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A Moment in Trig

I have never been good at math. What comes easily to brainy mathematicians is about as easy to me as sawing off my own arm with a butter knife. Not easy and certainly not without pain or tears.

Which is why, when I was answering the cursory, “What did you do this weekend?” question at work a few Mondays ago, I found myself smiling at the irony in my answer.

“What did I do this weekend? Well, I went apartment shopping, started reading a book on the rise and fall of the Russian aristocracy, and went to a concert with my high school math teacher and her husband.”

I don’t need to tell you how strange it is that a less than average math student somehow became friends with her math teacher.

(I also don’t need to tell you that my coworkers have expressed mild concern about my social life.)

The first time I realized Mrs. Finch would be my math teacher, I was terrified. I had heard about how difficult her classes were, so you can imagine my panic. I didn’t need a tough teacher for math to be challenging. Saying the word “math” without trembling was challenging enough.

But during my time in her classroom, I learned that Mrs. Finch was as compassionate as she was tough. Over time, I came to respect her not just because of what I had heard about her, but because of who I knew her to be: a patient, kind, and fair instructor. I valued the time she spent helping me comprehend difficult concepts, and appreciated the way she sympathized with my difficulty to learn something that came so naturally to her.

She has been a great teacher all of her career, I’m sure, but I remember the exact moment I knew it for myself.

It was trigonometry, and I was miserable. I was the lone junior in a class full of extraordinarily smart sophomores. They were breezing down the trig path, while I was trudging slowly behind.

In one of the units, there was a string of vocabulary words that we had to learn, and I lived for weekly quizzes on the terms. Memorize the definitions? That I could do. Apply them on a test? Well, that’s where the problem came in.

One day, near the end of class, Mrs. Finch perched on her stool, folded her hands together, and put on her, “We need to talk about a new assignment” face. She went on to explain that she was giving us an assignment using all the vocabulary words we had learned during that unit.

She wanted us to use the words to write a short story.

I looked around the room at the brainy sophomores and knew with certainty that this assignment was for me. She knew my strengths. She knew that English was my best subject and that creative writing was where I excelled. She knew. And she created an assignment that would capitalize on my gifts and give me one small victory in a class in which I knew consistent defeat.

While the rest of the class groaned about an assignment they felt was unnecessary, I nearly burst into tears of gratitude.

That’s when I knew she was a great teacher. And that’s when I knew we would be friends.

I don’t remember anything about trigonometry.

(I actually couldn’t even remember how to spell it without looking it up on the Google.)

If I were in a life or death situation and asked to solve a complicated math equation, I’d just shrug my shoulders and say, “Go ahead and kill me now. I’ve got nothing.” I don’t remember any theories, Pythagorean or otherwise. But I do remember that moment. I do remember the feeling of pride when I finally handed Mrs. Finch a completed assignment that I was confident in. I do remember how grateful I was (how grateful I am still) that my gifts and talents were being valued and cultivated by a teacher in an entirely different subject matter.

Though I did not choose to teach, had I entered that field, there are several teachers from my career as a student that I would’ve wanted to emulate.

Mrs. Finch, my friend, you are one of them. Thanks for seeing me, for valuing me, and for contributing to the woman I am today.

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Mrs. Finch and me at Puckett’s in downtown Nashville a few weeks ago. Photo courtesy of her sweet husband, Randy.

Music Monday

Back by popular *demand, here’s another Music Monday.

*Popular demand also goes by Lacy Triplett, who is a true pal and wanted to know more of what I was listening to these days.

1. Alive in Me-JJ Weeks Band

I had the privilege of hearing the JJ Weeks band perform an acoustic version of this song earlier last week. This is a single from their upcoming album, As Long As We Can Breathe. 

Untold-Matthew West

Fair warning: you should grab a tissue before you press play on this one. It’ll getcha.

Every Giant Will Fall-Rend Collective

I don’t know about you, but my Monday has BEEN a Monday. This little tune from Rend Collective’s latest album, As Family We Go, will give you some much needed encouragement this evening.

Slow Down Time-Us the Duo

As I mentioned in my last Music Monday, I am obsessed with the duos these days. This couple is largely responsible for that. This is their latest single, and to be honest, I hated it the first time I heard it. Now, I can’t get enough. Even if they aren’t your typical style, give it a chance (or maybe two).

