It’s that time of year again. Everyone’s looking for costumes. Last year, Beau and I were ballerinas. I had a plan for this year, but weather and a last minute trip made that plan impossible to carry out.
This year, we’re a farmer and a pumpkin patch.
Last night at midnight, Dylan and I ran to Walmart because we didn’t have any costume ideas, it was midnight of Blog + Dog before Halloween, and where else is open and shoppable that late? This costume pairing was a last minute thing to say the least. Walmart had a cute pumpkin costume for Beau. Sold. There were wearable short overalls. Not necessarily my thing but fine. I have boots and flannel at home. Farmer it is.
I’m embracing my agricultural heritage this year. Beau is embracing her destiny as my punkin’.
Honestly, I don’t give a crap about Halloween. I think it’s fun to dress up with Beau. I mostly see Halloween as the gateway holiday to the holiday season I wait for all year long. Happy Halloween now bring on Christmas!!!
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna & Beau
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I love traveling with Beau, but sometimes she has to stay home.
So I cheat on her.
I can’t help it.
I NEED my puppy loves; I’m an addict.
I will cheat on Beau even if she’s at home and I’m right outside the door. If there’s a dog in my vicinity, I want to pet it and love it and hug it and kiss it until it tires of me or the owner calls the cops. Dogs bring me joy, and I pretend I bring them joy.
Luckily, most of the people in my life have dogs. My parents didn’t have a dog for two and a half years, but they just caved and rescued Barneveld Wout Bose von Rekemeyer. I named him; you’re welcome. He’s a cutie. I got my dog cuddles with him.
My brother has the cutest pupper!!! Frank. Frank is in the pictures. My brother and sister-in-law just moved to Chicago with their dog and cat. I’m lucky and got to spend last Sunday with them. I spent the entire time chatting but also giving Frank all the cuddles. I made my brother take a picture of us because Frank has a pumpkin costume. We’re obviously related.
I’m currently at my surrogate parents’ house in the Chicago area. I lived with them for three years before moving to Houston. As I write this, I’m cheating on Beau with Dexter and Anna. Dexter is a 150 lb. Great Dane. Anna is a 20 lb. mutt. My lap is full. I am happy; even though Beau is far away from me for a few more days.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna & Dexter & Anna & Frank & Barney
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Having a gourd time at Wildseed Farms in Fredericksburg, Texas. | Skirt | Bralette | Blanket |
These photos were taken at Wildseed Farms in Fredericksburg, Texas, where there were lots and lots of cute pumpkins, so I took some pumpkin pictures.
I love autumn. It’s my favorite season. Pumpkin spice isn’t my jam, but apple cider sure is. After moving to Houston, fall is one of the things I miss about my Northern life. Fall here in humid Houston regularly visits the 90s. Yay.
I keep it real. My Instagram is a reflection of my real life, and my real life takes place in Houston. Instagrammable fall doesn’t exist here, so unless I’m traveling, I would be lying to you if I posted all the autumnal vibes.
Beach photos almost never end up looking anything but warm and tropical.
Other Houston bloggers, mostly of the fashion variety, are posting fall outfit inspo pictures, and I feel like I’m going to die for them. It’s hot. I’m not putting on a sweater for a picture. Nope.
Changing of the leaves is beautiful, but non-existent here. If I find myself somewhere it’s occurring, you’ll see it. Until then, you’re gonna see skirts, green grass, tank tops, pools, and bright blue skies.
I hate pumpkin spice. I took a taste of the Starbucks drink when they first came out with it or I first became aware of it, and I hate it.
Pumpkins are amazing. I have nothing against them; other than the spice capitalism and consumers have forced upon it. The pie is delicious. Roasted, soup, puree, and stuffed is all up my alley. I just don’t post them because everyone else is, and I’m here to be different.
Mood often sways the way my pictures turn out, and it’s hard to be in the autumnal, sweater, scarf, and cozy socks kinda mood when it’s 90 degrees and as humid as Satan’s crotch after hot yoga.
