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.

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.

Excess.

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!

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.

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.

 

 

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.

It was a beautiful, early autumn day.

So close to October 4^th, 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.