One Rooster

Have you heard of Pintrest? It’s my newest obsession. Basically it’s a website that allows you to link back anything eye catching onto one page, organized by category. For us visual people, it is pure heaven. Brainstorming ideas for what to wear when I meet the Queen of England has never been easier.

Since about the 3rd grade I have been clipping pictures from magazines and keeping sentimental objects in shoeboxes. Pintrest is much more sophisticated. It kind of makes my shoebox days seem equivalent to the old Zach Morris cell phones. Anyway...

I was mindlessly blog hopping earlier and came across a picture of a hand full of garden picked blackberries. Instantly I was struck with an overwhelming sense of warmth and comfort. As a child, I remember picking blackberries on the side of the road with my best friend, Simone. This is one of those “wow, I really had a great childhood” sort of memories and so the idea of walking into my backyard and picking blackberries kind of makes me giddy. Instead of having to print this picture out like I did in the old days, I was able to “pin it” to my inspiration board. Heaven, I tell you.

But travel back with me to a time before pintrest as I tell you a story about a special box in my closest...

When Jonathan and I married, we instantly moved into a 3 bedroom house without furniture. We pretty quickly had to agree on what our “style” was and got to work decorating our new home.

He obliged me French country furniture and plenty of floral prints. He let me paint the bathroom purple. He allowed me to decorate each room with no less than 5 Fleur di lis. Inevitably, he had to draw the line somewhere. And he drew that line at rooster decor in the kitchen. No Roosters.

“No roosters?" I whined, "But Jonathan…..I grew up with roosters (and cows, and ducks) in my Mom’s French country kitchen and I have always dreamed of having my own kitchen full of roosters. You CANNOT move me to West Texas and then break my heart by banning roosters from the kitchen.” (By the way, the “moving me to West Texas” guilt-trip worked like a charm all the time).

Graciously, he allowed me one rooster in the kitchen. One rooster? Talk about a tough decision! I landed on a lovely rooster clock that went perfectly with my giant floral art piece I had already picked out.

The next week, we went to Marshall's and I was in French-country-rooster heaven! But sadly, despite my best West-Texas guilt trip, my new husband was sticking with his one rooster rule. But then I found the cutest rooster box and I had to have it. Had to.Why did I need a rooster box? No clue. But I needed it. (This is what I like to call ‘Target’ syndrome).

After some discussion, we amended the one-rooster rule to state only ‘one rooster’ was allowed on display in the kitchen. Due to this loophole, my new rooster box would be permitted to live in the privacy of my closet. Suddenly, I knew exactly what I would use it for. This would be my new grown-up 'shoebox'. Anytime I came across a picture of something I wanted but didn’t or couldn’t have for whatever circumstance I found myself in, I would place the picture in my rooster box. You know, for a rainy day, or whatever. (Seriously, why didn’t I think of Pintrest first?)

The first item into the box was a picture of a Brittany spaniel in the snow. I wanted my Louisiana-bred Bailey to one day have the joy of playing in the snow. The dream was realized later that winter, and let me tell you, she was jubilant.

Also in the rooster box was a picture of a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. In April of 2009, I brought this dream home in the form of my rescue dog Samson. (West-Texas guilt in full effect for this one.)

There are some dreams that have yet to be realized. A picture of a sunroom. A travel brochure for Portugal. A nail polish named Fiona for the smiling daughter we see in our future.

With Jonathan’s job, it’s likely that we will bounce around (the world) every two years. While it’s exciting and an adventure we can’t wait to embark upon, it’s undeniably scary. My mother in law gave me some of the best advice I could ever hear:
Grow where you’re planted.

I may not put down roots for several years. My children may not ride their bikes to school. I may never be in a house long enough to add on a sunroom. Or a swimming pool. Or hand scraped wood floors.

But I probably will travel to Portugal one day, and there’s even a chance that a little Fiona may be in tow for the trip.I take comfort in opening up my pintrest page (or my rooster box if I'm feeling nostalgic) to contemplate my fantasy life. I also enjoy adding new dreams to the mix, and placing reminders of realized dreams there as well.

In the past three years, I’ve been able to add such beautiful memories. Yes, I can get comfort from imagining sunning myself on a beach in Turkey, but I can also remember getting blasted with wind and rain on the beach in Ireland.

And Scotland, for that matter.

Seriously, what is it with me and cold, windy beaches?

The point is, while I take comfort in imagining the great things in my future, I am awestruck to realize that the dreams I’ve lived in the past 3 years are starting to outnumber the ones I have only lived in my fantasy life.

For that, I am oh so grateful. I'm especially grateful for my husband who has just agreed to plant me my blackberry bush (no West Texas guilt needed). Too bad we may not be around next summer to enjoy the fruits of our labor….

(Pun absolutely intended.)