I Love You Will Still Sound the Same-Oh Honey

Again, with the duos. Not only do I love their name–(isn’t Oh Honey the most precious band title you’ve ever heard?)–but I love their sound. And this song is about twelve different types of darling.

Suitcase Full of Sparks-Gregory Alan Isakov

I know you’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover, and I’m guessing the same rule applies for judging songs by their titles. But I do both of those things, so I loved this song before I heard it all the way through. His name may sound like a character from a Tolstoy novel, but his voice sounds like melted butter.

The Tall Fiddler-Tommy Emmanuel

This one is a little bit of a deviation from my normal style. I had never heard of this man before this weekend. Some friends from Florence took me to see his show at the Ryman on Saturday night, and y’all–I was BLOWN. AWAY. This man is so incredibly talented. He made that one instrument sound like four. The whole night, I just kept thinking, “How does one person walk around with that much talent in his body?” When asked how I liked the show, all I could say was, “I had no idea a guitar could sound like that!”

And now, because it’s Leap Day, here’s a bonus video that will brighten the rest of your week, I’m sure. Try not to smile when Ben sings this classic. I dare you.

I Wanna Dance With Somebody-Ben Rector

Happy Monday!

 

 

Music Monday

If you’ve ever ridden in my car (or had me as a passenger in your car) you will know that, usually, the first words out of my mouth are, “Hey have you heard this song/band?” Not only do I like to discover new (or new-to-me) music, I am not satisfied until I have made someone else fall in love with my new finds.

So, since I don’t have many folks riding in my car these days, and since you are the poor souls that clicked on this blog, you are my new victims.

Grab a seat, get comfortable, and prepare to treat your ears to some great tunes.

My Current Top Seven Jams:

Though I did include a pretty significant throwback track, along with some already established music names, you should know that several of these folks are brand new artists. That means that once you move through their limited selection, you’ll be ready to form a mob, go right to their doorsteps, and demand more songs featuring their beautiful vocal cords.

  1. Oh My Love-The Score

I’ve recently developed an obsession with duos, typically of the male and female variety. However, these two guys circulated through one of my Pandora stations and immediately caught my attention. Their fun lyrics and dance-able rhythms have made me a raving fan. I recommend checking out their whole EP, Where Do You Run.

  1. Polaroid-Imagine Dragons

It saddens me to think of all the time I spent underestimating Imagine Dragons, assuming that all they had going for them were a few radio hits (i.e. “On Top of the World,” “It’s Time,” etc.). I will gladly admit to being wrong. Though I haven’t made it all the way through the twenty-one track deluxe version of Smoke & Mirrors, I have yet to hear a song I didn’t like. This song is one you’ll want to crank up on your morning commute. Don’t worry if you start to involuntarily dance/bob your head/play an imaginary set of drums. It’s a pretty standard response to “Polaroid.”

  1. Lost Boy-Ruth B.

Y’all. This girl. She is crazy talented. For her debut EP, it’s just the simple power of her voice and a piano. She brings raw honesty in both her lyrics and her vocal tone. After a six-second Vine of this song went viral, she wrote the rest of the tune and included it on the four-track EP, The Intro.  It’s a little weird and quirky, but it is BEAUTIFUL.

  1. Hypnotize Me-Taylor Berrett

One word: SWOON. This song is so fun and is often blaring through my room while I get ready for work in the morning. His debut album was released last year and is full of great tracks like this one. So you might as well just open Spotify and stream the whole album, because this song will definitely leave you wanting more of his voice.

  1. Live at Rockwood Hall-Johnnyswim

Stop what you’re doing and go listen to this album. And, while you’re at it, you might as well listen to every other song this husband and wife duo has ever recorded. Then, allow yourself to cry openly about the fact that you’ll have to wait until June for their next record.

  1. Heart Won’t Stop-John Mark McMillan

I recently had the opportunity to hear John Mark at a show here in Nashville. To put it lightly, I was blown away. I have, of course, crossed paths with JMM followers, but have never really investigated for myself. Not only if his voice great, his lyrics are powerful. This song is a perfect display of both of those facets.

  1. Orphans of God-Avalon

This is clearly my token throwback. I grew up listening to Avalon and have always loved their music. But occasionally, I run across a song I haven’t heard in years and the Lord uses the freshness and familiarity of it to speak straight to my heart. This is one of those songs. The lyrics are powerful, the music is incredible, and the message is overwhelming. Grab a few tissues before you hit play. Trust me, you’ll need them before it’s over.

