Guest Post and a Giveaway: Henna

Posted by: Deanna

This Giveaway is now closed.

Hello Shoe readers!

As some of you know, and some of you don’t, I dyed my hair with Pure Henna from Henna Color Lab over the weekend. It was the first time I ever dyed my hair and I have to say, I’m hooked. I love the way my hair looks and the application was surprisingly easy.

I chose henna over regular chemical dyes because unlike most dyes, it’s really good for your hair. It deep conditions and also detoxes your scalp and hair, and heals split ends. My hair was getting some really bad split ends on the underside where it doesn’t get much sun and I was considering chopping it all off, which would have been a real shame since I’ve been trying to grow it out for over a year now. I did some research about henna, and when I read about all the healing and cleansing it does for hair, I decided to give it a shot before I headed over to the ol’ guillotine.

Colorwise, I chose henna because unlike regular dyes it works with your natural color. It’s a stain, not a paint. If you are a darker colored person, but want your hair to end up bright red instead of chestnut or auburn, you can bleach your hair before you use henna, but that sort of defeats the purpose of using a dye that replenishes and builds up your hair. Also, I’ve heard that it doesn’t always turn out too well  for some people. Do your research, and tread lightly.


As for the supplier, I chose Henna Color Lab because they are all natural, chemical free, vegan, and animal cruelty free. I’m not a vegan, but when it comes to soaking my entire head and all my hair, I prefer that it be in something produced by people who care about my health and the environment and what we do to it, rather than in a vat of commercially produced toxic waste.

Now there are some draw backs to using henna. It’s very permanent. Dyeing over it doesn’t always work, and if you don’t like the way it looks, then you’re out of luck. I have a formerly blonde friend with flowing waist length hair who dyed her hair with henna, and though it looks amazing on her, she’s basically stuck with it. Kaitlyn says that she researched it and found that a good long soak in some vodka will take off henna, but I don’t intend to try it.


See how cute I am? It took 2 packs of henna to do my hair. I used my red bowl so it wouldn’t end up stained and added 1 1/2 cups of hot water to it. The instructions say to add water until it  is the consistency of ketchup or pudding. First I smeared petroleum jelly along my hairline to make sure I wouldn’t end up with orange spots on my face and neck. Then I used the gloves that came with the henna and just smeared and worked it all in root to tip, strand by strand and coiled each strand on top of my head when I was finished with it. Due to the pasty and slightly sticky consistency of the henna, the coils stayed put rather well.

I had heard that henna has a very strong earthy smell to it, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was less dirt, and more like a freshly mowed yard. It’s been 3 days since I did it and the smell is almost gone. It didn’t bother me much in the first place because freshly cut grass has always been one of my favorite smells.


After I had methodically coated each strand of hair, I still had a good 1/3 of my henna left over. I just slathered it over the top of my head and worked it in deep with my fingers. As you can see, I didn’t get right in front of my ears or the veerrryy bottom of my hairline as well as I could have. I am considering reapplication, but my Husband insists that my hair is his very favorite hair color right now and is begging me not to change it in any way. Silver tongued devil that he is, how can I resist? 😉


When I was done, I put on the cap that came with the henna, wrapped a hot towel around it, and sat down to wait. The instructions say to leave it in for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, but that leaving it in longer means more herbal conditioning and detoxing. I left it in for 4 1/2 hours. I was going to go for 6 hours, but it would have been 2 am by then and I had to work the next day. It wasn’t worth it.

As you can see from this exceedingly blurry photo, I got a few spots of henna on my forehead. Not to worry, it washed right off. My fingertips were a very pale shade of orange the next day from washing it out, but as of this morning, I am spot free.

Washing it out was a lot easier than I thought it would be. The instructions say to be patient, but it only took me 10 minutes to get it all out. After I was done, I toweled my hair dry, and used a blow dryer to dry it because the extra heat helps to accelerate the color changing process.



