Because It Doesn't Have To Be Black Or White

Ugh.

Here I go again.

I was all set to yak abroad my color of the year and tell you the little story that inspired it, and for the life of me, I can't get the post on the page.  Oh, I'm getting words on the page... lots of them in fact. I just can't seem to spill the beans without making a whole pot of chili.  And so?

 I. Post. Nothing.

Can anyone relate?

A favorite blogger who shall remain nameless  has suggested that maybe, just maybe, I'm something of a perfectionist. Though that would probably surprise the dust bunnies living under my bed, she's not completely out in left field, only instead of a straight-up perfectionist, I'm more of what you call an extremist.

As colors go, I'm more of a passionate red, bright yellow, or hot pink.  My neutrals are either black or white. 

It's sad but true. In Debbie Land, it's either freezing or boiling. (Feel free to take that comment literally, by the way.)

 I'm either Richard Simmons or Henry the VIII.  

source  source

Sue Ann or Roseanne

source  source

OK, strike that one. I'm proud to say that I have never been a Rosanne.  ( I'm not exactly Sue Ann Nivens either, but that's not relevant.)

But really...

 Don't you think there's some space in between?

Yeah, I think so too. 

This year, I'm going to figure out a way to embrace more of it.

I'm not just doing it for myself, either. If you think it's frustrating for me, imagine being married to a pendulum for 30 years.  Therefore, for the sake of all concerned, I have decided to put my focus this year on the practice of moderation. Life doesn't have to be an all or nothing life, after all. It just needs some healthy balance.

That's why balance is my word of the year.  And the color I picked to go along with it? 

It's taupe. 

Yes, taupe. Don't even try to tell me that taupe doesn't have possibilities. It does. Taupe isn't the same as beige or cream or buff. I would never choose them for a color of the year. For one thing, they're boring. For another, I like to wear my color of the year, and I can't wear beige, cream, or buff.

Taupe, on the other hand, has just enough depth to distinguish it from the creams of the world.  Taupe has a personality; it's just a quiet one. It works and plays well with others, too.  It can be both a neutral and a pop of color.  Oh sure, it doesn't pop like red, but who says a pop of color has to scream at you? Why can't it just sort of converse?

That's what taupe is to me, a warm and conversational kind of color, not too loud, but with enough hue to keep it from being bland. Taupe is a color with perfect balance, and that's why it's my 2014 color of the year.

Ta da!!

****

And now that I've finally spilled the beans,  I can get around to visiting.

Yes,  I'm oddball enough to admit that I was afraid to read blogs  lest someone choose the word first and think I was a big, old, copycat. 

   So... even if you've already blogged it: 

What's your goal for 2014? 

Inquiring minds want to know. 

It's A Brand New Morning

Of a brand new year! 

(Yes, I did wake up in time to capture the first blue hour...)

I'm pretty excited about it, too. I generally love the first day of a new year, and I particularly like the start of an even one.  I don't know why; I'm just odd like that.  I'm not actually a big numerology girl,  but if I were, I think I would like the year 2014. After all, 7 is a Biblically perfect number... and it takes two 7's to make a 14.  Therefore, I'm thinking that the 14th year of a new millennium might be practically perfect in every way.

You know, kind of like Mary Poppins.

So I'll bet you think I picked something poppy for my color of the year, don't you?  Well, I didn't. Try to keep up, folks.  I did the poppy thing last year.  This year's color has an inspiration all it's own, and  for my life right now, it's practically perfect in every way. I plan to tell you all about it in a day or two.

Or if things roll the way they did last year, maybe around March...

This morning, I just wanted to get my wheels turning with a New Year shout out to all my friends in Blogville.  I missed you, and I missed blogging. Oh sure, I got a lot accomplished in the past several months. My house is as neat as a pin. (OK, maybe more like a knitting needle, but it's neat, I tell you.)  It's organized too. I can actually grab things in closets without feeling like Chicken Little.

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I completed some projects around here which I might yak about at a later time, and I even had an adventure or two in the past few months.  All in all, it was a time of great accomplishment.

