who's in love with punk music, clothes and his hair. Not only is this a comedy, but they incorporate music into every episode. It's amazing to see the wide range of music these individuals follow in order to produce such songs or 'crimps.'

A little history on The Mighty Boosh: it started out as a British radio show, traveled as a theater act and eventually landed a spot on BBC3.

Sitting here, trying to describe why I am so fascinated with this show, only brings me to tears... from laughter, that is. I love the setting, Camden. Camden is located outside of London; a hip area lined with eclectic shops and block-long markets filled with vintage clothes and tattooed Chuckies. I love Howard. I can relate to his personality, of wanting to fit in but always choosing the least likely of various options. Vince is who I would like to be like; good hair, good clothes, has all the friends and lucky!

Perhaps, I'm just looking into this too much...

And Travels...

'Whitney. Get up. Now. Whitney!' What could he possibly want? It was so early and the bed was so comfortable...

The camera was gone. Not just any camera, my Mother's camcorder. The one she hand-wrote instructions for and personally packed. Charge it every night, like we did while we were in Alaska. Jeff, this camcorder and Whitney are precious cargo. Here we were, thousands of miles from home, after we swore allegiance to my mother to protect her camcorder through rain or snow, through sickness and in health, as long as our trip lasted. We failed on the second day. Jeff was devastated. The five-hundred-dollar camcorder had been his responsibility, while the twenty-pound-Olympia was mine. Needless to say, the Olympia never left my neck during the remainder of the trip, which probably could explain these terrible neck pains I've been having since we returned. Hmm.

I guess there is another thing I should mention before I continue on. I am a slave-driver. Not always, only in rare occasions where I only have a month to travel twelve countries. Waking up at 4am to catch a train, force marching twenty miles without eating or visiting three cities in one day is child's play when it comes to me getting to see everything and I do not like to settle for less.

On that note, the Lord and I were repacked, bundled and at the train station before 7am. Here's another awesome fact about Norway, the sun does not come up until 10am either. So, yes. The sun only shines between the long hours of 10am and 3pm.

After purchasing our tickets and stowing parts of our luggage in the train station's lockers, we boarded our train. Our destination was the Lord's real reason he came on this trip, the fjords. When we did our planning, he had only one request: to travel to somewhere in Scandinavia and visit the fjords (okay, that was two, sorry). Not only were we in Scandinavia, but we were taking a train across the country to the fjords, and...


we got to experience all the land of Norway had to offer.

And Travels...

I wish I could tell you the flight from Pennsylvania to Copenhagen, Denmark was entertaining, delightful and exciting. Alas, it was not. It was so unremarkable that I've sat here for twenty minutes writing and rewriting that fact.

Copenhagen Airport would have made Ikea proud. I wish I had taken pictures, but my feet were hurting and I had to carry my heavy luggage from one side of the airport to the other. The last thought on my mind was opening my suitcase, whipping out the twenty-pound camera and snapping a few shots. All I wanted to do was get to Oslo. I was so disappointed in myself for not soaking it all in. I will say though, I was thoroughly surprised that the gate 'guard' was a young woman, probably not even as old as I, and very attractive. You don't typically see women in those positions in America, let alone an attractive one. Scandinavia held lots of surprises for me.

We arrived in Oslo after a brief flight, probably around 5ish. Let me let you in on a little secret, Norway gets dark at 3pm in the winter. I know, I know, I'm sure that comes as a shock to you, with them being in the same longitude as Alaska and all.

I think the best part of the Oslo Airport was not the fact that the whole place was made of windows, or that it looked like a log cabin, it was however, the little television above the baggage claim contraption. As we stood there waiting for our luggage, we were entertained with a little cartoon man, dancing and displaying himself. When I say displaying I do mean that, he was making it dance.

Now, this whole getting-dark-early-business would not have been a problem had I secured our umm lodging a little better. I hate to admit this now, but we were to stay in some guy's house. It was only one night and he had a website!! I'm sure it would have been safe, but as fate will have it, we could not reach the man. He had asked us to call when we arrived, however, operating a Norwegian telephone is a little different that operating an American one.

