Compost Studios

I am a writer, nature lover, budding artist, photography enthusiast, and creative spirit reducing, reusing, and recycling midlife experiences through narrative, art, photos, and poetry. 

I can be reached at:

veronica@v-grrrl.com      

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Veronica McCabe Deschambault, V-Grrrl in the Middle, Compost StudiosTM

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Entries in My Favorite Things (54)

Friday
Jan122007

Raising a glass to creative women!

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Photo by Di Mackey

Last fall I hooked up with Di, a fellow blogger and expat, and became involved in helping her launch a photography business here in Belgium. It all started with a simple request: could she photograph my family to add to her portfolio? Would we mind?

Mind? Only if we were crazy! I’d seen Di’s work online and was thrilled she was willing to turn her camera our way.

Di is from New Zealand and had been working in Turkey when she developed a relationship with a Belgian guy and ended up leaving Istanbul for Antwerp. I knew she’d endured many low moments during the immigration process, quipping that falling in love with a Belgian was an offense punishable by death through paperwork. Her determination to build a new life in cloudy Belgium and to venture into business in a new country impressed me.

What started with a photo shoot grew into something more when I offered to use my professional experience in marketing and PR to help her get her venture off the ground. Midway through the process, I contacted Char, a Web designer in the U.S., to see if she could help Di get a photography site up and running. Before I moved to Belgium, Char and I had worked for the same agency and partnered together on many Web sites and print projects.

Di picked out a general template, I wrote copy, and Char took the framework, sharpened the design, and pulled it all together. Di and her husband put in many hours selecting and formatting photos for the galleries.

The end result is a personal and professional product I’m really pleased to have been part of, not just because it’s a great site but because of the relationships and process that brought three creative women together sharing their talents.

Check it out here. And while you’re at it, check out Char’s professional site (I wrote the copy).

Cheers to the Sisterhood of Creative Blog Grrrls!

January 12, 2007

Tuesday
Dec122006

It's all about the dishes...

Last week E and I went to a private sale of Polish pottery . It was held in the house basement of a woman with a connection to Eastern Europe. Polish pottery is popular with the expat crowd, and while most people I know buy it here in Belgium, a few go all the way to Poland to get the biggest selection. The pottery is heavy cream-colored stoneware decorated in cobalt blue and forest green patterns, sometimes touched with brown. It’s colorful, durable, and a European tradition.

I resisted its charms for a long time. When my sugar bowl broke, I bought one made in Poland. When I realized my honkin American dinner plates were too big for my European dishwasher, I picked up a few Polish pottery plates, each a different pattern. Then an indigo serving bowl decorated with white swirls found its way onto the table.

At a market in Germany, I bought a pottery sugar spoon and two coasters that I use as teabag caddies. Arriving home with my modest purchase, E said, “I like Polish pottery. You should get some more.” Last week I went to the sale with the intention of buying a round covered casserole dish and ended up with that plus some more plates and mugs picked out by E and the kiddos. No surprise.

The truth is that we’re all into ceramics and pottery. My kids have Hadley  place settings featuring animals and blue and white Spode Victorian cups that they love. E-Grrrl likes to look at china patterns and visit kitchen shops. She was so taken with some unique pieces we saw in Rome that I bought her a small dish by a well-known local artist. Mr. A took pottery classes at a studio when we lived in Virginia, and I use the simple trays and dishes he made.

My interest in pottery was piqued early when my older sister was dating a potter. During college, he sold his wares at arts and crafts shows in New York, and I tagged along from time to time. After my sister married him, he landed a job as a potter in a restored historic village in New England and opened his own shop. He did traditional salt-glaze stoneware, and one summer when I was a teen, I worked in the pottery and began my own collection.

From the beginning, I’ve liked stoneware, pieces with heft and a rustic spirit. I have a huge collection of salt-glaze, but along the way, I’ve picked up different style pieces from a number of potters in Oklahoma, Virginia, and Delaware. I seem to be attracted to dusky blues and indigos, ash glazes, and anything with a beautiful shape. I’m suckered in not just by one-of-a-kind artistic pieces but also by mass produced, everyday stuff. My favorite bowls in the world came from Wal-Mart. They look like Fiestaware in pastel colors. They cost $1 each, and I bought at least a dozen. They’re the ideal size, shape, and weight and I never seem to have enough of them!

