I've never been particularly good at allowing people I enjoy to enjoy themselves without me. Therefore, I was especially surprised to find that I was not only willing for Stuart to spend the day without me, but that I was encouraging him to do so. The program from Dave and Rachel Byers' wedding is posted on my fridge and it says "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear . . ." (I John 4:18). For some reason, the thought of letting him do things with other people terrified me. I use the term "letting" very loosely, as Stuart is his own person and can do whatever the heck he wants. Still, it wasn't something I sincerely wanted to take place. The last few days have broken a bond or two of fear. It's unexpected, but goodness is it welcomed. I don't dare invoke the actual word "love" in this post, but it's safe to say that I'm moving closer to it than not. I'd say this almost-love looks good on me.

Get over it. You'd want to talk about it, too.

My new blog looks like chocolate. This is unfortunate, as I am not particularly fond of chocolate. Slim Jims, yes. Chocolate, no. I should change my theme from brown and white to red and yellow and meat juice to better suit my personality. That can be saved for another time. It took me 7 months to change my blog the first time 'round. Oh, well.

Let's see . . . what to write about. I am jobless, much to my mother's chargrin. I am schooless. I am moneyless. I am -less.

Last night I slept like a shark. In my insomnia, I read I, Issac, Take Thee, Rebecca. If I needed a reminder of how seriously hard marriage is, I got it. Don't get me wrong, I want to have me a werriage(a contraction of wedding and marriage), but I won't be meeting the height requirements anytime soon on my own.

I am writing from Stuart's room and his guitar is perched precariously atop a mound of clothes. Guitars are made for smashing. At least, that's what I hear. Stuart is wearing a hat. He says I have a loud inside voice.

Just remember: Root, root, root for Jesus.

Updated blogs are better. Un-updated blogs are best.

Hello from a cold and rainy Chantilly, Virginia. "Chantilly," you ask? Let me explain the origins of this name.

Kate: Chantilly?
Daddy: I don't think I know what that means.
Kate: I don't know either.
Daddy: I know Chantilly lace . . . Chantilly lace . . . doot doot doot . . . you have a pony tail.
Kate: What does Chantilly lace mean?
Daddy: I think it's some kind of fancy lace. Chantilly must mean fancy town. Yes, that's it. Fancy town.

And Fancy Town it is. We ate at a delightful restaurant that's small wine list included Jerry Garcia and Fat Bastard brand wines. Mmm. I wonder what vintages they offer.

Daddy bought me some galoshes today. Dey hot. I've been given three compliments on them thus far.

Dinner calls, more updates later . . .

Harry Connick Jr. wore Paper Denim and Cloth jeans yesterday on Ellen.