Houston winter feels like a casual fall to me, and it doesn’t come until after the new year, so you’ll see cozy from me for three weeks in mid-January or February, then it’s back to your regularly scheduled shorts and tees.
Being uncomfortable in a sweater or scarf in Texas is not worth a cute picture. I’ll do a lot for pretty photos but not that.
Houston
Houston
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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I never wanted a military relationship. On a technicality, I never had an official, romantic, military relationship. But I have been in a military relationship from start to finish.
Shortly after Alex and I started dating in the winter of 2011, he told me he wanted to go into the military after graduating from college that spring. I knew I didn’t want to be in college while my boyfriend was off being a soldier or whatever. If he wanted to be in the military, then we would be friends. I wouldn’t do it with him.
Alex was never supposed to be anything more than a fling. He was a senior. I was a freshman. Neither of us were looking for anything. But he was cute; I was awkward. I made a move; it worked. Instead of flinging it, we fell in love. The kind of profound love that can only come about when inexperience combines with true compatibility, honesty, and dedication. I was raw and broken emotion, and he didn’t turn away from my pain. I saw through his façade to the man I still see today. It was and is the kind of love which reaches deep within two souls. Alex is written on my DNA. There is not a part of me remaining he has not touched. I am the person I am because he took the time to see me. I used to think he made me the person I am, but that’s not true. He did not make me; I made me, but he pushed.
After five years, I finally have pictures of this sign.
Love is an extraordinary force. The love we found made him decide to put his military aspirations away so we could be together. A year and a half after he chose me over the military, we were laying in bed. He stared at the ceiling as he said, “I think, I still want to go into the military.” I loved him, and I knew this was something he needed to do or he would resent the what ifs. He met recruiters from every branch. As a couple, we met with the branches he was most impressed with. Together, we decided on the Marines. It took almost a year between interviewing recruiters to sending him to boot camp. OCS was the first choice, but the political climate and a paperwork fiasco made that process long and unreasonable. He didn’t want to wait any longer, so he enlisted in October 2013. By that time, we were no longer a couple, but we were still committed to each other, sharing a home, bills, and responsibilities. I watched him swear in before the bus took my Alex to become a Marine. I heard boot camp changed people, and I had no idea who I would hug at graduation in three months. I’m convinced nothing can change my Alex because he was exactly the same willful, messy, smart, inquisitive, sarcastic, quirky, goof of a person. He did have abs, though.
Six years. Five birthdays. Four ranks. Three deployments. Two quals. One extension. Sergeant LeFebvre.
It may not have been an official, romantic, military relationship. But I have been in a military relationship. I have been there for him in every way that I could. I have showed up for ceremonies and a homecoming. I have gone to balls and family days. I have written letters. I have made phone calls. I have planned and replanned trips. I have waited and wondered. I have sent care packages. I have attended weddings. I have made friends. I have bought plane tickets and driven over night. I have whisked him away and staycationed. I have been there.
The military has kept him away from me. He hasn’t been able to support me or show up for me. That’s not his fault. It’s not my fault. It’s military life. We signed up for it. We agreed to it. We knew what that contract meant. It never made his absence less painful. Agreeing to something and dealing with something are not the same. I graduated college, which was largely due to his existence in my life. I hoped he would be there to surprise me. He didn’t. I moved and got a job. I wanted him to celebrate with me. He didn’t. I ended up in the hospital and almost died. I prayed he could be there to hold my hand. He didn’t. I had surgery. I wished he could take care of me. He didn’t. I moved across the country. I wanted him to move me. He didn’t. I got sick and spent months trying to figure out what was wrong. I needed to hold his hand. He didn’t. I made friends, who I wish he could meet. He hasn’t.
Seriously. This is a great sign. Also, taking pictures without a tripod and only a phone… difficult.