I hope you enjoy this list of my current favorites! Now it’s your turn. What are you listening to today? Tell me in the comments below!

 

 

 

Sundays

Nashville life has been an adventure. I’m learning how to adult and so far, it’s going well. Here’s a brief list of the things I am most proud of:

  1. Without using my GPS, I can navigate my way to my job, my house, my church, my gym, and my favorite pizza place. Though most of these are on the same road, it’s still a pretty huge accomplishment.

**Those of you who know how long it took for me learn how to get to Florence Boulevard should be especially impressed.

  1. I’m no master chef, yet, but I did (fairly) successfully use my George Foreman the other night.
  2. My socks match. Everyday. (To be honest, this is my crowning achievement thus far.)

Yes, things are going very well here. During the week, the days go by quietly, systematically, gently allowing me to adjust and settle down into this new life. Saturdays might have been more difficult had I not had a fairly steady stream of visitors from home.

But then there are Sundays.

Sundays have proven themselves to be the most difficult of all.

I cried the first time I visited a church here. The first time, I looked up at the pulpit and saw someone other than my dad addressing the congregation. I looked out into the teeming crowd of unfamiliar faces and used my fingers to push back in the tears that were trying to escape. For the first time, it occurred to me how alone I was. There were no hugs from long-time friends, no familiar laughs in Sunday School, no choir light on my face, no sweet grandmother’s voice singing beside me, no dad to teach the Word from a familiar pulpit. There was family in that room, but it wasn’t mine. I suddenly felt Highland’s absence painfully, like a tightening band around my heart squeezing until I thought I’d have to reach in and rip it out myself.

Sundays are hard, and this week was no different.

Except this time, it was hard to be home. I held my breath from the moment I arrived to the moment I left, trying to cage my emotions. My trembling hands again caught tears before they could spill conspicuously over my cheeks. I didn’t want anyone to see, to know how much I hurt with the ache of missing this church family. I didn’t want anyone to think I was lying when I answered the constant stream of “How’s it going?” and “How’s Nashville life treating you?” with a resounding, “Great!”

Because I wasn’t lying. It really is great. The Lord has continued to prove Himself faithful, and I am still certain I was being obedient to His call on my life when I moved here. No question.

But the truth is, I miss home. And never more than on Sundays, when I’m missing my church family.

I wish I could articulate how much I love Highland and its people. I wish I could put words together to adequately explain how my life has been formed and shaped through the ministry of this church. Maybe someday I’ll be able to express it fully.

But until then, Highland family, know that I love you dearly. And miss you fiercely. But because you have shown me what it means to love and serve Christ’s bride and the lost community around her, I am equipped to do the same in a new location.

For that, and countless other blessings you’ve given me, I’ll be forever grateful.

The Promised Land of Paperclips

In my last post, I mentioned a new job; I recently began working as a sales rep for Capitol Christian Music Group. And though it has been a tremendous adjustment, I have loved every second of it. In fact, after Nashville received some very unusual snow last week, I sat squirming on the couch, watching the clock tick towards Monday when the snow would be gone and the roads would be clear and I could go back to work.

(A good sign, I think.)

Though each day has had it’s own special thrills, I have to tell y’all about yesterday. On day one, my boss showed me around the building, pointing at this and that, introducing me to everyone who crossed our paths.  But there was one place in particular in which I desperately wanted to spend more time—the office supply center.

Or as I like to call it, The Place Where Dreams Come True.

(Before I go any further, let me issue a warning. There is a real possibility that, after you learn this part of my personality, your belief in my elevated level of cool may be damaged. You may find yourself thinking how disillusioned you are. Just note, you have been cautioned.)

Of course, in the days to follow, I thought of reasons I’d need to go back downstairs. I needed post-its and paperclips, drawer sorters and pushpins. It was like shopping in Office Depot without having to pay for anything.

And let me tell you, it is embarrassing to admit how much I loved it.

Yesterday, after swallowing a panic attack at the messy pile of papers in one of my filing cabinets, I marched right back down there to that land flowing with stationary and staplers in search of something that would bring order to my mess.

I was borderline giddy when I walked out with my spoils. So great had been my quest, I could almost hear Gandalf saying,

“One pile of protectors to rule the papers, one packet of monthly tabs to find them,

One binder to bring them all and in the darkness of my desk drawer bind them.”