Well, 128.86 Norwegian Krone, or $20 bucks later and some help from one of the train station ladies, we were frantically searching for a place to stay. Everything was closing, it was about 15 degrees outside and okay, okay... I was frantic. Calm down, imagine what Melissa would do in this situation.

Outside the train station was a little tower where, inside, one can place reservations in any of the local hotels and hostels. You explain to the lady where and how much you'd like to pay and they call, reserve a room for you, help you to find the location, and then you pay them a hefty sum. Oh, and they were closing in five minutes. She smiled, called around, secured us a room and our money and we were on our way.

After a ten minute walk, up hill, with all of our luggage, we finally found the little hotel she had arranged. The Lord and I exchanged ... looks... and went inside to check in.

After the initial fear of the Italian mob in the lobby and the antique elevator, we can honestly say this hotel was one of the best we stayed in during the whole trip. It was clean, warm, and hell, they heated the bathroom floor!

We headed straight for the bed, completely dressed, and did not stir for hours. At one point, I do recall waking up to the television. In some half sleep, I must have turned it on. Before allowing another wave of exhaustion to take me, I remember watching a few moments of 'Back to You' dubbed over in Norwegian...

On the Road to Domestic Rapture...

Every time I select my font Georgia, I have to sing it silently to myself, 'Georgiaaa.'


Every girl gets one shot at a bridal shower. Think about it, you only get one. Even if you remarry eighty times, you still only have the one, the first one. Baby showers aren't even that final; if you have three boys then a girl, I bet some family member or friend throws you a 'change of sex' baby shower. Bridal showers, however are where friends, family, girls in the wedding party, sisters and mothers throw the bride a party to 'shower' them with all the goodies that make for domestic bliss. Yes, let me tell you, a Kitchen Aid in green apple does make for domestic bliss.

On this note, let's look back on December 5th, 2008. The Lord and Lady were not engaged. An awkward moment was not exchanged between them; the one where Lord Derringer is on one knee, gazing hopefully into the Lady's eyes. Where the Lady, then overcome with surprise and emotion, begins to sob deeply and help the Lord off the ground.
Well, maybe that's not so awkward after all.
Anyways, a ring was purchased and they had plans to marry, eventually. Ofcourse, plans were made, ideas tossed around, and they ended up at the court house with rings in tow. Needless to say, the one shot I had at a shower was gone.

Well, was gone. My opportunity to experience domestic bliss through toasters, silverware, plates and Pyrex containers is only two weeks away.

I guess the other little thing I haven't mentioned is, I want my homestead to be like my mother's, grandmother's, great-grandmother's: where the wife cooks, cleans, quilts her quilts, embroiders her dish towels, makes her curtains. Oddly enough, the first thing I'm making myself isn't an apron or quilt, but my dress for the shower. I have boxes of vintage patterns and yards of extra material. I've opted for a dress pattern from the '50s and yellow eyelet.


Much to my surprise, I found I must of already attempted this pattern in the past because the whole skirt was cut out.


After the series of steps required in dress-making: cutting, basting, arm holes and hems; I faced another surprise at the end.


In my previous attempt at the pattern, I had only cut out one front side panel and one back side panel of the skirt. The skirt requires two of each. The worst part, I hadn't purchased enough material either. Look like the dress is going to be a little different then I had originally intended.

The Lord and Lady Travels...

December 5th, 2008 marks the original beginning for my new life. Lord Derringer (an appropriate nickname for my hubby, Jeff) and I, the new Lady Derringer were married that day in a little court room about thirty minutes from where he and I grew up. We were leaving for Europe the following week, and unable to marry abroad, thought this would be just as romantic.

I would like to share with you the details and photos of that trip. Originally, it was to last twenty-one days and cover an impressive twelve countries. Instead, we traveled for sixteen days and saw six countries. We planned and traveled completely by ourselves. We purchased 21-day boarding passes for the Eurail and had at it! You'll notice both the good and the bad at attempting such a feat.



December 12th, 2008: The day before we were to leave for our adventure, my cousin Jennifer and her fiancee, Jeff (yes, another one. And might I add, that my Jeff and her Jeff are only a month apart in age. Jenn and I are four months apart in age) were married by a Justice of the Peace with a small ceremony of family and friends. I was to be her Maid of Honor (well Matron of Honor now, but no one knew of our little... escapade).