But here's the thing: While stepping away from the world of blogging might have given me more free time and made me a touch more productive, it didn't make me happier.  I'm not saying that I walked around like Debbie Downer or anything. It's just that I missed looking at life through the eyes of a blogger. I still carried around the shiny red Kodak, but the pictures seemed incomplete without the yakabout.

Can anyone relate?

So for better or for worse, I'm back like a bad Henny Penny to try again.

I thought I would begin with a recap of our very adventurous New Year's Eve around here. Then, I realized that it was basically a remake of Mr. Fuddy and Mrs. Duddy, right on down to the restaurant of choice. This time,  though, I was smart enough not to choose the shrimp and grits.

So there you have it: My exciting return to the world of blogging.

 In case you missed it, I just managed to fill an entire yakabout with 432 words 

and say absolutely nothing. 

Apparently, I'm back. 

*****

Happy New Year, folks! 

So...what did you do for New Year's Eve?

A Merry Duchess Christmas and a Happy Birthday Too!

Somebody's having a birthday today!  

And her name  isn't Debbie. 

My birthday has come and gone, just like the rest of Christmas season...

and the rest of December...

and the rest of November...

and most of October too. 

I really and truly tried to get back into Blog Land. You have no idea how many times I tried. 

I thought I might get the groove again in time to celebrate Thanksgiving,

 but the next thing I knew, 

it was time to do this.

Oops.

And a whole lot of this

And for reasons which will remain unyakked, 

I kinda needed a bit of this

And some of  this

(Pssst... I'm the one on the left.)

But Suddenly,

I woke from my sugar stupor and discovered that if I procrastinated a visit to Blog Land for one more day, I would miss the opportunity to yak abroad a very auspicious occasion to the world wide web.

Or at least to the three people still around to read here... 

What a blockhead!

Not to worry. There is time to rectify the situation before the clock strikes midnight.  Besides, there's really only  one person who needs to see this post anyway, the one whose birthday we're celebrating today, the one who created this Christmas scene. 

  

  Happy 75th Birthday to
 The Duchess,

 the single most giving and creative 

Christmas lady I know.

I'm so proud that you are my mom!

*****
And yes,  I'll 'fess up  to the shameless ulterior motive
of showing her house this year before it's too late.

Admit it.
You're doing the  Peanuts Dance
and  singing,  "Hark the Herald Angels Sing."
Aren't you?

Notes from Washington

Nothing like being unfashionably late to a party.  

Yes, I realize it's been nearly two months since I last made an appearance in Blogville.

 I'm not really back yet, either.

I just wanted to drop by before it was too late to join
 the Note Card Party at 

A Haven For Vee. 

My cards this month might more rightly be called  post cards.  They were taken during an adventure in Washington D.C.  Per Vee's new rules, I was allowed to use a few photographs which haven't been shared before.  The new ones were taken at the war memorials on the Washington mall.

This one is haunting, isn't it?

I thought about trying to crop the tourists out of the this next one, but it seems to me that there has been more than enough of that tourist cropping going on in Washington these days.

Some folks are pretty uptight about all that.

In fact, some  are more than uptight. They are downright angry that anyone would deny veterans the right to visit a memorial that was not only built for them, but by them, one battlefield at a time.

Maybe you're one of the angry ones.  

That's OK, I'm pretty ticked off too.  

But if you are, I have a question for you:

Before the veterans were shut out, 

did you know they were brought in?

Well, now you do. 

And now that you do, what are you prepared to do about it?

Those veterans, you see, are actually transported to Washington through the efforts of private citizens in a program called Honor Flight. It isn't a government program. If it were, don't you think the whole trip would have been shut down?  

Yeah, I think so too.

Let's face it.  It's easy to get angry. It's even easier to join arms with other angry people and call it righteous anger. Trust me, I'm well practiced at that.  What isn't always easy is putting our money where our mouth is. 

Here's the thing: When the smoke clears and all the silly barricades have been taken down...and the talking heads are talking about something else... and we the people have found some new cause to champion... 

There will still be veterans who want to visit their memorial in Washington, DC. 

The only  barricade standing in their way is the money to get there.  