After (day 1)




Okay fine, it doesn’t always look this bright. It only looks like this when the sun hits it just right.


This is what it looks like now. As you can see, it didn’t lighten the color of my hair, it just reddened it. It turned me from a dark brunette to “an handsome auburn”.

One thing it did change that I’m not sure I’m real happy about is the texture. I’ve read from many people that henna will tend to loosen the curl of your hair, or as in my case, make slightly wavy hair straight. My waves were but the faintest voluminous bounce, so I won’t miss them too badly, but if you’re terribly  attached to yours, you might want to consider this carefully.



Now for the exciting part.

I am authorized to award 2 winners with their choice of one Henna Hair Dye and also one Henna Hair Treatment.

All you have to do is mosey on over to their website at, take a leisurely look at the different options they offer, decide what color you would like, and comment on this post telling me which you would choose. For contacting purposes, make sure you fill in the email field with a valid address that you check regularly!

This giveaway will remain open for one week. Multiple entries are permitted, but no more than 2 each.

At the end of the week I will randomly choose 2 winners. If I randomly pick the same person twice, I will pick again. One win per person.

Kudos if you caught the Anne Of Green Gables reference. 😉

This Giveaway is now closed

Tuesday poetry: Some of Mine

posted by Deanna

I wrote this poem on Sunday. It sort of popped into my head after we read the Nicene Creed during church, and kept niggling until I wrote it down. But it wasn’t only the Nicene Creed that made me want to write it. I’ve been reading a fantasy series lately and it’s really irked me how hopeless the worldview behind it is. You follow the good guys on their perilous quest, and they lose a few people, and right at the last minute they beat the bad guys by the skin of their teeth….and that’s it. See what I mean? There’s no higher good, it’s just depressing.

Thusly, I wrote this poem.

Happy reading!

I believe,

in only He

who made the stars

and spoke the sea.

Who formed the land

with one small thought,

and freed our hands

that we be taught.

I put my trust

in the great I AM,

the conquering king,

the slaughtered lamb.

By his love,

are all things stayed.

Your every breath…

The price is paid.

How rightfully

the Elder sing,

“Give glory to

our God the King!”

Tuesday Poetry: More of mine

Posted by: Deanna

I wrote this poem after I dreamed it. It was really vivid and stuck with me for a lot longer than dreams usually do. I don’t know how weirded out some of y’all will be by the tragic parts of this, but you should remember one thing as you read it. If you don’t like this poem, you can just scroll down the page or go to another website. I didn’t have that option. Dreams don’t work that way. In my dreams, even when I squeeze my eyes shut, or cover them with my hands, I still see what’s happening.

Happy reading!

The Man Who Was

The man who was, I speak of he
who loved a girl, and loved the sea

Oh, what of it, if his skin was gray?
what if his eyes were strange as they say?

Someone cared, and someone hated,
because he loved, was not degraded.

Smiling Lass with heart so sweet,
loved him back with love complete.

Her hair was red, her eyes were gray.
Yes, his flesh was hard as they say.

But her love for him was true,
she loved her man and the sea so blue.

But someone brooded, and someone sent
a curse to them, in form it went,

great grey hunter, soulless shark,
sent to dampen their happy spark.

The sea was dark, the sky was low,
Lass said she would bathing go.

Oh, such sorrow, that fate decreed,
someone rots in hell for that deed.

For Lass went in and came not out,
a thick red mist and bloodstained snout.

The killer fled, his deed discharged,
The man, he wept. He cried so hard.

Cannot accept though knows it true,
his love will stay with the ocean blue.

The man who was, I speak of he,
who loved a girl, who loved the sea,

The sea betrayed him, his love so true.
Friend, she can’t come back to you.

Can you hear his lonely cries?
Now he’ll mourn her till he dies.

Deanna Coghlan

Tuesday Poetry: Something of my own.

Posted by: Deanna

Great. Late again. But hey, I’m getting closer right?