I have been a part of Alex’s life for six years, but he has not been a physical part of mine. It’s not that Alex is a bad guy or doesn’t want to be a part of my life, but the military makes it difficult if not impossible. We have done what we can, but now, we’ll be able to do more. Alex missed so many things in my life, and we can’t get those back. The future holds possibility.
As of today, an era has ended. With DD 214, he’s on his way home. For good. He’ll always be a Marine, but he’s no longer active duty. A new journey is unfolding for him. One that will more easily allow him to be a part of my life. As happy as I am, it is bittersweet saying goodbye to our years in the military and being military adjacent. We both grew as people. He’s a better man, and I’m a more self-sufficient woman. I don’t know how our lives will look, but it will be different.
Dear Alex,
I am so fucking proud of you. I didn’t want this to be my life in 2011. By 2013, I had accepted this would be part of my life for an indeterminate amount of time. Six years is shorter than twenty, so thank you.
Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your life before the military, during, and after. Being your partner has been one of the greatest pleasures of my life. I don’t know who I would be without your constant presence, pressure, and reassurance even if it was in an email from a boat in the middle of somewhere. You have been worth every tear and worry crinkle but mostly laugh lines.
There is so much I won’t miss about the military. I will miss the balls, obviously. I will miss getting breakfast at the cafe downtown. I will miss the Marina. I will miss dragging you to lighthouses. I will miss the barracks in a masochistic sort of way. I will miss the idiots doing idiot things. I will miss your friends who I adore to tease. I will miss buying t-shirts that say Marines. I will miss the hanger and hearing helicopters over head. I will miss the lotion in the base hotel. I will miss the Aviation Memorial. I will miss driving through base. I will miss hearing acronyms. I will miss listening to you talk about your zingers and all the ways you annoy your peons. I will miss seeing you in uniform. I will miss the Pardon Our Noise; It’s the Sound of Freedom sign.
Most of all, I will miss walking next to you on Onslow Beach on Camp Lejeune. We have walked up and down that beach so many times over the last five years. We’ve walked it in July’s scorching sun and in December wrapped in sweaters. It was one of the first things we did on my first trip to Jacksonville and one of the last. I have collected the memories along with the rocks and shells you’ve given me on that beach. You never loved it as much as I did, but you always walked with me, no matter what.
Worth A Read Yes Length 288 Quick Review Joe, an American soldier, and Yvette, a young French woman in the resistance, fall in love at Les Invalides under the most unusual circumstances during World War II.
The world has an obsession with World War II. It was a new kind of war revolutionizing economies and industries around the world. The devastation and impact it had is still remarkable. With so many history books, novels, documentaries, TV shows, movies, and more, it can be easy to forget the individuals impacted by each decision, battle, success, and failure. People won the war. People lost the war. People lived lives during the war. Stephen Harding puts faces to these stories in Escape From Paris.
Harding focuses on the 94th Bomb Group, a United States Air Force unit based in England flying missions over Germany and France.
I’m going to be completely biased, I found the French part of this story far more interesting than the American aspect. This has nothing to do with the writing and everything to do with my personal interests. As a francophile and history buff, I am drawn to the French bits.
Joe is an American, who enlisted in the Air Force when the war began. His bomber went down over Northern France during an air raid along with several other planes. Most did not survive, but Joe and several other did. Finding the resistance they ended up in Paris at Les Invalides.
Georges and Denise had been the caretakers of Les Invalides for many years when the war broke out. They joined the resistance along with their daughter, Yvette. There were resistance groups working separately and together throughout Europe. This family was in a unique situation as “the “caretakers of Invalides” literally carried the keys to what was arguably one of the safest hiding places in the country” because Les Invalides had been taken over by the Germans during the Occupation, which, counterintuitively, gave this family more freedom to aide the resistance effort while housing and hiding soldiers. It was a dangerous and brilliant plan due to the fact “the Germans never thought to search what they assumed was a completely secure facility.”
