Home: DIY Christmas Tree Skirt

Add this to the category of "things I DIYed but could have paid less if I bought off the shelf." Also add this to the category of "things I meant to post about before Christmas but didn't and yes today is December 30, so I am getting this one in right under the wire."

Back at the beginning of the holiday season, I made a Christmas tree skirt.  And by "make" I mean simply cut some felt and trim, and glue the trim onto the skirt.  Super easy, but not super affordable. But I love it, and it's totally my style, and I made it with my little girl, so I guess that is priceless.  At least that is what I am telling myself.  Here's the skirt!

I saw this gorgeous tree skirt on Design*Sponge last year, and it seemed easy enough.  My old tree skirt was very simple red scalloped felt -- something I grabbed at Target just because I needed something to cover the bottom of the tree (my mom had made one for me before but I think it got destroyed or lost in a move or it's possible it's still being used by my ex).  So when I saw this gorgeous, textured number from Design Sponge that was a DIY, I thought it was perfect.  

I printed out the Design*Sponge tutorial, which was my shopping list and got my supplies at JoAnn's.  I bought a big piece of ivory felt that was in their scrap bin (they had several of these) and then spent some time with the trim picking out exactly what I wanted.  Ummmm, it was super expensive.  I almost died when the cashier told me the total (which was close to $100 ...) but decided I was committed to this project and would see it through.  This was last year.

On the morning that we put up our tree (which was the weekend after Thanksgiving), my little girl and I made the skirt by following the directions on the tutorial.  It was very easy.  The hardest part was choosing which trim to put where on the skirt.  First, we cut a hole in the center.  Easy enough.

Then, we glued the tassel/brush trim around the edges and in the middle.  In order to make the skirt look nice and neat and not like a roving band of preschoolers did it, I used a ruler to make sure that the trim was at least somewhat uniformly placed around the skirt.

There was no science to it. We chose which trim we liked and where it should go.  I regret not buying more of the thick sequined trim.  We ran out of that and could only do one strip of it.  Sad face.  

The skirt is a little small, but my tree is also a little small, so the scale works.  If I do this again (and that's a big "if" given the cost of the supplies), I would make sure to get a very large scrap of fabric for the skirt.  Here it is complete and under the tree!

Whew! Just under the wire with the Christmas craft.  I hope you had terrific holidays. The new year is upon us.  Time for fresh starts, resolutions and renewed hope that this year will be the best one yet. 

Lucky number 40

Well look who's 40!  Today!  

That's right, y'all.  I'm the big four-oh!  And I am grabbing 40 by the big brass ones.  Needless to say, 40 is a huge milestone.  I think it's way bigger than 30.  I know there have been movies and shows and books about the mid-life crisis that's supposed to accompany turning 40, but to be honest, I haven't been looking at 40 as something lurking in the corner, waiting for me to get there and pounce on me like this adorable, yet menacing, cat:

Rather, I have been looking at 40 like this - with me as the Kool Aid Man bursting through a big wall.

That's right.  I went full on Kool Aid Man on you!  And now I want Kool Aid.  Anyway, no mid-life crisis for this girl, no crying in my wine beer ... I won't be bemoaning the fact that I'm older or that my age starts with a "4" or that I'm as close to retirement as I am to starting college or that my body has changed or that I have laugh lines and crows feet -- though all of those things are all true.  The way I see it, is my thirties were my awakening.  I did the very difficult and often painful work of discovering who I was, what I wanted, what I didn't, and what my life was all about. I am certain that my parents and grandmothers would read that and laugh -- that I think at age 40 I've got it all figured out.  I am not so bold as to say that, but I know a lot more about life, love, loss and myself than I did just a decade ago.  I am ready to turn 40 and embrace the new decade and season of my life and wait for the good things and lessons that are yet to unfold.  The difference between now and ten years ago is I feel equipped  to handle what may come, and I know that what may come will be beautiful, horrible, painful, sublime and everything in between.