Today I’m showing y’all poem that I wrote about my notebook. Sometimes it almost seems as if my notebook is a person, and a friend more than anything else. It’s like I read about teddy bears once; they don’t talk much, but they’re great listeners. My notebooks are like people that know everything I think, and keep every secret I tell them, unconditionally. So sometimes I feel bad for not writing, because it feels like I’m neglecting someone real that has stood by me with great loyalty.

My Notebook

Sometimes dear friend
you may feel abandoned.
you may think that I’ve forgotten
your unwavering loyalty.

I wish it were not so.
you hold my secrets
you know me as no one else ever will.
but some times there aren’t any secrets to confide.

I may for a while record poem after poem
and then for interminable stretches
write nothing at all.

I cannot force the muse.
I only write when my heart is overflowing.
so dear friend and companion,
do not feel neglected when I cease to write for a while.

Because you know that at the first sign of trouble,
I will come running back to the solace of your pages.
With a whole new host of feelings to inscribe.

Tuesday poetry (and sometimes prose): C.S. Lewis quote

Posted by : Deanna

Grrrrr…..This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.  I could claim that I was busy all last week, (which is true by the way.) but I really was just being a flake. I’m sorry.

Alrighty then. This is an excerpt from C.S Lewis’ book Mere Christianity. I have yet to read the whole thing, but I love what I have read. He has such a way of putting things that just really makes me think.

…Even the best Christian that ever lived is not acting on his own steam- he is only nourishing or protecting a life he could never have acquired by his own efforts. And that has practical consequences. As long as the natural life is in your body, it will do a lot towards repairing that body. Cut it, and up to a point it will heal, as a dead body would not. A live body is not one that never gets hurt, but one that can to some extent repair itself. In the same way, a Christian is not a man who never goes wrong, but a man who is enabled to repent and pick himself up and begin over again after each stumble- because the Christ-life is inside him, repairing him all the time, enabling him to repeat (in some degree) the kind of voluntary death which Christ himself carried out.
That is why the Christian is in a different position from other people who are trying to be good. They hope, by being good, to please God if there is one; or -if they think there is not- at least they hope to deserve approval from good men. But the Christian thinks any good he does comes from the Christ-life inside him. He does not think God will love us because we are good, but that God will make us good because he loves us; just as the roof of a greenhouse does not attract the sun because it is bright, but becomes bright because the sun shines on it.

I love reading deep thoughtful stuff that he writes. I recently read “A Grief Observed”, and it really was some food for thought. I haven’t quite processed it all, and most likely I’ll read it again today or tomorrow. It was very thought provoking to read through someone else’s deep sorrow like that. I wish I could have read it when my little sister Sarah was stillborn. I think it would have helped.  Maybe next week I’ll post an excerpt from that.

Tuesday Poetry (and sometimes prose.)

Posted By: Deanna

Well this is a fine start. I figured I would eventually forget, but not the second time around! I know this is late, but I hope y’all will read it anyways.

Alrighty. This week I am doing a short story instead of poetry. I like this story because it’s unique in that it just leaves you hanging and makes you like it. Well, I like it at least. It’s really a brain twister, and makes you think if you take time to read the whole thing. I like to use it as an ice breaker and it’s interesting to me how many different ways there are to look at it. Sometimes I get a bit of a surprise when I ask a friend for their opinion because to me, it seems very clear cut and obvious. But that’s just me.

So, since I really am interested in your opinion, please read it through, and vote in the poll at the end. I want to know how you think it ends. And if you are so inclined, perhaps you could leave a comment telling me why exactly you think it ends that way. Since I don’t want to prejudice any of you, I’m not going to state my opinion here. I’ll just vote in the poll, and leave a lengthy self satisfied comment telling anyone who cares to read it exactly why my opinion is the best one. 😉

Happy reading!