As for fine china, it took me a long time to appreciate it. I didn’t register for it when E and I got married, but ten years later I used a windfall I received to buy Noritake Brookhollow, which I loved because it was old-fashioned but not stuffy. I was entranced with the swirl of wildflowers around the rim. The cups were so perfectly proportioned, and the teapot? To die for! Later, I started collecting Mikasa Holly Ribbons , and E began buying it for me when he traveled to places with Mikasa outlets. My everyday pattern is Mikasa’s Garden Harvest,  which I picked out 15 years ago and still love. The bowls and mugs won’t win any awards for shape and style but the place settings are so me.

To me, the allure of dishes and pottery is that it’s art that you use, that becomes integral to your life. It doesn’t just sit on the wall, waiting to be admired—it’s part of every day, every meal, every gathering of friends, every special occasion.

Are there any other pottery and dish fiends out there? What’s your favorite pattern or style?

Copyright 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved. www.v-grrrl.com.

December 12, 2006

Sunday
Dec032006

Sunday afternoon

Blowing rain. Chilling temps.  A fire hushing the room. A nap on the cranberry colored sofa. A black kitten on the floor. Sealing the last Christmas card and imagining its journey across the ocean, its arrival in a mailbox at the end of a driveway in America, ready to be opened, ready to breathe a bit of cheer into the end of a long day. 

Boxes carried up the steps. Nativity sets  put in place. Advent candles on the table.  A maple basket to hold cards. Wreaths ready to hang on the doors, bright with berries and delicate baby's breath. Greenery and candles, a bit of ribbon.

Christmas spirit flickering to life on a dark December night...

Sunday
Nov122006

Cutting and pasting my way to Christmas...

A little more than a month ago, I came up with the idea of making a wall calendar for my mother-in-law for Christmas. She lives with E’s sister in Florida and suffers from rheumatoid arthritis, Parkinson’s disease, and an Alzheimer’s-like illness. E has made a few trips to see her since we’ve been here, but the children and I haven’t seen her in almost two years, a reality that weighs heavily on our hearts.

Making a wall calendar featuring photos of our family seemed the perfect way to help her stay connected to us as well as the months and the seasons. Since moving to Belgium, I’ve embraced paper crafts and amassed a large collection of tools, paper, cardstock, and art supplies. I loved the idea of putting my budding scrapbooking and stamping skills to good use in a new format.

Originally, I planned to use some family snapshots taken during the year as well as studio photographs and school pictures for each page. Happily, our recent photo shoot with Di provided far superior materials to work with.

Yesterday morning E loaded the photo cartridge and paper into the printer and we began printing off photos to use in the calendar layouts. As each photo dried, I looked for just the right colors of cardstock and the best patterned papers to work into the layouts. I considered which stamped images could be used to enhance the pages, and began experimenting with different designs.

I worked all afternoon, took a break for dinner, and then worked another hour or two in the evening. I finished seven pages. Only seven pages, and let me tell you, I’m not a scrapbooker who likes a lot of embellishments. I favor simple designs. Still, making final choices on colors, cutting and positioning the paper, and stamping the images takes time. I haven’t even begun work on decorating the actual calendar pages yet. I had no idea it would take so long, but at the same time, I’m really pleased with the results.

In the years before she became ill, my mother-in-law gave me many handmade gifts. The very first time I joined the family for Christmas (before E and I were married), she crocheted me a hat, scarf, and purse. During our marriage, she crocheted an enormous afghan for our bed as well as lace doilies and runners for my antique chests. She cross-stitched numerous samplers for my walls and once hand-embroidered a tablecloth and matching napkins. She made throw pillows for our bed and a window seat cushion and curtains for the baby nursery. When my son was born, she knit him mittens, booties, and a little cap for his fuzzy blond head.

Last night as my back ached from standing and leaning over a table all day, I remembered all those gifts and all the work she put into every stitch. I don’t have her talent or patience for needlecrafts, but I hope she feels the love going into each page of this calendar and that it makes her smile all year long.

Are any of you making Christmas gifts?

November 12, 2006

Copyright 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved. www.v-grrrl.com.