(My apologies, Mr. Tolkien.)

As I walked through the hallway, smiling to myself thinking of how much fun I would have stuffing all my pages into their individual protectors and placing them behind the January tab, it hit me.

I am super weird.

I get a thrill when I walk down an office supply aisle. I love starting a new list on a brand new notepad. I enjoy color-coding a spreadsheet. In fact, I can’t look at a simple, black and white Excel document without feeling as if the walls are closing in. And I’m afraid I came by it honestly. I had a whole conversation with my mother last night about the many merits of her newest discovery in the world of pens. And I’ll be going out soon to purchase my own set of The World’s Greatest Erasable Pen.

Hi, my name is Elizabeth, and I’m an organizational, borderline OCD, office supply addict.

*collectively respond, “Hi, Elizabeth.”

I know I’ve surely fallen to an eight or nine on the ten-point scale of cool. But I guess you had to find out sometime. And I had to tell you. Because how was I supposed to keep the glorious reality of The Place Where Dreams Come True to myself?

Big (But Probably Old) News

 

Every time I get in my car, my phone lights up and tells me how far I am from home. I first noticed this little trick several months ago after I downloaded the new update for my device. Of course, like any iPhone owner after a new update, I experienced several emotional reactions to this interesting habit my phone had developed.

First, I was amused—delighted, even—to discover how smart my phone had become overnight.

Way to go, phone, for knowing how long it takes to get somewhere and for telling me this information entirely unsolicited.

Then, I noticed that it only pulled this little stunt when I got inside my car. I was unnerved by the fact that somehow, this device knew my location and often guessed where I was going based on the time of day. Immediately following my discomfort at being so well known by a cell phone, I became infuriated when it would light up with an “8 minutes to home” message. It developed into a challenge, which is no real surprise considering my uncanny ability to make everything into a competition.

Eight minutes, huh? I’ll be home in five. Just you wait, you stupid electronic. I’ll prove you wrong. YOU’LL SEE!

Now, however, there is a new emotion that catches in my throat every time I see that little screen light up with my geographical location. “One hundred and thirty minutes to home,” it tells me. Every time, I blink back a few tears, and I wonder when the system will adjust—when I will adjust. When it will notice that I’m not going home anymore. Part of me hopes it never catches on.

If you didn’t know already, I have moved to a new city to start a new job and live in a new house. All kinds of new.

As I was telling folks about my big move, I heard so many precious and kind words of affirmation.

“You’re going to do great!”

“That’s so exciting!”

“We’ll miss you around here!”

“I’m so proud for you!”

“Things won’t be the same when you’re gone.”

All those things were nice, and I soaked every bit of it right up. But, I have to say there was one phrase I heard that really, really touched me. It came from my precious friend Madeline. As I was lamenting about the limited Sunday afternoons we had left to spend at Ricebox or Bluecoast, she said to me, in the kindest and sweetest of tones, “Oh please, Elizabeth! Don’t be dramatic!” Doesn’t that just tear your heart out? So precious. The eye roll that followed really sent this sentiment out of the park.

But she was right. There’s no real need to be dramatic.

(Though, I have certainly been about twelve different shades of it throughout this whole process.)

After all, I’m only one hundred and thirty minutes from home. And it doesn’t matter much if my phone updates the geographical location of my living arrangements. Because the truth is, wherever I am, Florence, Alabama will always be home for me.

 

Adventures at the Lawrenceburg Fair: Part 3

So it’s taken a little longer than I initially anticipated, but here it is: part three of my Lawrenceburg fair blog series.

As a teenager, I had heard all kinds of legendary stories about the Lawrenceburg fair.

(Let’s just pause for a moment to laugh at my use of the phrase, “As a teenager.” Like it was so long ago. Also, laugh at the implication that I am now an adult. Ha!)

There was a glow of grandeur around my vision of this event. But to be perfectly honest, I was less than impressed when we arrived. We walked in next to the bathrooms and the animal stalls, and I have to tell you, it was not thrilling. Around the corner, we came to a string of rides and booths. Exciting but nothing different from any other fair. From where I was standing, it just didn’t look like anything to write home about.

After a short wait in line, a friend and I climbed into a cage on the Zipper. If you’re unfamiliar with fair rides, let me explain: the Zipper is essentially a Ferris wheel for thrill-seekers. Hence the cage. Though I have seen it make grown men nauseated and terrified, it is one of my favorite rides.

