Where It All Began

If you've known me for any length of time, you know I'm just crazy about my very southern family. My grandmother, Ethel Cruise, created beautiful material things throughout her entire life. Her green thumb knew no bounds and she was an expert seamstress. My cousins and I played in the basement where there was a room with file cabinets filled with sewing patterns. She adored Christmas and I adored going to see her and Grandaddy at Christmas to see all the decorations that filled her home.

Grandmother passed these creative genes down to her five daughters. One year, they gathered at various times and together created a beautiful memory quilt that they gave to her that Christmas.

It was my Grandmother and my Aunt Joann who helped prepare the nursery in my parents apartment at UNC-Greensboro for my arrival.

My earliest memories of my mom are of her at the sewing machine. In fact, it was while she was sewing that I learned the value of a well placed swear word. From smocked dresses to a flower girl dress that has been passed down a generation to Halloween costumes, Mom made most of our clothing when we were young. She would stay up until all hours, the whir of the sewing machine lulling me to sleep in the other room.

{500 yards of red yarn to make that Raggedy Ann wig!}

{I would go on to be Dorothy for Halloween two more times by the time I turned 35. 

But this was by far the best one.}

{I'm pretty sure that Mom and Aunt Melba forcing us to participate in a local fashion show contributed to our need for therapy later in life. But the outfits were made with love!}

{All the girl cousins are wearing applique sweatshirts that our moms made. I'd also like to point out that I've seen Andrew's Air Jordans and my brown boots on more than one college student recently.}

It wasn't just the sewing that Mom created (although she totally hit out it out of the park when I asked for an Annie dress for my 5th birthday.) She makes every occasion special from birthdays to Christmas and little things in between.  There are probably more times than I know of that she stayed up until all hours perfecting a celebration that would happen the next day for one of us. She started the tradition of my red velvet birthday cake, my needlepoint mailbox Christmas ornament, my angel ornament collection, and it goes on and on. 

So this is where I come from. 

I'm the third generation of women who love to create, who love to make events and things and places memorable. 

Raise a Glass to the College Grads

Back in May, we went back to Chapel Hill to see my cousin, Phillip David, graduate from UNC. Y'all know I love my alma mater, so give me an excuse to spend a whole weekend there? Bring it.

I have the best memories of the night before my graduation. In one of those events titled Things I Never Thought My Parents Would Do, I convinced them to join me and every other graduate at He's Not Here, one of my favorite Chapel Hill bars at the time. My Uncle Todd and Aunt Betsy came too and I was so happy to share that piece of my undergrad experience with them.

So, the night before Phil's graduation, I was ridiculously antsy to hit up Franklin Street. Chattanooga doesn't have the same night scene that Chapel Hill does and I was bound and determined to take advantage of it while we were there. Allie, Phil, his girlfriend CJ, and Megan (his sister,yet another AMAZING cousin) were game and so out we went.

I call this next series of photos, "It's Been Twelve Years Since I Graduated and Once A Year I Will Act Like I'm Still Twenty-Something While Having The Advantage of The Confidence of My Thirties."

 Oh, the Blue Cup. A dear, dear friend during my last two years of college. 

 And then we moved on to champagne. It seemed like the only logical thing to do.

 Proud alumni! (L-R) Class of 2008, Class of 2000, Class of 2012

A shining jewel in the middle of Franklin Street - Top of the Hill. 

Where I spent many a birthday night, had the best E-Ranch New Year's Eve ever, watched the men's basketball team bring home the 2005 national championship and did many embarrassing things the night of my bachelorette party. 

Top O and I? We're close.

It took Allie all of about 30 seconds to talk a random frat guy into letting her try on his sports coat. She was completely in awe of all the preppiness of Chapel Hill.

 We get crazy on the dance floor. It's scary.

 Everybody loves Dean. 

You know what else I love? Telling some lame drunk dude who was hitting on us to go away. Oh, yes I did. And it was awesome and I felt none of the guilt I would have in my twenties.

Being in my thirties freaking rocks. 

All Things New

There's something about Spring and Easter that, to me, feels like the best time to start new. In January, when it's still grey and cold and dreary, there's nothing inspiring about that. But Spring, with it's sunshine and warm breezes and God constantly showing off his creation...well, that inspires me to start something new.