Tuesday
Nov072006

My life in catalogs

In the U.S., I got so many holiday catalogs that the mailman would not be able to fully shut the mailbox door. Beginning in late September, I could always count on being able to decompress for a few minutes by grabbing a cup of tea and a catalog from the stack I kept in a cabinet. Each one had its own personality, and offered a different kind of escape.

There were the practical and stalwart purveyors of traditional and outdoor clothing—Lands End, Eddie Bauer, and L.L. Bean--that helped me visualize a tweedy, wholesome, existence along scenic shores, upheld by sturdy shoes, wool sweaters, and good quality clothes at a reasonable price. This was the fantasy I most often bought into because it was attainable.

The cheap and modern offerings in Chadwicks of Boston and Newport News were like blind dates that were trying too hard--or maybe not trying hard enough. In any case, we didn’t have much in common, and I didn’t trust them. They often went straight to recycling, along with the Spiegel catalogs which had taken on a sleazy Jersey girl image over the years. Spiegel’s customers apparently were still wearing skintight clothes with lace panels and big hair in the 21st century.

The upscale and glamorous catalogs like Neiman Marcus, Front Porch, and Sharper Image made me wonder who bought $700 purses, $400 sweaters and all those weird electronic gizmos. These were not people I’d ever meet at a party, but I liked to scan the catalogs and imagine what the customers were like.

J.Crew and Banana Republic dumped me from their mailing lists in the early 90s. The rejection still stings. What did I do to deserve to be pissed on by the pricey preppies of the direct marketing world? I’ll never know. Maybe they thought my Eddie Bauer affair put me beneath them. Fools—I might have migrated to greener pastures if they just played their catalogs right. On the other hand, I was happy when the Victoria Secret people lost my address and quit reminding me of all that I wasn’t and never would be.

The museum catalogs from the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art, Boston Fine Arts Museum, and the Smithsonian always included an entrancing variety of jewelry, art, and decorative objects. Over the years, they’d seduced me with gorgeous desk calendars, silver jewelry, and a serving plate or two.

There were clever catalogs like Signals that almost made me whip out my Visa card, if it were not for my remarkable ability to resist most gift catalogs and witty sayings on t-shirts. Of course, I sometimes succumbed to the charms of the country catalogs, Faith Mountain Hill, Sturbridge Yankee Workshop, Plow and Hearth, and Gooseberry Patch. I do love heavy pottery, sturdy baskets, and Shaker pegboards. Let’s not talk about the flannel jumpers I used to wear ten years ago, OK? And I just want to make it very clear I never had a plaque with a pithy country saying displayed anywhere in the house, nor did I ever, ever display ceramic geese with ribbons around their necks or bunnies in calico dresses. I confess to having a few teddy bears with natty, plaid bow ties—but that was it! Really. I wasn’t a cutesy country girl.

There were always gobs of toy catalogs trying to impress with me nostalgic, educational, or unusual toys and I often placed large orders in August to cover both my kids’ birthdays and Christmas. I liked Constructive Playthings, Hearthsong, Highlights, and Back-to-Basic Toys. The Chinaberry Books catalog always succeeded in making me dial the 1-800 number and better my children’s literary lives.

The mail box would often deliver travel catalogs geared to the gray-haired, globe trotting set: Travel Smith. LL Bean Travel, and others. The monotone knit travel wardrobes were too depressing, but because E traveled so much for work, I often looked for stuff to make his life better on the road.

The cozy home and cheap chic catalogs were my all time favorites: Pottery Barn, Crate and Barrel, Garnet Hill, and Ikea. I hung onto them forever, loving to escape to the casual, comfortable but artsy world within their pages. I’d covet far more than I’d order but never ceased turning down page corners and hoping for a windfall.

I always bought into the dusty Western vibe provided by Isabella Bird, The Territory Ahead, and Sundance catalogs. When I flipped through them while sitting by the fire, I imagined myself a quietly sexy chick in denim and leather with a great pair of boots and a good story to tell. On a good day, I can still muster the illusion and indulge this fantasy. I have some items from all of these catalogs, just as I do from their first cousins in marketing, the artsy, modern hippie genre of catalogs that includes J. Jill and Coldwater Creek. These are the catalogs designed to make me feel better about wanting to wear elastic waists and loose flowing clothing to hide my pre-menopausal, pre-menstrual pot belly.

