Consignment Couture


In reFURbished I shared how I shop consignment in order to clothe myself with fur, without short-circuiting my animal loving mind and cutting out my animal loving heart.

Some would call this justification.

Or hypocrisy (for the real all up in your face and business critics).

Don’t judge.

Let’s call it creativity.

Innovative, even.

Being the self-proclaimed creative clothing innovator that I am, I have found some fabulous fashions at consignment and antique shops.

Furs, petticoat, coats (fur and wool and ultra fem) and such.

A few months back my spirit sister Amy and I were perusing a local consignment shop when I found this jacket and top.

Perfect pieces for Autumn layering.

Consignment Couture

Then without warning, like a possessed person, I said, “I should shop only consignment for one year! The adventure of it and places it will take me will be just as fun as the shopping!”

Excuse me?!?  Who said that???  I hear crazy people.

AND no, I don’t speak in italics.  But there, I said it.

Now, Amy is the type of friend who will support you until {the lifting of the veil}.  As long as no children or animals or the elderly are being negatively affected, Amy will rah-rah me and help pick out the cutest outfit that best suits whatever crazy-pants plan I conjure up.  So of course, Amy was all like, “Yes! And, I will do it with you!”  Me, “OK!!!”

When I left that day I started with all the “what if’s”.  What if I need something for something and I can’ t find it at consignment?  What if, for instance, I want a polka dot top and I can’t find one? I bet I could find one at such and such or such.

Reality :: I don’t need anything.  I have plenty, so I shouldn’t want for anything.  As a matter of fact, I could go without buying a single item for a year… or longer.


Then I realized it was more than the fun and adventure.  The discipline I would have to exert could and would be a spiritual one {for me}.  I needed to explore and honor where that voice spoke from.

I have learned with ALL of life, if I am open, I will see and feel and know {spirit}.  Something is happening here.  So listen up!

Consignment Couture

A couple of weeks after my new clothing hiatus declaration, I learned of the book ‘7 an experimental mutiny against excess’.  In ‘7’ the author limits herself to seven items of clothing for a month (there is way more to her experiment but, this is what initially resonated with me). Her experiment and my adventure are not the same but, I considered learning of this book as an affirmation.  Thank you.

Consignment Couture

Did I set any rules or guidelines?  Dang skippy!  A must.

1.  Absolute refusal to buy recycled undies.  Goes without saying why.

2.  Rule 2 is basically rule 1 but, shoes.  I am open to breaking this rule IF I come across some super fabulous, barely worn, non-funky shoes.

3.  Hair accessories do not apply {once}.  I made this rule up when I found a vintage inspired hairband at a boutique thinking it was all vintage.  Uhm no.  It was all vintage inspired but, also all new.  {sigh}

4.  No “new” jewelry.  Period.

Consignment Confession :: I allowed myself to stock up on new white long sleeve t’s.  Because to be honest, my old ones are stained and will be better used as an oil rag (as if I personally change the oil in my vehicle) or a dust rag or some other dirty work rag that doesn’t involve them ever being back on my body.  There is only so much bleach can do, people.

Back to the vintage inspired boutique that I thought was vintage, the salesclerk told me about a vintage shop in Asheville.  Googled it.  There are more than one.

Guess what?  It just so happens Amy, Gretchen and I are heading there this week to The Daily Love – Enter the Heart tour.

After a night of Kundalini yoga and immersing myself in {love}…  It’s so on.

Oh the interconnection.


Little Monsters!


Think my furry ones are trying to tell me what they want to be for Halloween.

Starski Ann :: a crazy eyed ghost.

Trick :: scare a treat out of me.



Clawson :: a cage dancer.

Or, in jail.

Because that’s where he just might find himself if he continues to confuse my legs for scratching posts.



Trick :: appear larger than he is.



Happy Halloween from my vamPAWS and their mummy!

Bugs & Hisses!



Emotional Vampires


They’ve come to suck your bloood!  You know those people or situations that drain. the. life. out. of. you.  The life moments that make you feel like you really just might need some packed red blood cells.  STAT!  You know, the times you feel like you stayed in the Medic bus one pint of blood too long.

Whether it is the kitty litter box, laundry, an acquaintance, a family member, your finances, your circumstances, a situation at work, the neighbor, your spouse, your children, other people’s children… you get my drift… blood suckers are all around us!  These real life situations are nothing like the thrilling and sexy scenes from some vampire/werewolf movie.  Not even close.


The Count on Sesame Street had it going on with the number thing.  Ooone, twooo, threee, fourrr… count it out!