The anxiety of my decisions were running havoc on my stomach the morning of December 12th. I awoke early that morning to stomach pains so severe, I was unable to leave the bed. By 7am, no fluids were left in my body. I had no idea how I was to get up, get ready, pack (which I saved for the very last minute, unable to believe I was really going to get the opportunity to travel to Europe), let alone have the strength to stand the length of the ceremony or stomach dinner afterwards. Please allow me to share some advice, unless you have a stomach of steel or no family, DO NOT run away, get married and not tell anyone for a month.

After being heavily medicated, I was able to dress myself and make the attempt to stand with Jenn on her important day. I did fail however, in not being ready in time to help her get ready, take her to the ceremony or attend the dinner afterward. Three months later, almost exactly, they were blessed with the birth of their son, Dominic (which, thankfully I was not sick then and was able to see him the day after his birth).

That evening, while everyone was enjoying themselves and honoring the marriage of Jeff and Jenn, I sat on my couch, with my Mother, expressing my fears, worries and anxieties of the impending trip. I had waited months for this opportunity and was convinced it would fall through. As I explained to everyone and anyone who would listen, "Some people want to be doctors, some people want new cars and big homes, I want to go to Europe." Since I've NEEDED this trip, wanted it with my whole being, I was convinced I would not get it. I guess that's what some specialists would call low self-esteem or possibly pessimistic? To calm my fears, my Mom suggested I call another cousin, Melissa. Melissa, along with her husband, Ryan traveled through France and Italy 'by the seat of their pants.' They made no reservations at hotels, no plans for any particular places, just traveled by train to wherever sounded interesting and made plans and reservations as they went. Thank you, Melissa. You would never believe how much you helped put my anxieties to rest. I thought of you often throughout the trip as well, wishing I was as spontaneous as you, imagining what you would do in a given situation.


December 13th: The morning of my departure, my Mom, Lindsey (my sister), Aimee (my cousin), Aunt Pat and Aunt Beth (no explanation needed as to who those two are to me) had breakfast at Panera. Since I was just coming off of that horrid stomach 'thing,' my breakfast consisted of Iced Green Tea (which I highly recommend to anyone who dines there!). It was a nice way to see everyone before I left.

After hours of packing, unpacking and repacking, my Mom and Lindsey drove us to the airport. Tears and hugs were inevitable.
I sniffled my way into the airport undertaking a whole new part of my life.

As Jeff and I prepared for our flight: checking in our baggage, security, waiting... I thought back onto one winter-y night during a major blizzard that hit our area. My father, who worked for the Department of Transportation for our state, came home from a long shift and wanted to take my Mom, Lindsey and I for a ride in the country to admire the scenery. As little girls, there was nothing better then going for a ride! We piled into his little Toyota pick-up and chugged up and down the snow-covered country roads. Realizing the snow was not letting up like expected, but instead worsening, my father attempted turning around in a large parking lot. We were stuck. My dad with all his might, with the blistering snow whipping around him, could not push us out. I recall that feeling, of seeing my Dad lean into the car, with a handkerchief wrapped around his mouth and nose, asking us to rock back and forth while he pushed. I was absolutely terrified. I never saw my parents worried, especially my father. As we rocked back and forth, like my Dad asked, Lindsey and I began to cry. My Mom, being the trooper, laughed and told us to 'think of this as an adventure. Like Indiana Jones or MacGuiver.' An adventure, this was what Jeff and I was embarking on. Yes, an adventure, to say the least.

An Explanation.

As I sit here, sipping on my tea, I am contemplating what I should write.

Should I explain the whole theory I have for establishing this blog?
Should list all the stuff I plan on covering?
Or should I just simply thank you for visiting my site?

Thank you.

I will give you a little insight into this whole thing. I want a new ending. I feel I've spent the past in turmoil, dreaming of a fairy tale life I wanted but never made any attempts towards. Instead of choosing the paths that would enable me to have the lifestyle I wanted, I choose otherwise. Now, I am finally getting the opportunity to live how I want. And I am going to.

Tomorrow. Or maybe Monday? I was always a fan of starting over on the first day of the week.