Because of, or maybe in spite of, the pot belly, I loved to linger over Title Nine and Athleta catalogs. With the right pair of yoga pants and a good sports bra, I could BE someone who never had to wear the flowy clothes.

Then there are the catalogs that make you wonder what you ever did to lead them to your door. The horrid collectible catalogs from the Franklin Mint and cheesy and sleazy ones from Spencer’s Gifts and Miles Kimballs. What about the catalogs selling only orthopedic shoes and foot care products, or God help us, the ones that sell home medical supplies? Why me? Why?

So what’s been showing up in your mailbox and which ones get you to sit down, pay attention, and start digging in your wallet? Do tell all.

November 7, 2006

Copyright 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved. www.v-grrrl.com

Friday
Oct202006

Hope is the thing with feathers...

I just read the most amazing post.

Inspired.

Stunning.

Dare I say it--transformational.

This isn't the first time Amber at Believing Soul  has completely blown me out of the water with her wisdom, her faith, her grace.  She's an inspiration to anyone who has ever been in a dark place, a desperate circumstance, or been stuck in a life of grief and instability.

So many people need to read what she shared today. Don't just slip over and check it out for yourself--link to it on your sites, e-mail it to your friends, and spread the message around:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops – at all –

Emily Dickinson

 

Thursday
Oct192006

Top Ten Romantic Songs

Last week I posted on my top ten favorite sexy songs. This week, I thought I’d list my favorite romantic songs. You know the ones that make you want to dance in happiness, do a little twirl, get all gushy.

This has been a far harder list to come up with than the sexy songs; maybe I’m not a romantic Grrrl. A lot of love songs just make me want to slap some sense into the singer and tell them to get a grip, for God’s sake. Sigh. I’m not a woman who is easily swept away by sentimental ballads, but hey I’m not impervious. Here are my romantic songs

Moondance by Van Morrison—This song sets the standard for romance for me. The jazzy tempo and the vivid fall imagery always take me away to a terrace under starry skies.

True Companion by Marc Cohn—Heartfelt and earnest, this is an over-the-top proposal, completely romantic. My favorite part is how he sings of growing old together, “When the years have done irreparable harm/I still see us walking slowly arm in arm”

You Bring Me Joy by Anita Baker—Anita Baker has such a unique voice and when she croons “You bring me joy…,” it gets right to the heart of a good relationship.

Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen—This won’t seem like a romantic song to most people, but it’s a song of second chances. When Springsteen sings, “So you’re scared and you’re thinking that maybe we’re not that young anymore/Show a little faith, there’s magic in the night/ You ain’t a beauty but hey you’re all right/And that’s all right with me” this middle-aged non-beauty is ready to jump in the car and grab that “one last chance to make it real.”

Cinnamon Girl by Neil Young—“A dreamer of pictures, I run through the night, you see us together, chasing the moonlight, my Cinnamon Girl.” Wish that were me.

Something in the Way She Moves by James Taylor---Sweet baby James. Smooth, soft, and casual, love is like a great pair of jeans. “I feel fine anytime she’s around me…”

Has Anyone Ever Written Anything for You by Stevie Nicks—A song I used to put on repeat and get lost in. Evocative. There’s nothing more meaningful to me than the idea of someone giving me a piece of themselves and their art. “Has anyone ever written anything for you?” So different from writing to someone. I’ve written for very few people. “Poet—priest of nothing.”

Beginning by Chicago—Chicago was a great band, and this song takes me back to a good time in my life. Love the contrast of laughter and silence this song addresses, because “mostly I’m silent.”

Groovy Kind of Love by Phil Collins—What a stupid, insipid song—why do I like this? Don’t know. Just do.

Soul Provider by Michael Bolton—I still remember the first time I heard Michael Bolton sing, “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You.” It hit a bit too close to home. I bought the CD, and discovered I loved the title track, “Soul Provider,” best. I liked the idea of someone feeding my soul, and I also loved the wordplay of soul provider vs. sole provider.

October 19, 2006

Copyright 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved. www.v-grrrl.com

Friday
Oct132006

"I'm bringing sexy back..."