I encourage you, friends, to click THIS LINK and read all about the Honor Flights.  I hope that you stay long enough to find out how to donate your time and resources to give our honored veterans a tangible gift of gratitude for their sacrifice and service.  If we're really passionate about the soldier's right to see his memorial, let's go the extra mile and pay his way to get there.

Unless, of course, the anger really had nothing to do with the veterans at all.

When the Cat's Got Your Tongue

So here it goes:

Lately, I've been thinking about a blog I used to stalk. It was years ago, back when I first discovered this wonderful place called Blogville, way back before I even realized that you could follow blogs in nifty little compact ways like Google Friend Connect or Blog Lovin'.  Back then, I just cluttered up my favorites folder with a list of the ones I liked.  

And I really liked this one.

In fact, it was one of the ones that lured me here in the first place. Whether she was sharing a project around the home, or an adventure from her life, or just her random thoughts, I  always got a little giddy when she posted something new.  

Then, it happened. I can't quite remember whether it happened all at once, or it was a slow drip, but suddenly, I realized that all she ever posted about was her cat. 

Her cat looking out of the window...

Her cat looking in the window...

Her cat going up the steps...

Her cat going down the steps...

Cat. Cat. Cat.

Her posts got fewer and farther between, too. First, we had a cat update every few days. Then, it was once a week. Then even less.  After a while, I stopped clicking to see if she had updated at all.

When I was doing that computer file purge a few months ago, I discovered the link to my old favorite blog and opened it to see what she had been up to. Unfortunately, it no longer exists. Whether she did an exit post or went quietly into the cold, cold, night, I do not know.  

If you're wondering where I'm going here, it's this:  

 I do not have a cat.  

I don't have a dog, either. I guess I could venture over to the Love Shack once a week and take photos of  Dolly and Beamer.

But let's face it. 

When you stoop to showing pictures of someone else's dogs, 

you have hit the bottom of the barrel. 

Folks, I'm bone dry, and I can't deny it anymore.

Rather than do the cat walk, I'm going to take an indefinite blog break. (Yes, from all outward appearances I have been on a break for a year now, but that wasn't for lack of trying. It was for a lack of finishing.)

I should have done this months ago, but I am a stubborn little petless wonder who would rather stare at a keyboard than admit she has a problem.  However, Since 2013 is the year of Stepping Out, that's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going to step out and do a little thinking and living so that maybe... maybe... I'll have something interesting to yak about again someday.

I have decided to take  the rest of the summer off.   Yes, I realize that to the rest of Blogville, summer is already over, but not here in Dixie.  In my neck of the woods, we have a month of summer left to go. Maybe less; maybe more.

I'll see you then.  Maybe... maybe not...

Just in case I don't return, I think it's best to leave here singing.

See you, in September...

See you... when the summer's through....

In my head, I sound just like Bobby Rydell.


*****
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The Stuff Legends Are Made Of

It's time for another 

The Note Card Party 
 at 

A Haven For Vee. 

That's when we reach back into the blog archives and choose four pictures to turn into note cards.  They don't have to have a theme, but I'm sort of a themey kind of girl.  I'm so themey,  in fact, that I can be somewhat like a dog on a bone.   

Perhaps you've noticed...

Keeping that in mind, my theme for this month
should be no surprise. 

I'm calling this set
Welcome to Dixie...
  

Where even the trees have beards 

That's just a stereotype, of course.

You don't actually see that many beards in my neck of the woods,
especially the scraggly kind that migrate south of the Chin Peninsula.

It's mainly for the same reason that you don't see a lot of St. Bernards.

When it's 400 degrees in the shade, you don't add fur.

That's what the husband says, anyway, every time I try to convince him to grow one.  Either that, or that beards aren't recommended in his line of work.  It makes you appear less trustworthy, he says...

I say, 

Liar, liar, pants on fire. 

There are lots of trustworthy men bedecked in facial hair, and he knows it. Every year, millions of American mothers take their children to the mall, point to the dude with the long, white, whiskers, and tell them to go sit on his lap. If that's not trustworthy, I don't know what is.   