I've also been thinking.  I've been thinking a lot.  I tend to do that, as I think this blog shows.  But in life, when a milestone approaches, one ponders.  I've been doing a lot of thinking and reflecting and pondering as I near the close to mid-way point (Deo volente) of my journey through this life and I've realized that there has been one thing that I have been really wrong about:  luck. 

This realization was prompted by a gift from my parents.  They recently went on a trip to Scotland and Ireland.  They always ask what I'd like as a souvenir, and usually my answer is a Christmas tree ornament.  But this time, I asked for a Celtic knot necklace.  I love simple jewelry and I thought a pretty little Celtic knot would be something I could wear all of the time.  They brought one back for me, and a very similar, but smaller, version for my little girl.  When she gave it to me, my mom said that the knot meant something, but she could not remember what ... that each of the knots has a unique meaning but she could not for the life of her remember what mine was.  I figured I could google it and figure it out eventually.  One night as I took off my necklace, I looked closely on the back and realized that the answer was right in front of me the entire time and stamped onto the back of the necklace: my knot meant luck.  

And I realized, just like that, I've been living a life filled with luck.  Just like I have been walking around for weeks with luck literally hanging around my neck without knowing it, I realized I have been living the most luckiest life of all.  I've never thought of myself as a particularly "lucky" person, and I've never really believed in luck, at least for me.  I always ascribed to Lucille Ball's philosophy of making your own "luck":

Luck? I don't know anything about luck.

I've never banked on it and I'm afraid of people who do.

Luck to me is something else:  hard work and realizing what is opportunity and what isn't.

While I can say with conviction that many of my life's blessings are the result of my hard work, I have to admit that so many more -- the really important ones -- are the result of pure and total luck.  Of things beyond my control.   I'm talking about my relationships and the people who I treasure more dearly than any possession or any accomplishment.  Those are all the result of luck.  Ironman  or marathon finish? That was me.  My success in college and law school? My hard work.  Career? All me.  But friendship ... family ... love ... those are not things you can attain by working hard and putting your head down and seeing it through.  Those are, at least at the outset, by and large, all driven by luck.  By somehow magically being in the right place at the exact right time.  

I am lucky that I have two incredible, kind, sweet, smart children.  Sure, part of who they are is shaped by me and their dad, but I believe a bigger part of them was who they were when they were born.  Their capacity for and ability to love humbles me and shows me that regardless of how I might feel to the contrary, I have done something really right by them.  Sometimes I just watch them do their homework, or watch a show, or work on an art project and am overwhelmed that these two perfect little creatures are here because of me.

I am lucky that I was born to two wonderful, loving parents.  I had no control over this.  My mom and dad have always encouraged me and never once made me feel like I couldn't do anything I set my mind to.  My parents were and continue to be first in line when it comes to supporting me - whether it was by watching me with a bunch of friends put on The Muppet Show, or by applauding my sister and me dancing in our tutus to ABBA, or driving up to Lake Placid to see me become an Ironman.  I feel like I make them proud. But they make me proud as well.

I am lucky that both of my grandmothers, who are in their late 80s, are still with us.  I am so so blessed to have such strong, smart, vibrant role models in them for the past 40 years.  They are both incredible women.  

I am lucky that my sister was born some 3 years and 4 months after I was.  She was my first friend, and while we are very different, we are always sisters and have each others' backs like no one else.  As we have gotten older, we have gotten closer.  I am looking forward to becoming even better friends.  

I am lucky that by some stroke of luck, my friend Heather and I were both in Mrs. Nidorf's first grade class. And that despite some tween-angsty ups and downs we managed to stay friends essentially from age 6 to the present day.  And I am lucky that I played field hockey in high school with "the girl with the red shin guards from Hopewell."  My friend Angie and I met in high school and became fast, close friends.  Angie, Heather and I were, and are, so close through good times, bad times and everything in between.   We literally grew up together, laughed and cried together; and we continue to grow together and laugh and cry together.  We just have a lot better hair and clothes than we did in the early 1990s.  

