Leigh Kramer

In Which I Cheer for the Bears...in Tennessee

I love the Chicago Bears but I confess I'm not the most dilligent of football fans. Baseball season takes up so much time and energy that I generally don't want to watch sports in the offseason. Still, I've always watched a couple of Bears games up until moving to Tennessee. I've never been to an NFL game before so I was hoping to change that fact this season.

When The Tennessean listed the Titans' schedule, I hoped against hope they would play the Bears. I was thrilled to see they'd be playing a preseason game! Then I promptly forgot all about it.

But not before I mentioned it offhandedly to my best friend's husband.

Last week Joel called me out of the blue and asked me if I'd want free tickets to the Bears vs. Titans game. Um, yes!

Joel, Tracy, Joel's brother Jeff, and I headed to LP Field Saturday night. The seats were awesome. So were the nachos.

 

Unlike the Blackhawk vs. Predators game in January which teemed with Chicago fans, LP Field was decidedly more pro-Titans. No matter, I still cheered for my favorite team. Though, to be fair, it wasn't the most exciting of games.

Unfortunately, the Bears ended up losing 13-14, thanks to a fatefull interception at the end of the 3rd quarter. I was devastated by that play. But all in all, I had a good time.

One of these days I'm going to have to watch a Bears game at Soldier Field...

(Going to an NFL game was #11 on my 32 Things.)

What football team are you rooting for this fall?

Etching Truth, or Why I Got Another Tattoo

I consider tattoos for quite awhile before any inking occurs.  Part of that is ensuring I'll still want it years down the line.  And partly because even once I know what I want, it takes me awhile to amble down to the local tattoo shop. Case in point: I used Christmas money to pay for this. (Thanks, Grandpa!)

Doesn't everyone smile while needles are dragged through their skin?

While this wasn't the next next tattoo (item #5) I'd originally planned when writing up my 32 Things, it is the one I've ended up getting first.  And thus, it counts on several levels.

A few months ago, I participated in Marla Taviano's Read-Along for Your Secret Name. It culminated in realizing I was beloved. It's been well over 15 years since depression left its mark on me. Since then, I've had to process through the way it affected my view of myself and my way of thinking- even though I've been free of depression all this time. Just when I think I've finally moved on, another revelation surprises me. So it was with this Read Along.

Knowing God calls me His Beloved is the only affirmation I need. This was a truth to let sink in.

I realized, also, it was a truth I needed to etch in. A visible reminder of God's love for me.

Hebrew for Beloved

Now there's no escaping it. I look at my wrist and remember anew His love.

Please don't start thinking I'm hyperspiritual- I'm not. I don't believe Jesus is my cosmic boyfriend or anything like that. I do believe God loves me and calls me- and all of his children- His Beloved.

The true next tattoo will come at a later date. I decided to aggravate only one body part at a time. And this one, this message seemed like it should be imprinted first. Because daily, no matter what else is going on, I want to look at my wrist and remember how God beautifully taught me that lesson.

(Thank you, Casi and Aundia, for accompanying me!)

Tell me about your tattoos- current, future, imaginary.  Or tell me about the truths you need to etch deep down.

Family or Friends?

With Jon, Pat, and Adam at Adam's wedding, 2007

It wasn't easy being the only girl amongst the boys on my mom's side of the family. Granted, I was not the sole granddaughter but with Clara and Emily missing most of our celebrations, it was up to me to represent.

For the most part, the boys overlooked the girl in their midst.

There are good memories, like the time we all danced the Super Bowl Shuffle in my grandparents' basement. But if you'd told me two decades ago that I'd someday enjoy spending time with my boy cousins and willingly hang out with them, I would have offered my patented death glare and promptly returned to my book.

I'm a part of the Guest Post Extravaganza over at Alise...Write! today.  Alise is a delightful blog/Twitter friend of mine.  If you're not already reading her, you should start today. Please take a moment to read about the cousins that drove me a bit crazy back in the day.

A Summer Uniform, or the Ten Cent Steal

It turns out one of the perks of not having a normal day job is being able to wear whatever I want. I don't remember the last time that's happened. No dress codes to keep in mind, no more closed toe shoes or footies to stay in compliance with OSHA.

It's liberating.

