Today I am...
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Feeling... proud of myself, because I figured out thrift shopping this week. It's always been hard for me because I'm outsize due to my height; pants and shoes are nearly unfindable outside of specialized shops. Also, I hate taking unnecessary time with things—I'd rather just figure out exactly what I want and go get it. Owing to necessity, however, I've decided that a) the skirt-with-tights-or-leggings look is super cute and comfortable and much easier than finding pants long enough, and b) thrifting is the only way to fix a desperately failing wardrobe on a small budget.
So, my tactic was: make a single sweep through the relevant racks, looking for the longest stuff available in the best colors, try it all on, and take what works. In an hour or less.
Technically, I wasn't supposed to take eleven items into the fitting room, but the store was mostly empty. I came out with three skirts, three long-sleeved shirts, and a soft gray cardigan that I love, for what almost any of those pieces might've cost me at the mall. Here's me in one of the skirts; I wore it to a meeting today and then cleaned house in it because, like a kid with Superman pajamas, I didn't want to take it off.
|No tights today, but I've been acquiring some.|
I want these, but as I could never wear them to church,
I haven't justified them to myself yet.
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Seeing... late-summer flowers.
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Smelling... this rose, which has a very sweet scent, and which I could apparently not take a non-blurry picture of:
Tasting... for lunch, Greek yogurt with blueberries. And I have no idea what I'm making for dinner, but it'll have homemade salsa on the side.
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Listening... to something I can't post yet, because I'm singing it with a group this weekend and it's supposed to be a secret. But also, Jen and friends are talking about picking a theme song for your Myers-Briggs personality type. I can't resist. I'm an ISFJ, which translates to the Keirsey temperament analysis as "Protector Guardian." Basically, what this means is that I want to scrape everybody in the whole world up into one giant hug and make sure they're happy and have everything they need. Especially the ones I love.
So, if you ever wonder why I'm so exorbitantly over-helpful—I probably just looked at you and thought this:
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Grateful... for a home in which I can host my artistic mom amid some aesthetic restfulness, and for our long conversation about art in the church. The widespread modern lack thereof, rather, which is a matter of much prayer and hope.
Reading... Mary Stewart's The Hollow Hills and Evoking Sound by James Jordan, the latter of which yesterday had me tapping fingers or toes together to—since I couldn't find my metronome—ticking clocks and car blinkers. Turns out, I have a very hard time coordinating the two sides of my body with any precision.
Loving... new clothes, long-running book clubs, secret (and non-secret) choir teams and projects, and this peaceful little home.
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Hoping... that the secret song goes well, and that we have the miracle of no real rain tomorrow for the barbecue and for getting my 75-pound, 88-key synthesizer in and out of our sedan with no case or cover.