I am lucky that the powers that be at Catholic University put me in close proximity in the same dorm as my friends Missy, Maggie, Melissa and Julia.  Looking back, we became friends solely because of where our dorm rooms were located.  I came into my own in college, and these girls were there.  We became adult women together and have not only remained friends but have gotten closer.  Our friendship was strengthened 8 years ago when Maggie died.  The five of us spent one last night together, with Missy, Melissa, Julia and I sitting vigil with Maggie in her hospital room.  Our friendship has continued to grow despite our loss, but I believe that our friendship keeps Maggie alive.  Things are not real until I tell my Catholic girls.    

I am lucky that my friend Colleen and I ended up going to the same law school, and despite living together for a year, remained friends.  Haha.  Colleen's perspective on life and love has come to my rescue many times.  Colleen, more than anyone else in my life until that point, encouraged me to be myself and thought that the person who I was (and am) was weird and funny and that I should never change.  

I am lucky that I stumbled upon the Martha Stewart wedding boards back in 2001 when I got engaged ... and that almost 30 other remarkable women -- my "Wedding Friends" -- did as well. We've gone from talking about dresses and flowers and favors to children and divorces and marriage.  Our perspectives and lives are as different as our geographic reach.  They are dear, precious friends.  Abby, Andrea, Angie, Ava, Camille, Debbie, Denise, Heidi, Jeanine, Jen, Jennie, Juliet, Kate, Lea, Liz, Lynn, Madelyn, Mandie,  Marci, Maya, Nicole, Patti, Rachel, Rose, Toya and Yovanka -- all of them have shaped who I am.  

I am lucky, though this may seem odd to be considered a "lucky" thing, that my dear friend Toya and I were newly single again around the same time.  When you are newly divorced, you feel as though everyone around you is a couple, and you are very, painfully alone.  Frankly, it is kind of true.  But Toya and I, who had struck up a very close friendship some 6 years prior, helped each other through what was at times a painfully lonely time.  That shared experience brought us even closer.  And now the two of us have found happy, fulfilling relationships ... oddly enough one month to the day apart.  She knows everything about me.  We are soul sisters.   

I am lucky that Toya decided to try to sell her half marathon bib that she could not run rather than take a loss. And that when I emailed my running club about the bib, Tina answered.  Tina and I started talking races, running and unicorns and have been close friends ever since.  There is no way we would have met had this not happened.  Lucky lucky.   She makes me laugh on the regular and only she knows the importance of owning a pair of yoga pants emblazoned with unicorns and rainbows.  

I am lucky that even though my marriage did not make it, my relationship with my former sister in law, Jamie, did.  Jamie is my sister forever and a dear, treasured friend.  We talk often and see each other as often as we can.  I am lucky that what started out with us being the spouses of brothers turned into a close friendship of our own.  I've seen Jamie become a wife, and now a mother. I am lucky that she will always be in my life.

I am lucky that I happened to have the exact same train schedule as my sweet friend Robyn and that she took pity on a very pregnant woman who needed a seat.  We had seen each other for months on the morning and afternoon trains that we took and one day struck up a conversation about how unkind people on the train were to pregnant women.  We became friends and realized we had so much in common.  Thank you SEPTA for being the catalyst for my friendship with this wonderful, sweet and always got your back friend. 

I am lucky that when I started my career at my firm, Amy did as well.  And that we were somehow staffed on the same case that enabled us to get to know each other better.  We became friends, and then close friends and then super duper close friends.  I am lucky that we run, and swim, and bike at the same pace.  There's nothing quite so therapeutic as a run with a close friend.  And I am lucky that when she could not train with me for the 2012 Philly marathon that Bill could and that Amy insisted that we train together.  Bill and I didn't really know each other well, but on our first long training run, he said, "So tell me the story of your life.  We've got a lot of running to do.  We might as well start there."  And a friendship of our own was born.  I am lucky that my two friends have been my training partners [IRONMEN!] and dear friends who supported me through some of the highest, and some of the lowest, times in my life.  They're about as close to family as you can get.  

