proud

(This will probably be one of my longer blog entries.)

Jason and I attended his ball on Wednesday night. The day leading up to it was fraught with stress, fights (between me and my sister, not me and Jason), the big move hovering over us, and dealing with the less than stellar people in the moving offices. By the time cocktail hour rolled around either of us felt much like celebrating the 233rd birthday of the Marine Corps. But off we went, dutifully into the night.

It was exactly what we needed. The speeches by the Commanding General, the Commandant, and the guest speakers were amazing. Some of the phenomenal one liners from the evening were: "The United Sates doesn't need the Marine Corps; they want the Marine Corps..." "Unlike my generation of Marines, your generation wasn't drafted. You chose to stand up and promise to defend this nation against all enemies, foreign and domestic..." "The greatest thing in a Marine's career has nothing to do with the Marine Corps, and everything to do with the Marine Corps: his wife..."

They showed images of the Beirut bombing, of Iwo Jima, of all the small battles that we forget about; they capped it off with the images of 9/11. They reminded us all just how wonderful the Marine Corps really was. I cried for most of the ceremony, and looked at my husband in a whole new light. I walked away feeling truly motivated, but mostly lucky; lucky that I have a wonderful Marine of my own; lucky that he chose to do the unthinkable and become part of such a wonderful group; lucky that I've had him for this long; and lucky that he so believes in his calling.

(Our last Marine Corps Ball picture in North Carolina)

(My handsome Marine, who I could not be more proud of)

(The Marines guarding the birthday cake)

(From my tears)

(This table was very significant. It was set for all those who could not celebrate us. The candle represents the everlasting flame of life; the purple heart for the wounded, POWs, and MIAs; the upside down dishes are in their memory since they cannot dine with us; the spilled glass represents our spilled tears over their memories...)

(...and last but not least, the empty dog tags to remind us at that any time it could be our Marine)

i think my husband hates me sometimes

Not literally of course! Some days I wonder how he can put up with me--my ever changing mind, my new loves, my old loves, my new likes, my new dislikes...the list could go on and on.

We've always had some trouble when it comes to decorating our house. It started off Asian influenced, and we ran out and bought the biggest bedroom set we could afford (what a mistake that was--living in and out of base housing, I've now learned that bigger is not better)! Then we decided we'd lean more towards the brown family, coffee and chocolate themes. So we ran out and bought a set of very modern (over sized) couches for the living room. Yeah...we're now attempting to sell them.

Finally, we came to where we are now: a mismatched house, no real redecorating money to speak of, and a variety of colors that makes our house look...well, mismatched. And not in the good way. I've promised Jason that I will try to get better about my hobbies. I am, by nature, a dish whore, and since I can't get the desire out of my veins, I've started expressly buying white dishes. At least this way, they will all mix and match in the good way. We've also started scouring Craig's List and the local flea markets for furniture, which affords us the ability to sand and repaint to our hearts' content for mere dollars. Our gorgeous dining room table (solid oak pedestal table with a center leaf for extension) was a CL find for only $50, and we painted it a sumptuous creamy white.

I've told Jason that I now want to go in the direction of vintage Americana (because truly, my love of anything vintage never seems to wane, and with him being a Marine it seems more than appropriate, and red seems to be a color I can't quite unhitch myself from). He just smiles and says, "Okay baby doll," and I know he's really thinking Whatever you say because you'll change your mind in about a week.

But you won't find any big barn stars decorating my little nest. My definition of Americana is anything truly American vintage. Be it old Hollywood style dripping with glamour, sweet little red cherries paired with red checkered cloth, blue transfer ware lining the shelves... Sorry for pictures of pictures, my trusty scanner has pooped out on me.

(BH&G was my first flea market magazine and is a very treasured possession; notice the reds and whites mixed together--they don't scream traditional "Americana" but with a touch of blue thrown in you'd be set)

(How simple and cute is the idea of a red and white pillow on a chair--match it up with a blue and white one and it fits; same with the embroidered hanky hanging in the frame {yes, that's my red finger nail in the picture})