All in October

I don't know about you, but I love October!  In fact, it might just be my favorite month of the year.

From the lovely blog, Project Alicia.

I feel nostalgic, inspired, in need of a nice, long nature walk.

(And I don't ever need to exercise.)

I mean, I want to meander.  Mosey through golden fields at dusk. Sing Eva Cassidy.  Pick apples.  Stare at the moon.  Go to the fair.

All in October.

(And we're not even talking Halloween.)

So, here are a few of my October wishes.  I want to:

• string a leaf garland
• buy this shirt for Aksel
• enjoy dozens of these
• admire spook on cupcakes
• drink gallons of cider with cinnamon  
• go camping in our living room

What are your wants for fall?  I'd love to know...

Heeere's Johnnie!

The bottle of Scotch below's been in my husband's family for going on forty years now.  Cool, huh?

Actually, it's been chillin' (literally) with rolls of Angel Soft under the sink of my in-laws' guest bathroom for some three+ decades. 

It's safe to say, they're not big drinkers... (said with sarcasm)

But really, my husband found Johnnie a couple months back, and its history's too precious to chuck.  For one, Mark can't recall the number of times he diluted the blend after sneaking shots (from said bathroom) as a teenager.  Not to mention, if he survives another generation (Johnnie, that is), Aksel will be the proud owner of a bottle purchased by his late great-grandparents, Cliff and Amy Hirst, as a gift for his grandparents (my in-laws), Tony and Judy Kohn.

So, it's a sort of odd family heirloom.  At this rate though, he's a part of the family.  Even if he is Scotch!

Now, heeere's Johnnie and the Kohns.

(Aksel and I are noticeably absent in the family photo below.  I was chasing my lil' water baby down the beach.)

The Two Dimes

Last week, a stranger at Costco looked at both my husband and me, and prophetically said, "you're gonna have twins."

This statement scared Mark. 

Especially seeing as how he's joked for ages now about having twin girls as payback for his ungentlemanly behavior in years past.

But, there's reason for fear...

First though, here's a photo of our favorite bobs and beach bits from tropical trips we've taken.  Sea, I'm keeping with the theme!

Now back to what I was saying about twins and fear...

The day my suspicions were confirmed, and we learned we were pregnant - with Aksel - I found two curious dimes sparkling side-by-side on the asphalt behind our restaurant.  (SHOWN ABOVE)

"No biggie," you might think. 

So, I scooped 'em up and put 'em in my pocket.  Obviously.

But, what I read just minutes after the 20¢ score, made the coins all the more special.  Forboding, if you will.

Upon Google searching - four weeks pregnant - I learned my baby was the size of a dime.  Coincidental, right? 

I mean, I just found two dimes.  Now, my baby's the size of dime. 

Actually, you might not think it's a big deal at all.  But to me, a woman who strongly believes that in this life, there are no coincidences, I was dead-set certain we were expecting twins. 

Two dimes equaled two babies.

Again, you might just think I was being superstitious, or perhaps over-exaggerating the situation.  But here's the real kicker folks, TWINS ARE IN MY LINE!

And, what about the pyschic Costco clerk and her twin prophecy? 

What do you think? 

I realize it's all irrelevant just now.  I mean, we have a boy.  One baby boy.  No twins.  I just think the evidence is mounting...

PS - There's will be no Sundae Hop tonight.  I'm on vacation.

My Own Little Corner.

Here's a little Rodgers and Hammerstein for ya...

In my own little corner in my own little chair

I can be whatever I want to be

On the wing of my fancy I can fly anywhere

and the world will open its arms to me...

"Why the showtunes?" you might ask. 

Well, it's really quite simple.  In my own little corner (of our master suite), I'm inspired.  By shots of beauties long gone.  Coins from far abroad.  Pictures of the life I'm living.  And, trinkets I've collected along the way.  Here it is, my corner:

Here are literal shots of the corner:

PS - I made the floral cotton sateen drapes with my crafty mother-in-law, Judy, last year.  If you like the fabric, I have at least 5-7 yards remaining.  Email me if interested.

Now, to address the wing of my fancy bit...

I also have a cat named Fancy, which makes the play on words even better.  Could you imagine wings on husky kitter here?  Or better yet, could you imagine taking fat cat for a joyride?

   

Water Wednesday. v3

Seeing as the next two weeks will be spent at the beach with family, we've been particular about preparing Aksel for the occasion. 

Where the water is concerned, that is.

I mean, Mark (my husband) and I didn't want to plop Aksel in the sand, and throw him to the water wolves.  We didn't want to terrify or overwhelm him, either. 

So, we've gone slow.  Aksel's had, over the last month, a chance to discover the water on his own time, for himself.

I think he's ready, too! 

If you've enjoyed my series of recent water posts, you know we've invested in a number of inexpensive, recreational summer toys:  a sprinkler, a crab pool, squirters, a bucket set, and a beachball.

They've been put to good use, too!  For instance, Aksel loves sticking his face in the sprinkler.  It's so cute!