So, Jason and I are both considering new goals and refinements to make to ourselves, to our marriage, to this new space we live in. And in this new house where everything feels light and bright and new, it makes even the most challenging changes easier to consider. 

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When we moved in to this house, I was beside myself to discover the dogwood tree in the front yard. Being a Carolina girl, it seemed to good to be true to have the NC state flower right outside my front door. Even better? When the little buds blossomed and revealed bright pink blooms.

The front yard of my grandparent's house had a few dogwood trees and there are several pictures from my childhood where I'm posing in my Easter finest in front of those trees.

I was hoping the blooms would stick around until Easter for our own picture, but they blew away early last week. Even so, as I embrace this new mantra of love, create, nurture; as I strive to carry on the best of my grandmother and her daughters' gifts and traditions; as I discover new gifts and create new traditions, my heart bursts with joy to have this picture, just as it is. 

Happy Easter, y'all!

Weddings and Marathons and Tornadoes...Oh My!

When I was a little girl, whenever we would go to Durham to visit Grandmother and Grandaddy I would make a beeline for a coffee table book that resided in their front living room. Once the book was in my hot little hands, I would carefully perch myself on the bizarrely patterned grey couch, it's synthetic material itchy against my lanky limbs. The book with which I was completely enamored?

Oh yes, the eight year old version of me wasn't old enough to remember the wedding itself, but I could tell you about every detail from the hours I spent poring over the pages of this book. Now that I think about it, I have no idea how this book made it into my grandparents' house. Aunties, do you have the answer? However it got there, I. Was. Hooked. Forget Disney princesses, I wanted to be like Princess Di. Actually, I wanted to be one of her bridesmaids. Specifically, Sarah Armstrong, the one on the right.

Oh, the puffed sleeves! The sash! The lace! Getting to help arrange Princess Diana's train! It was all so magical to me. Thus began my fascination with Princess Di, one that extended into my twenties until the day she passed away. I wasn't old enough to watch her ill-fated wedding, but I skipped my college classes to watch her funeral.

And now her oldest is getting married. Wills. Sweet, charming, inherited his dad's hairline but his mother's love for philanthropy Wills. So you better believe I've made plans to watch tomorrow's Royal Wedding! I've downloaded the official wedding program, complete with a never released portrait of the couple.

I'm oohing and ahhing over the first looks into Westminster Abbey.

Seriously, those trees are swoon-worthy. So magical and a wonderfully unique floral choice. And here's the bride the day before her wedding.

Gorgeous. Happy. Glowing. And oh my word, I wish my hair would grow faster because I want it to look just like that!

Wedding coverage starts ridiculously early, but I plan to be watching and probably tearing up just a bit as these two take on the journey of marriage. Mawaige...that dweam wifin a dweam....

Sorry. Wrong Princess Bride.

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After the wedding, I'll pack my bags and hit the road for Nashville! My little sister turns thirty next week and in true Allie style (and a bit of a sister tradition), we're running a marathon.

Well.

Allie's running the marathon and, due to some training issues, I'll be power walking the half-marathon. And we'll probably finish around the same time. I'd be embarrassed for myself, however I've decided it's not worth it. But did you hear me, internets?

MY SISTER IS TURNING THIRTY!!!

Just wanted to make sure we were all clear on that.

Anything with Allie is guaranteed to be fun, so I'm sure I'll have lots of hijinks to report post-race weekend.

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In case you haven't turned on the news, Chattanooga was hit hard by storm after storm after storm yesterday. As severe thunderstorms/tornadoes go, it was hit and miss for the different areas of our city. Our neighborhood, thankfully, is pretty clear and the biggest inconvenience we've had to deal with is that we've been without power since yesterday morning. 

However, that is absolutely nothing when I look at the widespread damage and growing number of casualties cities like Tuscaloosa and Birmingham have incurred. It is heartbreaking. All you have to do is google the cities' names to find the pictures and videos that will leave you breathless. Please pray for the thousands of families in the southern states who have been devastated by this string of storms. Help as you feel led and are able. 

I'm so grateful for our community of friends and how we've been able to help each other in big and small ways since yesterday. I'm grateful for fun and pithy things like a royal wedding to momentarily lighten the mood. I'm grateful for an amazing sister to celebrate and a healthy body to move.