I can’t explain why I love the song SexyBack by Justin Timberlake because, quite frankly, it violates all the norms that usually govern my taste in music. I tend to like classic rock and roll and adult alternative music with a splash of blues, light jazz, and country thrown in. I don’t do pop music, dance music, R & B, or hiphop—and yet SexyBack always makes me want to shake my moneymaker (apologies to the Black Crows).

What can I say, sometimes I surprise myself. I even like that falsetto he sings in—go figure.

Anyway, SexyBack got me thinking about songs I find sexy. I’m not talking romantic, stars-in-my-eyes sort of songs, I’m talking sexy—the type of song that resonates on a primal level.

In no particular order, here a few of my favorite sexy songs for your Friday:

1. Father Figure by George Michael. This pervy little wonder strikes a chord. When George croons, “If you’ll be the desert, I’ll be the sea. If you ever, hunger, hunger for me, whatever you ask for, that’s what I’ll be,” I’m there.

2. I’m on Fire by Bruce Springsteen. This isn’t pervy like Father Figure, but it’s vaguely menacing. Springsteen captures the frightening power of lust. “Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull, and cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull.” Yeah.

3. Closer to You by Dennis Quaid. Yes, THAT Dennis Quaid. This song is from the The Big Easy soundtrack and Dennis does it justice. Languid and hot like a Louisiana day.

4. Hurts So Good by John Mellencamp. Oh yeah, this is the one that probably led to the catchphrase of my early 20s, “Hurt me, hurt me.” Mellencamp’s 2003 CD “Trouble No More” features a cut called “Stones in My Passway” that is clever and sexy. I’m glad he hasn’t quit smoking—because it hurts his voice so good.

5. Addicted to Love by Robert Palmer. This is a classic. "You can't eat, you can't sleep, there's no doubt, you're in deep."

6. Boys of Summer by Don Henley. “I can see you/Your brown skin shining in the sun/ I see you walking real slow with your Wayfarers on, baby” Love the guitar solo, love the imagery of summer fading, and by God, this made me want to get a set of RayBans.

7. Strong Enough by Sheryl Crow, performed by the Dixie Chicks. “Lie to me/I promise, I’ll believe/Lie to me/but please don’t leave.”

8. Give Me the Keys by Huey Lewis and the News. Flirty and playful and loaded with word play.

9. Cowgirl in the Sand by Neil Young. It’s over ten minutes long and includes amazing guitar work. You can get lost in this song, and a lot can happen in ten minutes. 

10. Night Moves by Bob Seger. A nostalgic remembrance of coming of age and first love.  "Working on mysteries without any clues..."

Looking at my list, I realize most of these songs were released YEARS ago. So maybe the appeal of Justin Timberlake’s song for me is that at the ripe old age of 44, I need someone commited to “bringing sexy back.”

What’s your favorite sexy song?

October 13, 2006

Copyright 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved. www.v-grrrl.com

Wednesday
Aug302006

Brown paper packages tied up with string, these are a few of my favorite things

Recently the mail bought a fat envelope from Low Maintenance Grrrl. The outside was marked “Photos—do not bend” and I fully expected to tear it open and find pictures of my godson, Derek, who is a high school senior. Instead the envelope included an assortment of photos from my family, going all the way back to when I was dating my husband 26 years ago.

In the enclosed note, Low Maintenance Grrrl wrote that knowing how much I missed my own family photos (which are in storage in America), she thought she’d ease my homesickness with snapshots and portraits I’d sent her over the years.

What a fabulous surprise. My kids will be turning 9 and 11 in September, and the photos I’d missed the most were from their baby and toddler years. I was thrilled to once again see a snapshot of my son at a year old, dressed as pumpkin and sitting in a pile of leaves and the one of my daughter wearing a white bonnet and frilly dress on her first Easter. There were the Christmas photos sent out each year, one revealing the super short haircut my 5-year-old boy had given his 3-year-old sister (“I want her to look like me,” he’d said, standing over a pile of her long blonde hair). Then there were photos of me pre-kids, with my 80s hair style, and one taken of me in a black leather miniskirt back in THE DAY. (Proof that I once had a flat stomach!)