Much like the Ferris wheel, whenever other riders get off, the ride stops mid-circle, leaving you dangling wherever you stop. After a few minutes of flipping and screaming, the ride paused, leaving us at the very pinnacle of the machine. I looked to my left, through the holes of the closed-in contraption, and saw the Lawrenceburg fair. All of it. It was glittering, beautiful, and huge, expanding far beyond what I had originally assumed. At the highest point, I could see all the grandeur I had missed from the ground.

That’s often how life goes. We see only pieces at a time, confused by their smallness or ugliness or inability to fit in the puzzle we’ve already started.

But sometimes we get glimpses from the top. We stop at the peak of the ride and look out on all the pieces at once. We’re allowed a moment of perspective. Of understanding. Of clarity.

When we’re standing on the ground, it’s important to remember that another view does exist. There is a bigger picture. There is an end result even if we can’t see it. Just because the stables are clouding our current view, doesn’t mean there isn’t more just around the corner. There’s always more than what we see.

Adventures at the Lawrenceburg Fair: Part 2

Other than the animals and the food and the strange characters one can find, I go to the fair for the rides. I love the adrenaline, the speed, the heights and flips. Naturally, the first one I hopped on was the ride characterized by all of the above. The contraption looked very similar to those little colorful plastic windmills.

I watched for a moment as the base turned and twisted, causing the rows of seats to spin and flip dramatically. Screams from riders echoed from the top as I tried to convince my friends to join me. One brave soul agreed and moments later we were strapped in tightly to our seats, legs dangling over the edge.

The ride started, lifting us higher with each turn. Our row spun and twisted. The machine threw us in the air then dropped us dramatically toward the ground below. In one particularly impressive plunge, I had a thought.

In the middle of my screams and laughs and squeals, it occurred to me that I was trusting my whole life to this blundering contraption that had, only a few hours ago, been in pieces in the back of a trailer. My security was resting on the dirty bars strapped around my shoulders and the accuracy of the bored worker who had come by to lock me in. At any moment, it could fail. At any moment, I could be flung across the fairgrounds if the engineering should fail even in the slightest.

And, as it most often does, the Lord’s voice echoed quietly inside my brain.

Why are you so willing to trust this piece of equipment, but struggle to trust me with the details of your future?

As the idea rattled inside my head, it suddenly seemed absurd to me that I had so thoughtlessly surrendered my safety to this man-made machine, when I regularly fight to trust the One who created me.

So many times, I end up placing my trust in other people, in plans I’ve made, in my own ability. In a radical display of ridiculous logic, I trust in things that have failed me time and again, instead of trusting wholly in the God who has never once failed me. Never once.

As absurd as it is to surrender total trust to someone (or something) who doesn’t deserve it, it is equally illogical to assume that our Creator, who has never failed us before, would abandon His creation in the future. He won’t. He just won’t.

He is a God who knows us, sees us, loves us in spite of us. And let me tell you, He is a God who can be trusted. Every time. Every season. Every circumstance. He will never fail.

 

 

Adventures at the Lawrenceburg Fair

Fall is here, bursting through our doors with over-enthusiastic promises of cooler weather, pumpkin-flavored everything, and a glorious vanishing of the mosquito population.

Though, in Northwest Alabama, the weather is never as crisp as it should be, thus leaving a few lingering summer fiends behind. And making a gourd into a dessert is never quite as thrilling as I remember it. But, even so, I am grateful fall has arrived.

One of my favorite gifts fall brings along is the fair. You know, the excessive number of bright lights and carnival workers calling out for you to stop and play their games. And the clanging, metal contraptions meant to sling you around in the most terrifying and exhilarating fashion.

And the smells. Oh, the smells. The caramel, the kettle corn, the animals in the stables nearby, the fresh scent of mud and grass twisting together beneath hoofs and boots.

I went to the Lawrenceburg fair a few weeks ago with some friends of mine. When they invited me to tag along, I was so excited. I’d never been to the Lawrenceburg fair before, but had always heard stories of its superiority to the Florence production. It had become a sort of legend in my mind.

And I must admit, it lived up to its reputation. The Lawrenceburg fair was indeed a marvel.

Though most fairs have some sort of animal display, I had never seen one as large as this one. There were sheep and cows and horses and rabbits and goats, and I wanted to stop and pet every one. Talk to every one. And my kind and patient friends sweetly indulged me.