Personally, I think he's just afraid of the Duchess. 

The Duchess's dislike of facial hair is legendary. I never saw my father with so much as a set of side burns. Oh, he tried to grow a mustache one time  It lasted about an hour. She kept telling him to go back and make it smaller until she succeeded in turning him into Adolf Hitler.   

I, on the other hand, am what you call a pogonophile. I like a beard. I don't want it to look like shredded wheat or anything, but I like a nicely trimmed one.  That's exactly what Sir Lotsa hair had when I met him, too. I would love to show a picture, but unfortunately he only had it for the first month or so after we started dating.  Then, he met The Duchess...

                         

... who very promptly told him he needed to shave his face.  

Which he did. 

Mo-therrr!

Oooh, that woman. I don't know what kind of power she wields, but in thirty- plus years, I have not been able to convince him to grow so much as a goatee.  (That part's fine by me, by the way.  When I say a beard, I mean a beard. Not picky much, am I? ) 

And that's all I have to say about that. 

So where do you stand on the subject of facial hair?  

****

Oh, and for those who really just came here for the note cards, that's Spanish moss growing on those southern trees. It's pretty legendary, too.  The first one was taken in Savannah, the second over the Ogeechee River,  the third down the road at sunset, and the fourth, of course, in the blue hour. 

  

Like Water Off A Duck's Back

Just in case you have forgotten (and I can't see why you should  remember...) I dubbed 2013 The Year of Stepping Out. For that reason (and just because I feel like it...), I'm stepping out of my comfort zone today with a post of personal opinion.  Yikes!

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And just in case you've forgotten (and I can't see why you should remember...) I've been teaching a unit on the Proverbs. We've spent the summer learning the characteristics of the wise man, and we've learned them exactly the way Solomon taught them, by comparing them to the characteristics of the fool. 

And do you know where I've gotten my examples for the study of the fool?

(OK, mostly from the pages of my own life story, but besides that...) I got them from watching the news.  Really, between the key players in current events and the talking talkers talking about them, just about every characteristic of the fool has been covered this summer. What a sad commentary on our culture...

Last week was no exception.  Had I written the stories myself, I couldn't have found a better illustration for this one:

The fool shows his annoyance at once, 

but the wise man overlooks an insult. 
~Proverbs 12:16

I call this story The Diva and the Duck Man, and it comes courtesy of none other than Oprah Winfrey and Jase, Duck Dynasty, Robertson, both of whom were victims of alleged personal offense. (I say alleged because Miss Winfrey's story has been strongly disputed by the Swiss Miss  accused of dissing the diva. )

If you haven't heard the stories, they're just a google away.

Let's put it this way:

The billionaire talk show host was mistaken for someone who couldn't afford a $38,000 crocodile purse and shown a less expensive one.  The millionaire duck man was mistaken for a vagrant and shown the door... as in kicked out of his New York hotel.

I can't imagine why...

This post isn't about the offenses, alleged or otherwise. You can decide how you might have felt in each situation.  This post isn't about feelings. It's about actions. 

First, there's the Diva. 

Now actually, Oprah's reaction shouldn't have surprised me.  She did what any good diva would do in such a situation. She looked down from Mt. Winfrey and saw the offense. What's more, she yakked her insult abroad to Larry King so he could be offended too.  Larry's cooperative like that.  It didn't take long for the slap in Oprah's face to be known world wide. Oh, the humanity!

And then, there's the  Duck Man. 

Jase looked at his story from a completely different perspective. Jase saw the humor.  He's a story teller, after all, and this was some funny fodder. As he tells it, he just circled around, came back in, and told his family.

They laughed.

Did it ruffle their feathers?  No. Did they fly off in a huff?   No again. They didn't complain to the management and demand an apology, either.   Hotel owner Donald Trump offered up an apology when he heard about it in the news, but Hunky McDuckman assured him no apology was necessary.

And that, as Miss Kay Robertson would say, is how it's done.  

What a contrast. 