Frank R. Stockton

In the very olden time there lived a semi-barbaric king, whose ideas,
though somewhat polished and sharpened by the progressiveness of
distant Latin neighbors, were still large, florid, and untrammeled, as
became the half of him which was barbaric. He was a man of exuberant
fancy, and, withal, of an authority so irresistible that, at his will,
he turned his varied fancies into facts. He was greatly given to
self-communing, and, when he and himself agreed upon anything, the
thing was done. When every member of his domestic and political
systems moved smoothly in its appointed course, his nature was bland
and genial; but, whenever there was a little hitch, and some of his
orbs got out of their orbits, he was blander and more genial still, for
nothing pleased him so much as to make the crooked straight and crush
down uneven places.
Among the borrowed notions by which his barbarism had become semified
was that of the public arena, in which, by exhibitions of manly and
beastly valor, the minds of his subjects were refined and cultured.
But even here the exuberant and barbaric fancy asserted itself. The
arena of the king was built, not to give the people an opportunity of
hearing the rhapsodies of dying gladiators, nor to enable them to view
the inevitable conclusion of a conflict between religious opinions and
hungry jaws, but for purposes far better adapted to widen and develop
the mental energies of the people. This vast amphitheater, with its
encircling galleries, its mysterious vaults, and its unseen passages,
was an agent of poetic justice, in which crime was punished, or virtue
rewarded, by the decrees of an impartial and incorruptible chance.
When a subject was accused of a crime of sufficient importance to
interest the king, public notice was given that on an appointed day the
fate of the accused person would be decided in the king’s arena, a
structure which well deserved its name, for, although its form and plan
were borrowed from afar, its purpose emanated solely from the brain of
this man, who, every barleycorn a king, knew no tradition to which he
owed more allegiance than pleased his fancy, and who ingrafted on every
adopted form of human thought and action the rich growth of his
barbaric idealism.
When all the people had assembled in the galleries, and the king,
surrounded by his court, sat high up on his throne of royal state on
one side of the arena, he gave a signal, a door beneath him opened, and
the accused subject stepped out into the amphitheater. Directly
opposite him, on the other side of the inclosed space, were two doors,
exactly alike and side by side. It was the duty and the privilege of
the person on trial to walk directly to these doors and open one of
them. He could open either door he pleased; he was subject to no
guidance or influence but that of the aforementioned impartial and
incorruptible chance. If he opened the one, there came out of it a
hungry tiger, the fiercest and most cruel that could be procured, which
immediately sprang upon him and tore him to pieces as a punishment for
his guilt. The moment that the case of the criminal was thus decided,
doleful iron bells were clanged, great wails went up from the hired
mourners posted on the outer rim of the arena, and the vast audience,
with bowed heads and downcast hearts, wended slowly their homeward way,
mourning greatly that one so young and fair, or so old and respected,
should have merited so dire a fate.
But, if the accused person opened the other door, there came forth from
it a lady, the most suitable to his years and station that his majesty
could select among his fair subjects, and to this lady he was
immediately married, as a reward of his innocence. It mattered not that
he might already possess a wife and family, or that his affections
might be engaged upon an object of his own selection; the king allowed
no such subordinate arrangements to interfere with his great scheme of
retribution and reward. The exercises, as in the other instance, took
place immediately, and in the arena. Another door opened beneath the
king, and a priest, followed by a band of choristers, and dancing
maidens blowing joyous airs on golden horns and treading an epithalamic
measure, advanced to where the pair stood, side by side, and the
wedding was promptly and cheerily solemnized. Then the gay brass bells
rang forth their merry peals, the people shouted glad hurrahs, and the
innocent man, preceded by children strewing flowers on his path, led
his bride to his home.
This was the king’s semi-barbaric method of administering justice. Its
perfect fairness is obvious. The criminal could not know out of which
door would come the lady; he opened either he pleased, without having
the slightest idea whether, in the next instant, he was to be devoured
or married. On some occasions the tiger came out of one door, and on
some out of the other. The decisions of this tribunal were not only