I'm grateful.

“It's amazing, isn't it? Most of the time she goes around without the sense God gave a goose. Look at her. I mean, one crisis, and she's Scarlett O'Hara.”

Before there was Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte, there was Julia, Suzanne, Mary Jo and Charlene. Four smart, savvy, fashionable {well, for their time} and unapologetically Southern women who embodied what female friendship could be.

I was between the ages of nine and twelve when it aired and it was one of the few “grown up” shows I was allowed to watch at that time. I asked my mom yesterday if she thought it was too much of a stretch to say that a good part of what I learned about being a Southern Drama Queen, I learned from watching “Designing Women.” She replied, “Well, if you were between nine and twelve, you were pretty in touch with your drama queen side at that point, so…no, not too much of a stretch.”

Told you I started early.

Although a great deal of the dialogue went right over my head at that age, I still loved that show as much as any “kid” show those days. If I knew anything then, I knew the value of southern women having been surrounded by four such aunties since the day I was born. So I soaked in the witty banter between those four. While I enjoyed Mary Jo’s sharp sense of humor and Charlene’s delightful naiveté, it was Julia and Suzanne who I wanted to see the most.

Maybe it was because they were sisters and I understood that relationship too. I reveled in Julia’s quick words and “put you in your place” speeches. I was in awe of how she could fearlessly stand up for her beliefs, her friends and her sister. I think I was probably channeling a little bit of Julia my senior year of high school when I confronted the punk sophomore who had been spreading vicious rumors about my freshman little sister. I don’t think I was as long winded as Julia might have been but, I tell you what, I backed that boy up to the lockers like a pro. And when I asked him if he understood me? He answered, “Yes ma’am.” Darn straight you do.

What drew me to Suzanne? I think it was the complete and utter girly-girlness of who her character was. She was unapologetically feminine and I loved that. A little narcissistic, sure, but she loved being a woman and all that came with it. She loved being sexy and attractive, she worried about what others thought of her, she wondered if her weight somehow defined a part of her femininity. What woman can’t relate to that? The little girl version of Leslie could, which makes me a little sad now. I was keenly aware of my weight even though I shouldn’t have been. To this day, I can still vividly remember the episode, “They Shoot Fat People, Don’t They?” when Suzanne faces her twenty-five year high school reunion and confronts the fact that she’s heavier than the beauty queen self her classmates remember. It garnered one of my favorite of Suzanne’s one-liners, “I know I’ve gained a little weight, but y’all act like I should be shopping at Georgia Tent & Awning!”

And the speech she gave when {with cruel intentions} she is awarded Most Changed at the reunion…well, it struck a chord with me then and I’ve never forgotten it.

I guess maybe I deserve this award for the Person-Most-Changed, but…not for the reason you think. Last night I got my feelings hurt because I came to this reunion thinking I was beautiful and what I find out was that I'm fat…at least you think I am. But that isn't the biggest change in me. The biggest change is that the old Suzanne wouldn't have shown up here tonight. She would've just gotten thin before the next reunion and then she would have gotten even. But I'm a little older and I hope a little wiser than that person used to be.

A lot of things have happened to me...We had a lot of dreams together and there's no point in pretending some of mine came true and some didn't.

I met a little boy from Africa tonight whose family died of starvation and I realized that I spent the whole day at home worrying about the fact that I had too much to eat. I'm not sure the old Suzanne would have appreciated the absurdity of that but this one does.

Some of you men wanted to know about my bra size, but I’d rather talk about my heart because…it's a little bigger than it used to be. The old Suzanne wouldn't have forgiven you for the things that you said, but this one will. Because when I look around this room tonight, I don't see receding hairlines and the beginnings of pot-bellies and crow's feet. I just see all the beautiful faces of old girlfriends and sweet young boys who used to stand on my front porch and try to kiss me goodnight. And you can remember me any way you'd like, but that's how I'll always remember you.

And so I thank you for giving me this award for the Person-Most-Changed, however you intended it. I'm gonna treasure it because… #1. I love trophies and #2. I earned it. Thank you.