I am lucky that my incredible boyfriend Matt and I happened to meet online in the early Summer and that the line "so how was your Monday?" was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.  I am so lucky that despite what happened in our respective pasts that we were (and are) both happy people and both truly ready for and open to love.  And that we found each other.  I am lucky that he loves me for who I am and does not want to change a single thing about me -- even my music.  I am lucky that we love one another and tell each other how we feel.  Not only am I lucky to be loved by him, but I am so lucky to love him.  The first picture is one that he took of me, and he is responsible for that smile.  He makes me happy.  So very happy.  And what else can you ask for in life than to be really, truly, purely happy?  

And finally, I am lucky that I am here.  That I was able to wake up this morning, take a deep breath, look around at all of my blessings and live another beautiful day on this Earth.  And take a run and listen to my horrible music.  And then have a delicious IPA because beer makes me happy.  And cake.  And maybe cry a little, because I am a sap but also truly thankful for my luck in life, so much so that it brings me to tears.  And I'm thankful for this blog - it's been my creative outlet for years and a place where I love to share a little bit of me with the big world [wide web].  Today's post was about as "me" as they come - cats, Kool Aid, running, beer, Latin [Deo volente means "God willing" - I've been waiting ages to use this phrase], dorkiness, love, and most of all, the people who I love and who love me.  

So tonight I will spend the evening with my darling children and the love of my life eating my birthday meal of fried chicken and thanking God for the incredible life of luck and consequent love with which I've been blessed.

Here's to 40.  

Grief is the Price We Pay for Love

My friend Maggie was, herself, a contradiction - a tiny person with a huge personality; a beautiful woman who was most comfortable in fuzzy novelty socks from Target and jeans; a thoughtful, quiet presence with an enormous and unforgettable laugh.  So in a way, her death on December 6, 2007, seemed to fit that mold.  That profound sadness and grief at a time when the rest of the world was celebrating and filled with hope. 

It's been 8 years.  Eight years since I got the phone call and lived the following 5 days that would change me forever.  Eight years since one of my very best friends quietly, beautifully, and with incredible strength, left this world.  Eight years since I saw her face.  

Her death was unexpected.  She wasn't sick.  It wasn't a disease or an affliction.  It was just "one of those things," which is what people say when they don't know what else to say.  She was there and then she was not.  She hung on for days, and I truly believe that was so that we could all come see her and say our goodbyes.  Even though we weren't really prepared for the fact that we were saying goodbye.

I vividly remember looking out of the window at the hospital on the morning of her death before she died, knowing what was about to happen in a very short time, and watching the cars on the Beltway below race to wherever they were going.  I remember wanting to scream at their drivers "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IS HAPPENING IN HERE?" because, to me, it was unfathomable and unfair that the entire world was not grieving and feeling those same feelings as we were.  That this beautiful life was about to be gone forever and there they were, going about their daily routine, unfazed by the sadness and grief and horror that was happening so painfully and acutely right then and there to me.  But I didn't scream. I sat at the window, held my very pregnant belly in silence and cried.  And to this day, when I drive on the Beltway and see that hospital, my heart aches and my eyes well with tears.  

Even though it has been eight years, I am still unprepared for the way I feel in early December.  I always know, in my head, that the anniversary is coming, but I am never prepared.  I know it's coming.  In the back of my mind, I think "OK December 6 is coming ... it will be sad."  If only grief were logical.  If only grief understood that time is supposed to make things easier to bear.  I've stopped trying to figure out why I feel the way that I do.  I just accept it and deal.  After all, life goes on, which is a painful truth of grief.  There is work to be done, children to be mothered, errands to be run, bills to be paid, life to be lived in all of its grand and mundane details.  Grief is always there.  

As I write this post, I have a candle flickering nearby.  It's the holidays, and I love to have holiday candles in my house.  I've had to take a few moments from writing this to wipe away my tears and I find myself looking at my candle and the flame, and it occurs to me that grief is so much like a flickering flame.  It's always there burning ... when it starts the flame is the largest and the most intense, and then the fire settles a bit but it keeps burning and it stays burning, sometimes low and quiet, and sometimes, without warning or reason, bursting with an unexpected bolt of fire.  There's no real rhyme or reason, and there's no real antidote to it.  It's just there.  And in a way, it's comforting.  I hate to think of a time in my life when I am not grieving the loss of my very dear friend.  My 8 years of grief have been just like that: a long slow burn with occasional and unpredictable bursts of profound sadness.  Such is life.  And such is death.  