The unexpected gift of the photos got me thinking about the wonder and joy of care packages. The only thing better than receiving one is sending one out. There’s a true element of surprise with a care package and the chance for the giver to be creative. Unlike birthday or Christmas gifts where there’s some expectation as to what is appropriate, care packages are all about being thoughtful and just sending something fun.

Life as an expat has lonely moments and there are times when homesickness rolls in like a fog turning the world gray. Those times have been eased by the kindness of friends back in America. More than once Low Maintenance Grrrl has sent surprises my way, including my first scrapbook. Shirl Grrrl, who introduced me to the fun of papercrafts, recently surprised me with a beautifully decorated journal that she made. When I was completely stressed out preparing to come to Belgium, Lynn sent me chocolate chip cookies she’d baked with her kids, and when she visited in July, among the items she brought for us was a 10 pound bag of our favorite pancake mix, a regional specialty from Virginia. Last winter, Granola Grrrl surprised me with an oversized teacup and saucer, and my former neighbors sent me tea and my kids candy for Halloween.

On my first birthday here in Belgium, my friends gathered for a party in my honor, videotaped it and included a DVD in the enormous box of gifts they assembled for me. It may have been my best birthday ever. And then there was JMo, someone I’ve never met, who had bagels FedExed to me from New York after reading about how much I missed them. Sitting here remembering all these not-so-random acts of kindness puts a smile on my face and reminds me how blessed I am to have such warm-hearted, generous people in my life.

I’ve sent packages to friends going through rough spots in their marriage, those that are overwhelmed at work and finding it hard to carve out any time to recharge and recover, college students far from home, new moms who are often neglected when all attention shifts to the baby, and friends that just hit a low spot or need a boost. Everything from yoga tapes and candles to books, CDs, chocolates, lotions, cosmetics, potpourri, and gourmet foods have found their way into the packages I’ve mailed.

Tucking items into a box, taping it shut, and sending it on its way is a singularly satisfying act. I can just imagine the recipient’s face when they discover a package in the mail and have no idea what could be inside that box or why it’s shown up at their door. It’s better than Christmas—friendship is a gift we can celebrate and give all year round.

August 31, 2006

© 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.

Friday
Jul212006

The welcome mat is out

Tomorrow morning my pal Lynn and her two children arrive in Brussels after an all night flight from Virginia.  She's coming despite the sky-high cost of plane tickets,  a  passport hassle that required an overnight trip to D.C. to iron out, and the fact that her schedule only allows her to stay a week.

Less intrepid souls would have given up on this trip a long time ago.

Lynn and I have been friends for more than 20 years.  We met in college when we had a class together but our friendship didn't take off until a few years later at Low Maintenance Grrrl's wedding. Low Maintenance Grrrl and I grew up in a rural area of Virginia served by a single small airport that was located about an hour away. It was never an inexpensive or easy place to get a flight to and I was running into logistical problems trying to plan my trip from Oklahoma to Low Maintenance Grrrl's  wedding.

 Lynn lived in a bigger city with a much better airport. I flew in there, and Lynn and her family graciously hosted me for a day or two before the wedding. Keep in mind, I'd never met her parents and had only a passing acquaintance with Lynn at this point, but when she heard I was in a bit of jam with travel plans, she jumped right in to help out. 

That long weekend of the wedding was the beginning of a much longer friendship. Lynn and I hit it off big time and after I went home we began exchanging letters.  We wrote frequently and I was always happy to find a fat envelope addressed in her backward-slanting cursive in my mailbox. We discussed movies, books, politics, her dating life, my marriage, and the hard task of getting established in life. Every year I traveled back to Virginia to see my parents for a week and every year Lynn drove three hours to come see me while I was there.

When I finally left Oklahoma and moved to Virginia, we were thrilled to be relatively close to one another.  We visited one another several times a year (until our kids got big and our weekends clogged with activities!).  My kids call her Aunt Lynn and referred to her children as "their cousins from Virginia Beach."   We've shared enough holidays and special occasions together that I know quite a few members of her extended family. Like everyone else, she's busy with work, home, and volunteer commitments, but she always finds time to jot a note or squeeze in a visit or help someone out.

I'm praying Belgium delivers some mighty fine weather and cool breezes while she's here, but no matter what, I know we're in for a great week together, even if we spend it spraying one another with a water bottle!