I’m grateful for the role that “Designing Women” played in my growing up. I’m grateful for writers that wrote southern women as strong and smart, not silly and ignorant. I’m grateful for hilarious one liners that we still use in our family today. I’m grateful for the life of Dixie Carter and all that she added to my understanding of what it is to be a southern woman. We’ve lost a great one…

And for all these years, I though Wassail was some sort of cider.

For the last sixty-three years, the Cruise sisters, their husbands and children have gathered together to celebrate Christmas. Every Christmas morning, each sister and her family would celebrate at their own house and then travel to Durham to Grandmother and Grandaddy’s house for an evening family gathering. About a week or so prior to this, we would all gather at Melba and Randall’s house to Christmas carol around their neighborhood, eat a ridiculously delicious southern meal and then engage in a rousing round of Yankee Swap {or White Elephant or Dirty Santa or whatever else you may prefer to call it}.

Every year this would happen like clockwork. I have precious and laughter-filled memories of caroling through the cold streets of Roxboro, finally at 16 being old enough to participate in my rooky round of Yankee Swap and anxiously anticipating seeing all my cousins so that I could boss them around in Grandmother and Grandaddy’s basement.
But then all of us grandkids started getting married and having kid
s of our own and in-laws to go see at Christmas. The two separate gatherings became harder and harder to coordinate so we simply combined both events into one and held it the weekend before Christmas. Voila! Cruise Family Christmas lives on. And this year has been no different…

C’mon everybody! Let’s go caroling!

The Hamiltons, our fine hosts, decked out even the car.

A flatbed trailer to carry us this year! We’re caroling in style…

Caroling from dusk into night…

 

Each year, the hosts {this year, Aunt Betsy and Uncle Todd} alert their neighbors to the fact that we’ll be coming around and caroling for them. This year, the weather being what it was {freaking freezing!} there wasn’t the…shall we say…generous spirit of caroling for all the neighbors no matter how long it took. After over an hour of riding around and singing in the just above freezing temps, several of our group were ready to head back home. But as we passed one brightly lit home, we saw several young children throw their front door open and run onto the porch. Clearly, they had been anticipating our arrival.

But it was cold.

And we were freezing.

And I was really having a hard time feeling my fingers or toes which was invoking repeated thoughts of one of the greatest Christmas movie lines, “Clark, Audrey’s frozen from the waist down.” {If you don’t know to what movie I am referring, just don’t tell me. But get thee to Blockbuster and rent “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, STAT.}

Still, when small children are standing in their front yard watching you drive away, it tugs on your frozen heartstrings. Well, it does for some of us. For one aunt who shall remain nameless it did not hold the same power it did for the rest of us. “I don’t care if it’s the three wise men, I am not singing for anyone else tonight!”

Ahem.

We made a pit stop back at Betsy and Todd’s house to drop off the weary and cold, then headed back for one last caroling visit. And it’s a good thing we did, because the mom had already loaded her kids in the car and was headed towards us so we could sing for them. I’m not saying that we were all that brilliant sounding but, clearly, if you promise caroling you better deliver the goods.

Happy wassailing, my friends!

And so it begins

Amidst slush and sleet and snow and ice…

which nearly caused the whole thing to be called off.

After three serious runners…

took a joyful three mile run.

It’s time for The Cruise Family Christmas! Stay tuned for more….

I promise this time I really will post.

Back when cursive was cool and so was dotting your i’s with hearts.

When I was eight years old, my Aunt Joann drew my name for our family Christmas gift exchange. Her choice of gift was, to this day, one of the most perfect gifts I have ever been given. Knowing my deep and abiding love for Nancy Drew mysteries, I opened the beautifully wrapped package from her only to discover eight brand new hardback Nancy Drews that I had yet to read.

My response?

I screamed for a solid thirty seconds.

And don’t lie, you totally wish you had those glasses when you were growing up.

I have held on to my Nancy Drew mysteries through the years and gleefully placed them on the library shelves of my classrooms. Several of my girls have gotten a hold of them this year and are loving them as much as I did. I have one little girl that comes up to my desk every time she finishes a chapter to tell me what Nancy is up to and who she suspects is the villain.

I can’t tell you how happy this makes me.

Yesterday during a break, one of the girls brought over one of my Nancy Drew books, held open the cover and looked up at me with a smug little grin on her face. There, on the front panel of the book in my eight year old handwriting, “I {heart} Jeremy Tilley.”