There’s a love story in Escape from Paris, but I find it the least interesting bit about this book because personal taste. I did find it a little redundant because Harding felt the need to continually point out that this is a love story and that it’s not just about war, it’s about love too. I get it. He’s building up the human aspect of the story, but it’s not that interesting. The repetition borders on frustrating. The humanity is abundantly clear in his portraits of the people inhabiting this story. They lived lives before, during, and after the war. These were people who loved each other and their country. They fought in any way they could to protect what they believed in. The love story is sweet, but it’s the least impactful part of the story. If it wasn’t in the title, I probably would have forgotten it was in the book. Joe, Denise, Georges, and Yvette were incredible and brave people standing up for what they believed in.
Escape from Paris is riddled with historical facts, airplane terminology, logistics, and more. If you’re not familiar with these terms and this kind of history book, you’ll want Google handy. I enjoyed reading this interesting and well researched book. It’s definitely one to read if you like WWII.
Worth A Read Definitely Length 320 Quick Review Starting with a bang, Porter dives into America’s past and complex issues with racism, classism, feminism, and all the other -isms as two families intermingle from the 1950’s to the last years of Obama’s presidency.
Regina Porter knows how to write. Her skill is on full display from the very beginning of The Travelers. This is an impressive piece of literature in and of itself, but the fact it is her debut makes it even more momentous. Simultaneously concise and epic, Porter packs a punch with every character and plot line. A story that is sure to leave an impression on anyone who picks it up.
With a huge cast of characters, The Travelers does its readers a favor by including a cast and familial context before the intricately woven plot begins. Convenient for reminding myself who’s who in the milieu without having to backtrack, I appreciated it..
Porter dives into the plot and complexities of relationships and humans search for answers with “When the boy was four, he asked his father why people needed sleep. His father said, “So God could unfuck all the things people fuck up.”” Two sentences. A striking way to start a novel that lives up to and surpasses the promise of its first impression. Spanning seven decades, The Travelers explores the realities of living in the United States through a variety of lenses and eras as two families come together.
This is not an easy book to read. It challenges readers to follow along a journey mired by stark realities. As chapters change so does the perspective, characters, era, setting, style, and tone. It’s a chameleon of a novel; changing drastically to fit the characters, situations, and times. There are no good characters or bad. Although, there are a few who fall much further on the wrong side of bad. Flaws and brilliance are present in each character. Instead of relying on tropes, The Travelers snapshots people’s lives to depict the greater faults in American society not just historically but currently.
People are not one thing. They are not just black. Just white. Just gay. Just rich. Just a father. Just an anything. Being human means being many things all at the same time and experiencing events in very unique and personal ways. We walk through life as a culmination of all our identities and experiences commingling simultaneously. Porter does not dilute her characters. They are not just white, mentally ill, black, veteran, sister, mixed, lover, poor, victim, straight, abuser, rich, gay, etc. She allows them to be many things concurrently.
The real triumph in The Travelers is Porter’s resistance to explain. She does not water down her stories or characters or layers by telling the reader how to perceive it. She lets it play out and leaves it. She has a straightforward yet nuanced way of writing. As in life; she allows the reader to infer and interpret what happens outside the line of sight. Readers are used to having a degree of omniscience, but Porter doesn’t allow this.
As a survivor of sexual assault and domestic violence, Porter delivers one of the most believable literary sexual abuse encounters I’ve encountered. I admire her dedication to tackling often misunderstood and misrepresented atrocities with sincerity and tact. It’s a hard line to walk, and she does it well.
This is good Literature. With a capital L. The Iowa Writers’ Workshop has a reputation for excellence. It has earned this reputation because Regina Porter and writers of this caliber called it home for a time. It is an incredible program, and I’m not just saying so because I grew up in Iowa.
The Travelers is one of the most affecting contemporary novels I have encountered.
Memorable Quotes “You can’t see the end in the beginning. So play it safe and get the beginning right.” “But we inherit it. Don’t you want to know what makes them tick?”