fair, they were positively determinate: the accused person was
instantly punished if he found himself guilty, and, if innocent, he was
rewarded on the spot, whether he liked it or not. There was no escape
from the judgments of the king’s arena.
The institution was a very popular one. When the people gathered
together on one of the great trial days, they never knew whether they
were to witness a bloody slaughter or a hilarious wedding. This
element of uncertainty lent an interest to the occasion which it could
not otherwise have attained. Thus, the masses were entertained and
pleased, and the thinking part of the community could bring no charge
of unfairness against this plan, for did not the accused person have
the whole matter in his own hands?
This semi-barbaric king had a daughter as blooming as his most florid
fancies, and with a soul as fervent and imperious as his own. As is
usual in such cases, she was the apple of his eye, and was loved by him
above all humanity. Among his courtiers was a young man of that
fineness of blood and lowness of station common to the conventional
heroes of romance who love royal maidens. This royal maiden was well
satisfied with her lover, for he was handsome and brave to a degree
unsurpassed in all this kingdom, and she loved him with an ardor that
had enough of barbarism in it to make it exceedingly warm and strong.
This love affair moved on happily for many months, until one day the
king happened to discover its existence. He did not hesitate nor waver
in regard to his duty in the premises. The youth was immediately cast
into prison, and a day was appointed for his trial in the king’s arena.
This, of course, was an especially important occasion, and his majesty,
as well as all the people, was greatly interested in the workings and
development of this trial. Never before had such a case occurred; never
before had a subject dared to love the daughter of the king. In after
years such things became commonplace enough, but then they were in no
slight degree novel and startling.
The tiger-cages of the kingdom were searched for the most savage and
relentless beasts, from which the fiercest monster might be selected
for the arena; and the ranks of maiden youth and beauty throughout the
land were carefully surveyed by competent judges in order that the
young man might have a fitting bride in case fate did not determine for
him a different destiny. Of course, everybody knew that the deed with
which the accused was charged had been done. He had loved the princess,
and neither he, she, nor any one else, thought of denying the fact; but
the king would not think of allowing any fact of this kind to interfere
with the workings of the tribunal, in which he took such great delight
and satisfaction. No matter how the affair turned out, the youth would
be disposed of, and the king would take an aesthetic pleasure in
watching the course of events, which would determine whether or not the
young man had done wrong in allowing himself to love the princess.
The appointed day arrived. From far and near the people gathered, and
thronged the great galleries of the arena, and crowds, unable to gain
admittance, massed themselves against its outside walls. The king and
his court were in their places, opposite the twin doors, those fateful
portals, so terrible in their similarity.
All was ready. The signal was given. A door beneath the royal party
opened, and the lover of the princess walked into the arena. Tall,
beautiful, fair, his appearance was greeted with a low hum of
admiration and anxiety. Half the audience had not known so grand a
youth had lived among them. No wonder the princess loved him! What a
terrible thing for him to be there!
As the youth advanced into the arena he turned, as the custom was, to
bow to the king, but he did not think at all of that royal personage.
His eyes were fixed upon the princess, who sat to the right of her
father. Had it not been for the moiety of barbarism in her nature it is
probable that lady would not have been there, but her intense and
fervid soul would not allow her to be absent on an occasion in which
she was so terribly interested. From the moment that the decree had
gone forth that her lover should decide his fate in the king’s arena,
she had thought of nothing, night or day, but this great event and the
various subjects connected with it. Possessed of more power, influence,
and force of character than any one who had ever before been interested
in such a case, she had done what no other person had done,–she had
possessed herself of the secret of the doors. She knew in which of the
two rooms, that lay behind those doors, stood the cage of the tiger,
with its open front, and in which waited the lady. Through these thick
doors, heavily curtained with skins on the inside, it was impossible
that any noise or suggestion should come from within to the person who
should approach to raise the latch of one of them. But gold, and the
