Tag Archives: cousin

JAMIE’S BLOG – YEAR 9 – DAY 276 cousins

6 Oct

{trust}  

What a wonderful surprise in New Orleans! I couldn’t have planned this better if I tried. A night of fun, food and catching up with the girls I grew up with but we just happened to be in New Orleans. It makes me wonder if life put us here for a reason… and in that I trust. 

Trust me!
More tomorrow.
Jamie

{trust}
#lovemore

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Day 315: f*ing friday :: freedom

11 Nov

TGIF.
Today continues the weekly series, F*ing Fridays, which will coincidentally occur on Friday. I mentioned some of my favorite F words back on Day 5, including: Fearless, Fabulous, Fine, Fun, Faith, Freedom, Forgiveness, to name a Few.

Last week I dove into the word Fast-lane.

Today’s F*ing Friday is dedicated to the word:
Freedom

As in, home sweet home.

Veterans Day.
My grandfather served in the military.  My father served in the military too.

Cousins and even my sister served.  I did not.  It was never a fit for me.

For one, I really hate being yelled at or told what to do.  And, I’ve seen enough movies to know I wouldn’t survive basic training.  Plus, those shoes?

I blame my creative gene.  It causes me to bristle when told there is only one way to do things, to follow, to step in line.  When I am told there is only one way to do things, well… that’s all I need to muster up enough ingenuity to prove that rule wrong.

I’ve always been this way I guess.
Makes for a great artist.  Or calligrapher.  Or oil painter.  Or marketer.  All of which I can do.

But defend, protect and serve?
Well, let’s just say while I have a full expression of the shoe gene the military gene skipped over me.

Which makes me even more thankful and grateful to those who serve.
And, their families.

Today as we unlocked the door to our Florida apartment for the winter I had many thoughts race through my mind about home.

Just where is home?
I have personally lived in many homes.

The warm and loving four bedroom suburban Idaho house with dinner on the table on time every night, a hug before bed and a Christmas full of presents.

My first apartment out of college shared with two other roommates on the edge of Southeast Washington D.C.

The first purchase as a married couple — a palatial unfinished loft in Boston with 22-foot ceilings and enough design challenges to fill Nate Berkus television programming for a year.

A tiny one-bedroom cocoon in my best friend’s parents Massachusetts house to shelter me through the storm — a.k.a. my divorce.

An island bed and breakfast in Vineyard Haven — without the breakfast — where Justin and I rekindled our high school love and began our new life together.

A winter abode in Naples — the land of water fountains, golf courses and white sand beaches — to hibernate away the cold months.

Most of these I rented.
One of these I owned, and then f*ing lost.
And then, one found me in a perfect place I never could have dreamed of.

All I called home.
But I probably wouldn’t have had any of these options without those who served with their time and their lives in the military.

Like my grandfather, and my father, and my cousins and my sister.  And yours too.

Like the ones we celebrate today.
Thank you vets, for all of my homes.

Homes.
Sweet.
Homes.

 

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