Now, you probably have your opinion as to the difference between these two. I know that I have mine. I'll go ahead and spill it that I believe the major difference is spiritual.  Jase Robertson is full of the Holy Spirit. Oprah?  She's mostly full of  Oprah. That's how she got herself into this pickle.

(And it is a pickle )

Oprah was a victim alright; she was a victim of bad timing. She had no way of knowing that a long haired country boy from Louisiana would show up on the national scene the very next day with a study in contrast, a contrast that would make her look very much like, well, a fool. 

If I believed in coincidence, that's what I would call it. 

  Instead, I'll call it a teachable moment.

Not just to Oprah, of course, but to me. 

(What? You don't have diva moments?)

 Whether Oprah chooses to learn anything from the Duck Man is is her business. I truly hope she does. After all, it's better to be corrected than to have your next teachable moment smack dab in the middle of Proverbs 16:18. 

Pride goes before destruction, 

and a haughty spirit before the fall. 

Happy! Happy! Happy!

Here's a tidbit I've never shared on here: 

 I despise reality TV. 

Really, on my list of things to watch, it comes below the Home Shopping Network and reruns of Good Times. I just don't get it.

 For the life of me, I can't understand why anyone would want to Keep Up with a family whose sole talent appears to be posing for People magazine and naming their children after cardinal directions.   Those Real Housewives of Wherever are all unreal to my way of thinking... and don't even get me started on Honey Boo Boo. The fact that she lives about an hour from here both embarrasses and annoys me.

Not. A. Fan.

So why am I a fan of a  bunch of duck hunters from Louisiana who haven't shaved in, well, ever?

I dunno...
They just quack me up. 

Blame it on the Newlywed niece. She discovered the show one lonely night when Lt. McNephew was deployed.  Before she knew it, she was hooked. (Maybe it was the camouflage...)  Then, she managed  to infect the entire family, including the Duchess,  with the duck virus.

The reason is simple, and it can be summed up in three words:

Faith, Family, Ducks...in that order. 

First, I love how they aren't afraid to share their faith.
They don't just profess it, either;  they actually live it.

Second, I love their commitment to family.

 If you've read here long, you know that I'm all about the multi-generational family. My favorite part of the show is when they gather around the family table at the end  for the patriarchal prayer. Then, Willie does a voice- over tying it all together, and just for a moment, America seems right again.

And then, we have the ducks.  

The ducks are the inspiration for this table.  Yep. Just in case you hadn't noticed, this isn't exactly a pretty table this week. The colors won't pop.  They aren't supposed to... we're in the duck blind, people. Try to keep up.

The place setting is black, beige, brown, and green, 

and we even did a little duck-ou-flage on the chargers. 

See? You almost missed them,  didn't you?  

A burlap tablecloth and some rustic flatware

Some mason jars for our tea 'cause that's the way they roll around that table.  

Well, all except Uncle Si. He's a bring-your-own-tumbler kind of guy, and he's been hauling around that same blue tumbler since his mom sent it in a care package to 'Nam.

Uncle Si tells all kinds of stories about 'Nam...

Some of them are 95% accurate, too. 

Please note that our redneck wine glasses aren't filled with anything at all.  We would have served some of Willie's Mallard Merlot, but we couldn't get any takers.

And those aren't bows on the stems... they're beards.

I was supposed to build a little duck blind for the centerpiece,  but apparently I'm what  Phil Robertson would call a  yuppy girl from the subdivision. I couldn't get it to look right.

I stuck a potted plant in there instead.  

And that's all she wrote. 

Just a fun little table to get us in the mood for the opening of 

Duck Dynasty Season 4 

tonight 

(A&E, 10:00 PM)

If you've never tried the show, may I suggest you give it a whirl?

I guarantee it will leave you feeling  

Happy, Happy, Happy

And that's a fact, Jack!

*****

By the way, I wasn't compensated for this endorsement. However, if the Robertsons should read this and want to send some of Miss Kay's biscuits my way, I won't turn them down. 

And they can deliver them via  Jase Robertson....

otherwise known as Hunky McDuckman. 

Hey, you have your crushes, I have mine... Jack.  

*****

Sharing with Let's Dish! and Tablescape Thursday.