I miss her every single day.  I miss her the most at this time of year.   With 8 years, I can actually see differences in my appearance from the last time she was with us.  But Maggie will always be young and beautiful.  I am thankful and grateful to God that I knew her.  I miss my friend.

Rest in Peace, Maggie.  We will always love you.

Race Recap: 2015 Philadelphia Half Marathon

Hello and happy post Thanksgiving it's Christmas time how did that happen? time! I know that I have really neglected the blog and it's a goal of mine to get back to it on a more regular basis.  I have so many thoughts and blog posts in my head, but making the time to write isn't happening right now.  It will.  

But I have a race recap!  On Sunday November 22, I ran the Philadelphia Half Marathon.  It's the first race I've done since the disastrous New Jersey State Marathon in April ... April!!!  Just about 7 months to the day even.  After that race -- actually during that race -- I realized I had lost my racing mojo and needed to take a break.  A break from racing, not running.  I allowed myself the Summer and Fall to just enjoy running (and a tiny bit of biking and an even tinier bit of swimming) and run for the love of it without a training plan.  I had signed up for the Philly half a long time ago because, at the time, I thought it would be a good first race to start my Boston Marathon training.  When Boston didn't happen, I knew I'd still run Philly because it's such a great race at such a perfect time of year.  And frankly, after training for full marathons for so long, training for a half felt a lot more fun and more manageable.  It is.  I won't and would never say training for a half is "easy", because it is not, but it is definitely less onerous than training for a full.  I truly enjoyed training and only did what I wanted to do: long runs and a mix of shorter runs.  No speedwork.  No hill repeats.  No intervals.  This was to be about fun and what I love, and while those things truly work to make me a stronger, faster runner, they do not make me very happy.  

My "training plan" for the half, such as it was, enabled me to focus on the pure joy of running and why I was doing it in the first place.  It was just what I needed.  And I found that the more I ran and focused on the race, the more I really wanted to race.   It was a feeling I hadn't felt in quite a long time.  Races had become part of the drill ... something that I did, versus something that I really wanted to do.  So this shift alone was exciting for me.  Oddly enough, I did not feel the competitive urge to hit a certain time or to get a PR.  Of course, I wanted to have a strong, fast race, and I wanted to get a new PR, but I also knew I wasn't in tip top fighting running shape, so a great race of which I could be proud was the number one goal.  

Something very sweet happened in the start corral that showed me that just that would happen.  Backing up first, ever since my friend Maggie died eight years ago this December, when I run in the Autumn, I try to catch a falling leaf in my hand as I run.  When I do, I like to think it's a little nod from Mags.  I don't know why, but it's what I do and it makes me feel her presence, and oddly enough, it happens quite a bit.  As I stood in the corral on the Ben Franklin Parkway in Philly, I was thinking about my race and how I would run, when a leaf fell right on my head.  It was so random and so weird because I was on a street in Philly, not in a wooded trail.  I liked to think it was Maggie bopping me on the head saying "just have fun."  And have fun I did!

I raced this one in 1:53:38 [8:40/mile pace].  Certainly not a personal best, but it was a really solid, strong effort and I truly did love every moment and every mile of this race.  Initially I thought I would try to follow the race plan I used for the Philly Love Run in March 2014, but after a few miles, I decided to just run by feel.  Even though my race was not my fastest, the miles ticked off faster in this race than in any I have ever done.  So much so, that unlike in past races, I cannot really remember vivid detail of each mile.  I was so happy to be running and surrounded by other runners that I focused on the experience versus details.