This summer I've worn mostly skirts and dresses. While occasionally I'll rock Bermuda shorts or capris, I continue to be drawn to swirling fabric accompanied by wedge heels or flip flops.  I've practically floated through this season of my life.

In January I decided I would only buy clothes from resale shops, unless I had a gift card. I've never been a shopaholic but this challenge has been revealing nonetheless. I've saved a bit of money this year, which turned out to be fortuitous.

I've been thrifting for decades, possibly my whole life if you count trips to the Wise Penny and Repeat Boutique while a child. I love the thrill of a good deal and exploring racks of clothes for possibilities. The trick is being able to see what could be, where others see disaster. My thrift shop finds generally become my most complimented clothing items.

While I was back in my hometown last month, I made a stop at my favorite resale shop: Village Discount. I walked away with a few new tops and a skirt for just $8. You see why I love that store?

This summer I really wanted to find a maxi skirt. For some reason, I did not have high hopes when I entered the hallowed aisles of Village Discount. I traipsed down the skirt aisle, fingering fabric, looking at length, and examining the size of anything close to what I was looking for.

Then finally, I plucked out a long black skirt. It might actually a strapless tube dress- either way it appeared to have possibilities. From Express, size large, and priced at ten cents. I examined the make and figured I could easily take it in. And if my alterations failed, I'd only be out a dime. Done and done.

This weekend I pulled the skirt out from my project pile and threaded the bobbin. Nip, tuck, maxi skirt perfection. It's light, airy, and just what I wanted.

Purple tank, Gap; Gray tank, Old Navy;  Maxi Skirt, Village Discount;

Beaded (and knotted for effect) necklace, gift, Ten Thousand Villages;

Earrings, Etsy; Turquoise ring, belonged to Grandma; Black flip flops, Target

Adding a thin braid to my pony tail is a nice touch. If I'm not wearing my hair this way, I'm using the No Heat Curls Method with great success.

I have no doubt this skirt will be a staple in my summer wardrobe for some time to come. It's a lovely addition to the skirts and dresses lounging in my closet.

(Linking up to Hollywood Housewife's {Brag Book} Seasonal Style.}

Do you enjoy resale shopping? What are the best resale stores in Nashville? What have you been wearing this summer?

Where I'm From

  cousin Sara, me, brother Matt, and cousin Brian

I am from the sandbox in the backyard, from Chef Boyardee pizza kits on Sunday night and sugary cereal only on the weekend. From Battle of the Books and guinea pigs with ridiculous names that only I remember.

I am from Newton Avenue and the house sitting in unincorporated land: fresh laundry on the line, neighbors sharing popsicles and killing snakes, and a hill for bike riding. From Liberty Drive and the place I call my hometown: with ugly pink wallpaper I couldn't wait to replace, phone ringing with prank calls, and heartthrob posters hung behind the door.

I am from the lone mulberry tree with enough berries for a pie, burning leaves, and grass beneath barefoot feet. I am from camping trips and the creek (pronounced "crick" naturally).

I am from farmers and townspeople, Germans through and through, from work ethic and hospitality, from Petits and Kramers.

I am from don't go to bed angry and passive aggression.

From "where's your sweater?" and "time out on the deacon bench until you apologize to your brother" and "conversation is like a ball, you just pass it back and forth."

I am from Catholics and Evangelicals, from faith comes first with parents' Bibles daily laid open on the table, from baptism as a babe and as a 14 year old ready to claim God for myself. From Sunday School with flannelboards and singing of Father Abraham and his many sons.

I am from the Midwest in all its glory, Chicago suburban comfort and treks out to the family farm. I am from snow angels and tire swings and pillow forts.  From Grandma's Chicken Noodle Soup that cured all and Cream Cheese Jello with sprinkles. 

From making casts for Barbie with Sara out of toilet paper, water, and baby powder. From funerals at an early age for relatives I did not always know and then for those I loved all too well. From "helping" Mom at craft shows and Dad in the workshop.

I am from the cedar chest with memories to pass down and the china for fancy meals. I am from journals to record it all, the ups and the downs but mostly the journey. I am from parents that worked hard and taught of God and loved well.

Oh, did they love me well.

Several blog friends have participated in this old meme in recent months.  It's based on the original poem “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyons. Here's the template if you want to write one yourself.

Where are you from?

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