power of a woman’s will, had brought the secret to the princess.
And not only did she know in which room stood the lady ready to emerge,
all blushing and radiant, should her door be opened, but she knew who
the lady was. It was one of the fairest and loveliest of the damsels of
the court who had been selected as the reward of the accused youth,
should he be proved innocent of the crime of aspiring to one so far
above him; and the princess hated her. Often had she seen, or imagined
that she had seen, this fair creature throwing glances of admiration
upon the person of her lover, and sometimes she thought these glances
were perceived, and even returned. Now and then she had seen them
talking together; it was but for a moment or two, but much can be said
in a brief space; it may have been on most unimportant topics, but how
could she know that? The girl was lovely, but she had dared to raise
her eyes to the loved one of the princess; and, with all the intensity
of the savage blood transmitted to her through long lines of wholly
barbaric ancestors, she hated the woman who blushed and trembled behind
that silent door.
When her lover turned and looked at her, and his eye met hers as she
sat there, paler and whiter than any one in the vast ocean of anxious
faces about her, he saw, by that power of quick perception which is
given to those whose souls are one, that she knew behind which door
crouched the tiger, and behind which stood the lady. He had expected
her to know it. He understood her nature, and his soul was assured that
she would never rest until she had made plain to herself this thing,
hidden to all other lookers-on, even to the king. The only hope for the
youth in which there was any element of certainty was based upon the
success of the princess in discovering this mystery; and the moment he
looked upon her, he saw she had succeeded, as in his soul he knew she
would succeed.
Then it was that his quick and anxious glance asked the question:
“Which?” It was as plain to her as if he shouted it from where he
stood. There was not an instant to be lost. The question was asked in a
flash; it must be answered in another.
Her right arm lay on the cushioned parapet before her. She raised her
hand, and made a slight, quick movement toward the right. No one but
her lover saw her. Every eye but his was fixed on the man in the arena.
He turned, and with a firm and rapid step he walked across the empty
space. Every heart stopped beating, every breath was held, every eye
was fixed immovably upon that man. Without the slightest hesitation, he
went to the door on the right, and opened it.
Now, the point of the story is this: Did the tiger come out of that
door, or did the lady?
The more we reflect upon this question, the harder it is to answer. It
involves a study of the human heart which leads us through devious
mazes of passion, out of which it is difficult to find our way. Think
of it, fair reader, not as if the decision of the question depended
upon yourself, but upon that hot-blooded, semi-barbaric princess, her
soul at a white heat beneath the combined fires of despair and
jealousy. She had lost him, but who should have him?
How often, in her waking hours and in her dreams, had she started in
wild horror, and covered her face with her hands as she thought of her
lover opening the door on the other side of which waited the cruel
fangs of the tiger!
But how much oftener had she seen him at the other door! How in her
grievous reveries had she gnashed her teeth, and torn her hair, when
she saw his start of rapturous delight as he opened the door of the
lady! How her soul had burned in agony when she had seen him rush to
meet that woman, with her flushing cheek and sparkling eye of triumph;
when she had seen him lead her forth, his whole frame kindled with the
joy of recovered life; when she had heard the glad shouts from the
multitude, and the wild ringing of the happy bells; when she had seen
the priest, with his joyous followers, advance to the couple, and make
them man and wife before her very eyes; and when she had seen them walk
away together upon their path of flowers, followed by the tremendous
shouts of the hilarious multitude, in which her one despairing shriek
was lost and drowned!
Would it not be better for him to die at once, and go to wait for her
in the blessed regions of semi-barbaric futurity?
And yet, that awful tiger, those shrieks, that blood!
Her decision had been indicated in an instant, but it had been made
after days and nights of anguished deliberation. She had known she
would be asked, she had decided what she would answer, and, without the
slightest hesitation, she had moved her hand to the right.
The question of her decision is one not to be lightly considered, and
it is not for me to presume to set myself up as the one person able to
answer it. And so I leave it with all of you: Which came out of the
opened door,–the lady, or the tiger?