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As we walked toward the stables, I caught a glimpse of two men standing in the doorway, heads bent over something curious held by the man on the right. The back of the man on the left was obscuring my view, but I was determined to see what was so interesting. As I stepped around, the man on the right caught my eye and quickly tucked his prize back into his jacket pocket. But not before I saw a flash of squirming fur.

So, naturally, I had to ask.

“What’s in your pocket?”

The guy looked back at me with no expression of response and a tinge of suspicion in his eye, which to be honest, I found kind of ironic. I mean he’s the one who is carrying a tiny animal in his windbreaker. I just want to know what it is.

I realized he was trying to make me believe he had nothing to hide. That his jacket was just naturally a little squirmy. And I guess that should’ve been a warning sign, an indicator that this man might not be sitting squarely on his own rocker. But still I pressed.

“C’mon, man. I just saw you put that thing in your pocket. I know you’ve got something in there. What is it?”

Another moment of him staring at me, no response, just carefully considering his options. My friends stood behind me, trying to suppress snorts of laughter, glancing back and forth to each other in confusion.

Finally, realizing I wasn’t stupid enough to believe he had nothing to show, he pulled out his treasure to show us. As his left hand emerged, a trembling squirrel came with it, tucked firmly in the guy’s fist.

A squirrel. Garden-variety yard rodent. Immediately, a dozen questions filled my brain.

Does he carry it with him everywhere? Was it captured for this specific occasion, or had it been transformed into a kind of domestic pet? How did he come to acquire this little creature? Did he chase it down? (That image I found comical considering his age and build.) I had to know.

So, naturally, I asked.

Still I got no real response. I gave up with my questions, content with just ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ over the tiny thing. I figured his squirrel, his business. As my friends and I leaned in to look closer at the shaking captive, the man spoke.

“You can pet him for a dollar,” he said in a low voice, his eyebrows lifted, seeming to suggest that he was offering us a real deal.

Unfortunately for him, we were all pretty uninterested in petting his contraband rodent.

It turns out that characters aren’t always fictional. Some are as real as the squirrels in their pockets and are oftentimes far more interesting than any invented personality.

 

**P.s. Stay tuned for Adventures at the Lawrenceburg Fair: Part 2 . Apparently, the fair’s got more to say.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some Things to Celebrate

Hold on to your hats, ladies and gents, because I am posting a blog for the third consecutive week. This is big news, people. To be perfectly honest, I am patting myself on the back just the tiniest bit. I feel like this should be celebrated considering that, before these last few posts, my most recent blog was from May.

While we’re having a party about my short-lived consistency, here are a few other things I think should be celebrated:

  1. This fall weather, though. It feels like the world just let out a breath it’s been holding in all summer, don’t you think? I love it. There is now a need for me to wear fuzzy socks at night, and you won’t hear me complaining about that.
  2. The Woodpecker Café. If you haven’t made it to this new breakfast and lunch spot on Court Street, you are missing a good thing. I’m not even a little embarrassed to tell you that I have been there twice this week. The food and coffee are fresh and delicious, and the customer service is ON POINT.
  3. Miss America’s hair. Y’all. HAIR GOALS, RIGHT THERE. Miss Georgia was talented and brilliant for sure, but that hair is what carried her through. Not even Brett Eldredge’s stupid question was enough to stop that kind of volume. (P.S. who invited him?)
  4. Kate Morton’s The House at Riverton. Last summer, the very kind owner of Ms. B’s Used Books & CD’s in Hendersonville, TN, introduced me to Kate Morton’s The Forgotten Garden. I loved it so much, that I recently picked up another of Morton’s books, The House at Riverton. Brilliant. Let me just say, if you like Downton Abbey, you will like this book. (If you don’t like Downton Abbey, you’re wrong.)
  5. Salted Caramel Latte Doughnut from Krispie Kreme. Let me tell you, these are good days to be a fan of the salted caramel. Pumpkin spice gets all the attention, but this little salty-sweet flavor is really the best fall taste. And in doughnut form? Why, yes, please. Don’t mind if I do.
  6. It’s Friday. Hey, guess what. You made it to Friday. Go buy yourself a doughnut.

**P.S. Here’s a tune by Us The Duo I’m obsessed with these days. I’ve learned from experience that it’s a good dancing song, and dancing is really the perfect way to celebrate Fridays.

 

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