After you’ve counted to a bazillion, gathered a mirror to confirm vampire status, purchased some garlic and a bright spotlight, filled your flask with Holy water, and cut down a tree in your yard to carve the world’s largest dagger, where do you go to renew your emotional wellbeing?

In certain medical situations a blood donor is directly hooked to the blood recipient.  Cool, right?


I need… you need… we need… a “spiritual donor”.

God.  Prayer.  Meditation.

Sister.  Parent.  Friend.

A good book.  Exercise.  Blog.  Garden.

A warm bubble bath with candles.

Oh wait.  The latter reminded me of the movie ‘Lost Boys’.  The blood sucking older brother, with a little help from the family dog, maintained self control; stopping shy of sucking the life from his bathing younger brother.

I humbly admit I become emotionally drained.  The feeling I am as weak as bloody water.  One of the reasons I started {soul}thern spirit was to shift my focus from the vampires.  If I shift my focus, I renew my emotional spirit, and take back my power.  My friends, this isn’t always easy for me.  But, until I become Chopra or Tolle like, I will continue to use those bloody vampires to suck me closer to a spiritual balance, which draws me closer to {GOD}.

So, thank you, emotional vampires!  You suck only as much as I allow you to.  So, bite me!




Taco Soup


Why hello, Autumn!

So nice to feel you in the cool crisp air and see your presence all around {again}.

Go ahead, embrace me with all that you are.

I surrender to your golden splendor.

As usual, you make me want warm soup and to snuggle and wear boots and scarves.

So, that is what I have been doing. Because that is what I do when you come to town.


For the first time, I noticed autumn and taco soup share a similar color scheme.

Love when I see something in a new way.


What it takes to make it happen ::

1-2 lb(s) ground beef or turkey or veggie “meat” or no meat

Chopped onion (cooked with meat or not with meat)

2 cans Rotel

1 can pinto beans

1 can navy beans

2 cans black beans

1 can super sweet whole kernel corn (drained)

1 package taco seasoning

1 package ranch dressing mix

1 1/2 cups of water

About the H2O :: this is what the recipe calls for but, I always use more.

Either the recipe is wrong or I boil the hound out of it.  Autumn can decide.


Where is the onion in the pictures, one might ask?

Forgot.  Amateur mistake.  Won’t let it happen again.

If you look real close… it is in there… zoom in if you need to…

Taco Soup

You will see meat in there too (made this for a friend).  I have tried two different veggie “meats” in the past but, I am still on the fence about that stuff.

Some of my meat eating friends and I concluded :: taco soup is just as yummy with or without meat.

Serve this bowl of aut-YUM tastiness with sour cream, shredded cheese, and tortilla or corn chips.

So you know :: this recipe makes a taco ton of soup so, it is far more than a single-serving.

Taco Soup



There’s no place like home. Repeat.


Home is where I first crawled, walked, rode a bike and horses, rolled around the yard, fished with Dad, was nursed back to health by my Mother, ate homemade meals, celebrated birthdays and holidays, caught lightening bugs for homemade night lights, tied thread to June Bug legs and flew them around like helicopters, fussed with my older sister and gave my baby sister a concussion flipping her off the porch swing (complete accident)… all those things you do when you are living a country child’s life to the fullest.


Home is where Fibi and I spent the last two weeks of my mother’s life. Home is where I spoke to Crystal about letting our Mother go when it was time.  Home is where my Mother took her last breath.  Home is where I bathed my Mother and changed her clothes before the funeral director took her away.

Then there was the passing of Crystal, my baby sister.

Home is where she resided her entire life.  Home is where the rocker sits covered in plastic, next to the baby crib; where she sadly never had a chance to rock her baby.  Home is where baby bottles and baby supplies sit on the counter, where Crystal placed them.

Home is where all our childhood photos remain on the walls and sitting around.

Since my Mother’s passing, for the most part, I have avoided going to my childhood home.

Going home is heavy and it hurts but, it is dear to me.

I have felt like the Cowardly Lion about going home.

But, as part of my “feel it to heal it” campaign, I found myself wanting to go “home”.

So, my frister Gretchen, her son Joseph, and I made the four hour round trip.

Dad met us there.

Dad and J

It was a beautiful, early autumn day.

So close to October 4th, I was full on Cowardly Lion.  I thought of my favorite CL line, “Put’em up, put’em up!  Which one of you first?  I’ll fight you both together if you want. I’ll fight you with one paw tied behind my back. I’ll fight you standing on one foot. I’ll fight you with my eyes closed.”  My fears may have believed it but, I knew I was cowardly lying.

For the first time, I was there to take it all in.

So I did.  Breathing and taking it all in.


I looked around and thought about all the life that was once there.  All the love shared in this home.  All the memories made on this land.