I fail to mention, we've also spent a good amount of time physically at the beach. (We're lucky to only live 15 minutes away!)

And, you know what?  We worried for no reason!  Aksel LOVES the beach... the water, the waves, the salt, the sand, sharing his toys! 

Most of all though, Aksel loves exploring! 

And as a mother, for me, there's nearly nothing so sweet as watching him wander and wonder.  It makes me so happy!

But I most love, beachside, watching a tired boy that's roamed too far, ride back on daddy's shoulders.  In particular, when said boy slumps over, rests his chin on daddy's head, and boasts a serious case of plumber butt.  It's cracks me up!

I hope you (and your wee ones) get to enjoy the water today!  XO

The Three Little Pigs: A Financial Fairytale

Once upon a time, there were three little pigs.  Or rather, three little piggy banks.  There was momma pig, daddy pig, and baby pig.  And each one, had his own skills for saving.   So, it should be no surprise to say their fortunes were built of different make and style.

For instance, Momma Pig didn't save too much.  When she saw something she had to have, she gobbled gobbled gobbled as any greedy pig might.  With a pleasing OINK upon purchase, and a quick curl of her tail, her fortune was muddy, and weak at best.

On the flip side, Daddy Pig was conservative.  A boar, one might say.  In fact, he saved by day, and counted at night.  When he brought the bacon home, he didn't take one bite!  He'd repeat...

"A little piggly, needs room to wiggly... so save, I must must must, or Th-Th-Th-Th-Th... That's All Folks, it's bust bust bust!"

I forgot to mention...

In the great land of Moneyville, there roamed a ravenous, coin-hungry wolf who preyed on unsuspecting piggies (and their banks). 

"Little pig, little pig, let me buy," he'd say, "or I'll shop, and I'll drop 'til your fortune's run dry."

Now obviously, all the empty piggies were most at risk.  I mean, if Wolf came a' callin' and you had no savings, your bank was bust!

To be COIN-tinued...

Fairytale aside, the three pigs titled in the photo above, belong(ed) to each one of us, respectively.  In fact, my husband, Mark, made his in the early 80s!

I was just tickled to have all three in my possession, and wanted to share.  It's also safe to say that we (my husband and I) have different financial behaviors, but in fairness, they're not as opposed as my story depicts. 

In a relationship, money can be such a difficult topic to discuss, or come to terms with even.  My parents, for example, had a really hard time synergizing.  My father was the saver, and my mother, the spender.  It was, over time, a great point of distress in their marriage.  As a result, I've always been timid to discuss financials, to be honest about my purchases, etc.

I'm working on it though...

More important, we want to teach our child, Aksel, to have a good relationship with money, to know the value of a dollar earned, and to give when he's got plenty.  (Fingers crossed!)

PS - Many thanks to all that participated in my Sundae hop!

PPS -  Enter this giveaway before 11:59 PM EDT tonight!

 

A Pup from Orvieto.

This little blue pup hails from the idyllic Umbrian hill town, Orvieto.  What a glorious place, if you've not been!

That said, this wide-eyed knick knack is one of my favorite things.

For one, when I purchased pup, I was hoping he'd be the sentimental equivalent to the Venetian goldfish we'd scored years before...

I was skeptical though.  How could a €2 dog rival the Murano marble I'd long deemed our greatest love token? 

If you're curious, and wondering... pup does. 

He most definitely rivals.

Reason being, I was newly pregnant and unequivocally convinced I was having a girl, Gemma.  So, I wandered unknowing through the medieval cittá, ever so often rubbing my belly, speaking in my mind to our little gem.

It was romantic.  And, it was perfect.  Only glitch, I had a boy.

So, the blue pup, much like the blue man here, brings me back, and reminds me how it felt to feel new life, internally.  My lil' boy!

Those days were magic!

If you ever find yourself bored in Rome (ha ha), I highly recommend the hour-long trek to Orvieto via Termini Station. 

Read more Italy here.

(Kinda) Wordless Wednesday.

So, we finally got a dog.  But it's not what you think...

For one, he's old.  Like +200 in dog years.  And he doesn't mess on area rugs, scratch hardwood floors, or shed too terribly much.

In fact, he doesn't cuddle, sniff, or bark and beg.  He just falls to pieces.  But he's a man's best friend. Or rather, he was in the 70's.

Really though...

This vintage Fisher Price stacking toy was my husband's favorite as a kid, and we're glad to bring him home (from Grammy's).

I'm a collector of all toys memorable, and meaningful, too...

Wordless Wednesday. v5

In my life, I've loved two rabbits...


Rabbity ca. 1984

Bugs ca. 2009



Happy Easter 2011! 



Not a Blarney Stone, or Shamrock Unturned.

Being the good ole Irish-American girl that I am, and now having a wee one of me own, I feel obliged to share a little about past experiences.  In reference to my previous blatherings about how I wish to tell a story, and to pass on a definitive "something" that Aksel can take pride in, an anecdote of our ancestral homeland...



Besides, what better day than this very one?  Em, it is Saint Patrick's Day.  Hullo?! 