Ah, yes. Jeremy Tilley. The heartthrob that never gave me the time of day but whose deep brown eyes and fluffy brown hair captured my little third grade heart. “Yes,” I told the students who were starting to gather around with much giggling, “I had a huge crush on Jeremy Tilley.”

I wish you could have seen how big their eyes were. I don’t know what rocked their world more- thinking of me as an eight year old or the idea of their teacher having a crush on a boy. Ew, a boy!

I then proceeded to tell them one of my childhood embarrassing moments in the hopes that someday, when it inevitably happens to them, they wouldn’t feel so bad. One morning, during our “big group” classroom meeting time, I sat on the floor directly in front of Jeremy and his friends. I was painfully aware of his presence behind me and overwhelmed by his wonderfulness. I guess the stress of it all must have gotten to me because….I….ahem…passed gas. And not quietly. Jeremy and his friends, as most mature eight year olds would, began laughing and waving their hands in front of their face. They then scooted back creating an arc of space behind me.

I’ve only recently gotten over the trauma. It’s amazing what a good therapist can do.

My students, of course, thought this was hysterical and a solid five minutes of laughter ensued. My humiliation shared to lessen theirs? I’m pretty sure that they don’t teach that kind of mentoring strategy in grad school.

Grateful…

… for a well written story and a well produced movie that entranced my students.

… for co-teachers and classroom parents who encourage and challenge me.

… for faithful and brave friends who dare to speak the truth to me passionately.

… for country music and another awards show to watch {Amy Beth, I expect a full report!}

… for a crisp autumn dusk and strong legs on which to run.

… for a good friend who will Skype and watch “Glee” with me while sharing my love of a performance of “Defying Gravity.”

… for my Grandaddy, Glenn Cruise, who served in World War II and for all the other veterans who have so bravely and unselfishly served our country through the years.

Thank you, Grandaddy, I love you!

Truly, a scanner is a glorious thing.

Perhaps it’s that I’m in complete and utter denial that there are over 4,000 pictures from the Petree Family Beach Trip for me to pore through, select and edit. Perhaps it’s that there is nothing all that noteworthy happening in my life. Perhaps it’s because I am completely uninspired when it comes to the written word these days.

For whatever reason, you’re getting more scanned pictures. Shoot, I might even make it this week’s theme! Let’s start the embarassment, shall we? I give you, fashion choices of Leslie in the late 1990’s…

This was taken at my sixteenth birthday party on our back deck. Oh, how cute, a party with my friends, how very sixteen of me. No, what you can’t see is that I actually had an open house for my party to which I invited not only my friends but other adults, their children and my entire extended family.

Not so much rowdy as dork.

I chose my ensemble carefully for this big day. Mom actually let me splurge and we ventured into The Limited. Yes, those are cream colored jeans. Yes, that is a ruffled blouse. And yes, that is a cream embroidered vest. And yes, my hair was that big naturally.

I adored this baby doll dress. Never mind that it made me look five months pregnant. Also, I’m pretty sure that Wake Forest Graduation took place before Memorial Day. Why someone didn’t rip those white hose and shoes off of me, I’ll never know.

Senior year of high school, getting ready to go to The Snowball which was an exclusive dance, invitation only. I paid someone to make my hair look like that. Camille? Lovely, elegant, classic. Me? Something akin to Mary Tyler Moore.

Nesting in my brand new freshman dorm room in Hinton-James at UNC-Chapel Hill. Is it possible for my shorts to sit any higher on my body?

Ah, yes. The year of the overalls. Also the year of “Why don’t I just make my hair look like an afro cowlick hot mess?” and apparently the season of velour amongst the cousins. I’m going to make a pretty good guess that this was also before my dear friend Sarah Ferg taught me how to tweeze my eyebrows.

Again, the overalls. Again, the hot mess of a hairstyle.

Pictures at Windy Gap before heading off to see Sarah Ferg make her Asheville debutante debut. Ok, so this isn’t terrible. I’ve managed to tame the hair and while I scored the dress on sale at Ross {or TJ Maxx, not sure}, I neglected to realize that it was a.) about four inches too short for a formal event and b.) eerily mimicking my beloved overalls.

Tomorrow? I bust out the high school yearbooks…