[poll id=”27″]

Tuesday Poetry

Alrighty, I have decided to do a once a week poetry post. I decided to make it a Tuesday thing because Tuesday is my cooking day, and thusly I will almost always be home on Tuesday.

So, what I’m going to try to do is pick a poem, any poem that catches my fancy and post it here for y’all to read. Then I’ll tell you a little bit about the poem if it’s one of mine, or the author if it’s not, and a little something about why I picked or wrote said poem. Oookay, here we go:

Get Thee Hence!

Satan tempt me not,
in word or deed or thought.
I strive, I shall resist,
I will not keep your tryst.
Satan get behind me.
Go where I cannot find thee,
your words I will ignore,
your lies I do abhore.
Satan go away.
I bid you do not stay,
my back is not your armchair,
and I forbid you rest there.

This poem is one that I wrote when I was sitting at the computer. It just struck me how very easy it is to sin while surfing the internet, and I also thought about how there’s little sayings, and prayer-like things that people write to hang on plaques and frame on the wall, and I thought that someone should make one to hang on the computer screen.

My Mom is Spoiled

Posted By: Deanna

Need I say more?

Did you notice the footstool? Look at the woman! She’s living in the lap of luxury.

This is a picture of a woman for whom mandatory dish washing, laundry washing/folding, dinner cooking, bed making etc. are a thing of the far past. The main part of her duties consists of shopping (not for long) blog maintenance, and general parental oversight.

She’s been promoted to management.

Not that I mind. When we gave her the Netbook for Christmas she said “Wow, I like having rich kids.” But she’s been getting foot/hand massages, not to mention all of the cocoa, cocoa-mocha, frappucinos, chocolate milk, snacks, shoulder rubs, hair brushings, etc that she’s been getting for years.

Again, I’m not complaining. She’s earned it. Just today though I made her a ready made cocoa-mocha first thing in the morning (first thing for her. It was 10:30), and for brunch I think it was  Megan that made her a cheese and bean chimichanga.

The late rising isn’t normal, but the rest of it is. Far cry from the old days, eh Mom?

On a complete side note, here is a look at what we were doing while she slept.

When we say “yardwork”, it generally means that we take clippers, saws, rakes, and elbow grease and turn this:

Into this.

Let me tell you, this picture makes all of the sweat, scratches, tiredness, blisters, and everything else completely and totally worth it.

In which I shall show off shamelessly

Posted by: Deanna

Yes, I know that during December you’re supposed to give other people presents, but after Kaitlyn made herself a vest I decided that mine couldn’t wait.

I used pleather for the outside, blue satin for the lining, and if you look closely at the photos you can see the really cool celtic interlock buttons.

It was surprisingly easy to make, especially since Kait was able to walk me through the hard parts. I think the worst setback was when I sewed the side section of the lining onto the opposite side of the piece it was supposed to go on, and ended up having to cut out a new piece of lining. Blue satin is the most unreasonable fabric EVER.

See how happy I am? See the necklace that Mom and Dad gave me? See the half healed wound on my knee that I got when I tried to jump off of a cart that I was riding downhill in the HEB parking lot?

Now I’m a real cowboy. See my invisible gun? In this picture you can see the side seam, which I really happen to love because it makes the whole thing so easy to alter. You see, instead of having to mess around with darts or gathering in the front, the  whole back of the vest is one piece. So if I suddenly got a lot thicker or thinner, I could just take the stitches out and add or subtract up to an inch on each side.

And if you look closely at this picture, you can see the wonderful, beautiful, awesome, splendiferous, supercalafrajalisticexpeallidocious, hoop earrings that my darling Aunt Roxy and Uncle Chris gave me.

In which I rant

Posted by: Deanna

I just want to make sure everyone knows


(bleah, shiver, shudder)

As much as I love cool, chilly, or dry weather I am firmly of the opinion that cold, WET weather is




whew. Just had to get that out of my system. All right, rant over. You may return to your normal daily life.