First of all, I love to travel!  When I was eligible at eighteen, I applied for a passport.  And, with my blue book in hand, I was off and running, actively seeking to behold the wonders of this wide world. 

As a side note, I've barely left my home, since the age of twelve, without a spiral-bound book, a black felt-tip pen, or two, and liquid paper.  So, in traveling, not only was it crucial that I SEE the world, but it was, for me, a requirement that I also write about it.  It was my personal goal to form knowledgeable, first-hand opinions about differing cultures.  Twas my objective, if ye will, to question people, and myself for that matter, thoroughly and often.  I sought to listen as graciously as I knew how, which I might mention at the time, was not saying very much. 

Basically speaking, I didn't want to leave a Blarney Stone, or a shamROCK unturned!

So, when it came time to navigate my travels, it was totally necessary I visit Ireland.  It was for me, a Mulligan, a sort of sacred journey, my very own rite of Irish passage. 

I attempt now, with my honest-born gift of gab, and my slew of dusty journals to recount my most special Celtic memory.


Proudly Irish, I'll always be a Mulligan!

I was twenty-one when I first visited Ireland.  A junior in college, and not a smidge scared, I packed my bag and left for the green isle.  On my flight's descent into Dublin, I felt overcome with emotion.  Staring out my tiny window, I felt strangely prepared.  Like I was there to solve some familial mystery, and I'd studied my evidence the night before.  I had, in fact, just received a lengthy email from my father, tracing our genealogical roots, which had been cleverly prepared by my priest-for-a-cousin, Kenny (aka. Abbott Matthew Leavy).  There were countless cousins, aunts, and uncles, who were born in such & such county, and had X amount of children, with silly names like Cornelius... it went on and on.  Albeit, I came to Ireland out of curiosity, with just a sliver-of-a-plight to answer questions for myself, about my past.

Growing up in a small southern town, with a tangled mass of dark curls, and an unforgiving name like Gillian Eleanor Mulligan, I didn't exactly blend in!   I was tormented actually, and felt inferior for a great part of my childhood.  For quite some time, I resented my heritage.  Not because I wasn't proud to be of Irish descent per se, but because I was so physically different looking than my classmates.  People always asked what ethnicity I belonged to, and oftentimes it embarrassed me!  So, I came to see what the people of Ireland were like.  To observe how they looked, and to compare how I was or was not similar.  Did I, in fact, look like an Irish woman?

Well, I got my answer!  It came from a very wise man, seated at a very old bar, nursing a very large Guinness, in a very dark pub.

His name was Michael Jordan.  The place was Mulligans on Poolbeg Street.  The story goes something like this...

My first logical stop in Dublin was Mulligan's Pub, and I couldn't think of, or justify, a more fitting place to start!  I walked for a long, long time, down endless side streets, staring hopelessly at my pocket map to find Poolbeg Street.  After quite some time however, I arrived at my destination, weary and starved!

I opened the heavy door, peered in with curious eyes, and rolled my suitcase over the threshold to enter the establishment.  Upon doing so, the pub seemed to let out a startled gasp (for air). 

Moldy, stagnant, dark, and dank are just a few pleasant adjectives that come to mind.  Did I say awesome, too?


 _________________________________________________________

INT. MULLIGAN'S PUB (DUBLIN) - DAY

GILLIAN

(pitchy in tone)

Hello.  Do you serve lunch?

The two male patrons and barman, startled by the glare of the opening door, look up to observe the unusual visitor.

BARMAN

No, Miss.

GILLIAN

(excited)

I'm Gillian Mulligan... and I'm here... at Mulligan's in Dublin, Ireland!

Smiling broadly, she settles in, and jumps on a barstool.

GILLIAN

(continuing)

I'd like a half-pint of Guinness with a dash of black currant, please.  Could I also have a packet of Walker's crisps?  I'm famished!

Talking aloud, but not to anyone in particular, she exclaims!

GILLIAN

  I have to drink Guinness, even if I don't like it!  It would be blasphemous, to be a Mulligan, at Mulligan's in Ireland, and not drink one.  For the merit of this experience, I must!

Silent moments pass.  The elderly gentleman to her left, pushes his newspaper aside, takes a long look at the girl, and speaks.

MICHAEL JORDAN

(with an unphased air)

Well, ya don't really look very Irish, Miss Mulligan. 

Lifting his nearly empty pint glass to his mouth, he swallows the remaining dark stout.

MICHAEL JORDAN

Em, but then again, ya don't really look like you're not Irish either.

__________________________________________________________

I love this memory of Ireland!  I hope my wee little leprechaun makes the trek one day...

This entry is in honor of my Great-Uncle John, who sadly passed away last night.  Although we saw each other infrequently, I will miss him greatly!  An inspiring, motivated man, he loved to travel too...

A present from the barman at Mulligan's Pub on Poolbeg Street:

One of my FAVORITE things!

A Half-Pint and Guinness!  (Staged, of course!)



The River Liffey at Dusk.