The last time I ran the Philly Half was in 2011 and my life was completely different then.  So was my running.  I raced that one in 2:06:15 [9:37/mile pace].  This year I was 114th of 824 women in my age group, 936th of 6,595 women and 2398th of 10,903 overall.

Here's a list of my splits (these may be a little fast because my watch had me at running 13.15 miles ... but I am too lazy to figure out the differences and they're not that far off):  

Miles 1-6 -- I just remember feeling so happy and so fast!  Initially I wanted to run these miles between 8:25 and 8:30.   There is no feeling like running down the Ben Franklin Parkway at the start of the race with tons of people cheering you on.  It was a very warm day for the race ... I was happy to be in just a tee shirt.  With each mile I looked at my watch and thought, ok, good mile, keep it up.  I was surprised at South Street - this was the first year where it was pretty empty.  It's usually filled more with spectators.

Mile 1: 8:33
Mile 2: 8:38
Mile 3: 8:16
Mile 4: 8:23
Mile 5: 8:22
Mile 6: 8:32

Mile 7 is my favorite.  It's the absolute best.  You run up Chestnut Street essentially the entire length to Drexel.  And it is packed - three people deep - with people cheering.  This mile is almost always my fastest mile on this race for that reason.  You can't help but feel like a running rockstar on this mile.

Mile 7: 8:10

Miles 8-10 are rough.  Mile 8 is a hill at Drexel, and while it's not particularly steep, it is super long and seems interminable.  What helps in this mile is it's very populated with college kids, most of whom are drinking (and offering) beer.  So fun.  Mile 9 is near the zoo and has a couple of little hills.  Mile 10 is the doozy - a huge, steep, long, punishing hill to the Please Touch Museum.  It's the hardest, and the last, hill on the course, and the reward is my running club (including Amy and Bill!) are at the top handing out water, Gatorade and gels.  Knowing that my good friends were at the top made me inspired to get up that hill ... and it was awesome to see them.  They told me where they would be, so I stayed to that side and got huge high fives from them when I saw them.

Mile 8: 8:59
Mile 9: 8:38
Mile 10: 9:07

Miles 11-13 are back on the flat ground and are straight to the finish. I was happy to rally and hit my usual 8:30ish pace.  The photo is about a half mile from the finish.  I was pushing hard here!

Mile 11: 8:26
Mile 12: 8:25
Mile 13: 8:38
Mile 13.1: 7:54

As I got closer to the finish, I looked at my watch and knew that a PR was out of reach.  I was totally OK with this.  My inclination at the finish is always to push it as hard as I can, but this time, I decided to just hold the pace.  An extra thirty seconds-minute wouldn't make a difference, and I wanted to just soak in the sights and sounds of the finish line.  I always try to turn off my music and listen to everything, and this race was no exception.  I love that feeling of seeing the finish and hearing all the cheers and cowbells.  And because I finished before the first full marathon finisher, Mayor Nutter was still on the half marathon side to give high fives to finishers!  I got a nice high five from the outgoing mayor.  Woo hoo.  

What a great race!  And look at this medal! A little Liberty Bell that actually rings! It rings!  It was hilarious walking back to my car because of the pure cacophony of hundreds and hundreds of ringing medals!  The full marathon finishers got the bigger red one and the half finishers got the yellow one.

This was my last big race of my 30s, and what a way to go out.  I'm allowing myself a full on sleighride of no pressure fun through the holidays, but come January, I'll resume swim-bike-run training.  Nothing Ironman crazy, but I am looking forward to the variety again.

PS: playlist time! I created a new, fantastic playlist for this race.  This one is a little heavy on Chicago and Lionel Richie, and very light on ABBA.  Enjoy! I sure did!  My notes in italics!