The gardens are all grown over.  Pieces of structure crumbling away.  No animal life in the barn.  The pond is looking on the stagnant side.

It is beautiful to me, all the same.


I feel it in my soul each and every time I am there.

Our childhood homes and what happened in them, for the most part, shape who we are as adults.  Some people are running toward “home” and some are running from “home”.  Apparently, I have done both.

As I looked around I thought of all the symbolisms.  The love and memories are still alive and well, despite the wear and tear.  The years have changed the surroundings but, the foundation remains.

I was blessed to be raised in a home where God was the foundation.  When my foundation feels unsteady, I know I can always go home.

Like Glinda the good witch told Dorothy, “You have always had the power.”

I just took the long yellow brick road home.





Party like a rock Star!


This dog.  Starski Ann.

iPhone 2013 336

A party on four legs.

She loves the element of surprise.

There are times she gets so excited her eyes look like they are going to pop out of socket.

When she rescued me, she was a homeless dog in a parking lot.  So, I loaded her up and took her to the vet.  When the vet asked her name I was like, “I don’t know… we just met.”  On the fly, I named her Star.

I had every intention of finding her a forever home.  After a trial visit to my friend’s home and acting like Cujo with my friend’s dog, Star made her way back to my place.

Three years and a bionic leg later, she is living large at her forever home, with me.

I just love those big eyes.  And, the super cute freckles on her legs.






Oh how I wish I had paid more attention to my mother {Martha} in the kitchen.

Growing up, I had daily opportunities to be her southern sous chef but, I let it pass me by.  A precious gift she had to offer, I regretfully failed to receive.

Every weekday, she had dinner on the table when Dad got home from work, as well as, Sunday’s after church.

The flavors.

Those iron skillets.

Winston Churchill

She was an excellent southern cook and canner and baker and gardener.

Every meal, birthday cake, harvested fruit and veggie, whether freshly served or canned, contained an ingredient only she could supply.  Her love.  The tangible marinated in the intangible.

She loved cooking for others.  If you ever ate from her kitchen, you knew you were receiving a gift from her.  She taught me the food is not the experience, per say.  It is the experience the food is serving.

Personally, I have my go-to dishes and meals I can prepare well.  The fake it until you make it things in life.  I am not the worst cook in the world but, I certainly am not on track to becoming a caterer in the near future.

Single-serving is where my easy-peasy recipes and I think I am the ‘Next Food Network Star’ attempts, with a dash of some single shenanigans, will be posted.

I cannot guarantee any nutritional value will be found here whatsoever.  I do guarantee some deliciousness and delightfulness will be served up.





A child is born.

A child is lost.

Two sisters become three.

Three sisters become two.

A child becomes motherless.

The closest thing you ever had to a child is gone.



For the first time, a specific date takes on meaning.  And old dates have new meanings.

Those moments your life totally shifts in an instant.

You know you will never be the same person you were the very moment before.

The feeling in your soul the morning after your loved one is completely spirit.

A new journey begins.  You now have a “new normal”.


A picture captures feelings as if the feelings are what is captured.

This picture was taken three years ago.


The sunrise of the day my “baby” sister {Crystal} transitioned back to Heaven.

I feel my sister’s spirit when I look at that divine sky.

An AWEsome sister.

The kind of sister you want and need in your life.

She loved well and with all her heart.

It has been said, “losing a sister is like losing a limb”.  I agree wholeheartedly with that analogy.



She remains part of me, I remain part of her.





I adore the look of fur vests.

Faux.  Real.

Over sleeves.  No sleeves.



Perhaps it stems from all the episodes of ‘The Rachael Zoe Project’ I watched, and watched, and watched.  “I die”.

Furs aren’t typically cheap.  AND, the animal cruelty horror stories don’t quite settle well with my animal loving ways.

So, after much thought and consideration, I decided refurbishing is the way {for me}.

A few years ago, I set out on a mission (near obsession) to find me some furs.  I shopped around at consignment stores and, to my stylish delight, found a couple of super fab furs.

This beauty – $25!

I am not sure what kind of fur it is and neither did the consignment shop salesclerk.  Perhaps a wolf or coyote?  I sure hope it isn’t an Opossum.  Mercy.

In no way do I mean any disrespect toward anyone when I admit my curiosity about the origin of this fur.  Could it have made it’s way off the ‘Trail of Tears’?  Or, was it once owned by a caveman?!?  Because, it is not lined or tagged and you can see the stitching on the inside.  I, for one, have never known anyone who could score a fur AND stitch it.


To date, this vest is definitely the most interesting one.  I do wish I knew the story behind it.  I think.


Next time on refurbished :: Red fox jacket, turned vest.