Sunday Sketches

In case you haven’t picked up on it, I built the house J and I now live in before we ever even met. Well, it was in the process of being built when we met. It wasn’t finished until Christmas, and I didn’t spend the night there until the day before New Year’s Eve (because I didn’t want to mess things up). You see, my mom and some friends from school and church were throwing me a housewarming party that evening (12/30/05), and I had spent too many hours scrubbing floors, cleaning drywall mud out of the shower and tubs, and vacuuming carpets to actually “live” there and mess things up before having company. So, I decided that my first night in my new house would be that of the party. J didn’t really relish the idea of hanging out with a bunch of ladies he didn’t even know, so he took his mom out to dinner (typical Friday night), and promised to swing by after he took her home, as the party would be over by then.

I was out in the garage, where we had the food set up, visiting with some of my guests and opening some gifts when my grandmother burst through the door shouting, “Angie, you have to come in here!” My mother, who is easily perturbed by my well-meaning grandmother, told her she’d have to wait a minute because I was opening a present. Nana wouldn’t have it, though, and insisted, “No, you have to come here right now! There’s a man in your living room!” Trying to keep the peace, I put the gift back in the bag and promised the gift-giver that I’d be right back and followed my grandmother back to the living room to see what was so urgent. Indeed, there was a man in my living room, albeit one I knew—he was the local florist. He handed me a basket of flowers—the most beautiful I had ever seen—and apologized for being late (unbeknownst to me). He was apparently supposed to have delivered it an hour prior to the start of the party, but he had gotten busy with a couple of funeral arrangements and didn’t make it. I assured him that it was okay, thanked him, and he left. I figured they were from my father, who loves to give flowers (and my mother hates getting them), since he had just called me to wish me good luck with the party and to tell me he loved me. I nonchalantly opened the card, and all I could say was, “Oh, my goodness…oh, my goodness!” I’ve been told my face turned about 5 shades of red, especially when my grandmother ripped the card from my hands and read it aloud to the others.

Pictured below is the beautiful spray of flowers placed in the middle of my dining table, and underneath is the now-famous card that J sent me to celebrate my housewarming. Boy, he sure knew how to become the hit of the party without even being there!

"Hope these flowers warm your new home the way you have my heart. –Jeremie"

I hope everyone has a wonderful, safe 4th of July.  Happy Birthday, America!

Hugs and baby dust,