1812 Overture (Finale) (London Philharmonic Orchestra) don't laugh - it will make you feel like a winner!
A Horse With No Name (America)
All Out of Love (Air Supply)
Annie's Song (John Denver)
Bad, Bad Leroy Brown ( Jim Croce)
Break My Stride (Matthew Wilder)
Can't Hold Us (feat. Ray Dalton) (Macklemore & Ryan Lewis)
Do You Hear the People Sing? (Les Misérables Original London Cast) 
Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is? (Chicago)
Double Dutch Bus (Frankie Smith)
Down (feat. Lil Wayne) (Jay Sean)
Dynamite (Taio Cruz)
Emotion (Samantha Sang)
Feels So Good (Chuck Mangione)
The Gambler (Kenny Rogers)
Hard to Say I'm Sorry / Get Away (Chicago)
I Can't Hold Back (Survivor)
I Got a Name (Jim Croce)
If I Had $1,000,000 (Barenaked Ladies)
If You Could Read My Mind (Ela Wardi)
If You Leave Me Now (Chicago)
It Takes Two (Rob Base)
It's Not Unusual (Tom Jones)
It's the Same Old Song (Four Tops)
Knowing Me, Knowing You (ABBA) this was the last song that played at the race, which I loved, as it's my swim song and the first song I sang at the Ironman (and every other tri) swim start.
Let It Be (John Denver)
Let It Go (Demi Lovato)
Let's Hang On (The Four Seasons)
Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now (Starship)
Oh No (The Commodores)
One Moment In Time (Whitney Houston)
Party In the U.S.A. (Miley Cyrus)
Philadelphia Freedom (Elton John) gotta have this song at a Philly race
Push It (Salt-n-Pepa)
Reflections (Diana Ross & The Supremes)
Sailing (Christopher Cross)
Saturday In the Park (Chicago)
Shake It Off (Taylor Swift)
Sloop John B (The Beach Boys)
Take Me Home, Country Roads (John Denver)
The Tears of a Clown (Smokey Robinson & The Miracles)
Theme from "Greatest American Hero" (Believe It or Not) (Joey Scarbury)
This Is It (Kenny Loggins)
Truly (Lionel Richie)
Weekend In New England (Barry Manilow) I love to run so much to this song I played it twice.  sure did. may have even run with emphatic arm and hand motions.  
While You See a Chance (Steve Winwood)
Working My Way Back to You (Spinners)
You Are (Lionel Richie) sigh ... love this song.  love lionel.  
You Give Love a Bad Name ( Bon Jovi)
You May Be Right (Billy Joel)
You Shook Me All Night Long (AC/DC)
You're the Inspiration (Chicago)
(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher & Higher (Jackie Wilson)

What I Wore {post 80} June 2015 Style Challenge - finishing it up ... in October

Hello and happy Friday!  I realized that when I left the blog untended for so long that I also forgot to wind up my June (!) Style Challenge.  Here are the last few days of that.

As with prior weeks in the challenge, I had to move things around based on work schedule and what not.  Also, I played around with a new photo editing app ... and I'm not thrilled with the results, but I want to publish this sucker! 

June 22:  Whiteout 

I found this white dress at Loft last year.  I'd always wanted a white dress and this one is perfect for Summer.  It's not exactly perfect for work, but I just paired it with a lightweight white cardigan and a fun turquoise belt that I grabbed from Nordstrom.  I love this belt!  

June 23:  Nautical

I got this dress from Stitch Fix, which is a new guilty pleasure.  My stylist for this particular fix nailed my style, and I love love love this dress.  There's nothing more nautical than navy blue and white stripes.  Except maybe a sailor hat but that isn't happening.  

June 24:  Cold Shoulder

I had a meeting this day but it was pretty warm and thought a sleeveless top would work.  I got this at the Ann Taylor outlet with Jamie awhile ago.  I wore it with simple black pants.  

June 25: A dress to the floor

LOVE THIS DRESS.  Love it.  I needed to go full on ALL CAPS because at 5'1", it is impossible to find a long dress that works on me.  Impossible.  Truly impossible.  And this does.  I got it at Nordstrom.  My only regret is not buying it in every color and pattern.  

June 26:  Summer feet

And the final day - summer feet! I wore my orange sandals (from Target!) with a cute floral top and jeans to work on a casual Friday. 

And there you go.  It only took me four months to finish, but better late than never? Better late than never.

Have a terrific weekend! And Happy Halloween!