Making words with letters is not always writing

I’m not ready to fully cop to it yet, but I’m starting to think that tweeting is killing my blogging. Well that and I just never seem to have the time to put my thoughts into words, and when I do have the time I can’t ever seem to think of an appropriate way to convey correctly how I am feeling, mainly because it’s not anything specific these days.

In the span of a typical day I experience happiness and sadness and irritatedness and jubilance and frustration and passion and OMGMYCATSARESOCUTE. Some would call this crazy; I just call it being Megan. And I like it, but it’s hard to nail down to a blog entry sometimes.

If you look at my Flickr pictures you could probably get a better idea of what I’ve been doing in my every day life recently, though I’m not very good at taking pictures every day. But I do manage to take some every week, and for now that should suffice as an update into my 24/7, which I’m sure appears painfully mundane to the rest of the world.

But things are well and I’m happy, wishing as usual that the weekends and nights were longer and I had more money. The money part is mainly because I am DYING for us to find a new house that we love and then be able to magically sell our condo and move into this new abode without having to change our standard of living drastically. You know, the whole buy-what-you-need schtick. We’ve been lazily looking for a while, but lately the time that we spend at houses with front and back yards and driveways leave my heart aching for our own.

I long for the day that no matter when I come or go, I will be guaranteed a spot to leave my car that is in front of my door and nobody else besides Ian (and whoever else we invite over, of course) can park there. And if they do, I can call the cops on them. None of this having to walk across the street to a house with a driveway that parks three and ask them to please move their FIVE CARS so that my neighbors and I can park within a block of our dwelling. (I shit you not, as I typed out that sentence my sister texted me to tell me someone that doesn’t live here took my spot in front of the house AGAIN.)

But it’s not just about annoyance. Every day I imagine how incredible it will be one day to sit and pass the time with Ian and/or friends in my yard, watching the sun slowly fade away as we feel the breeze cool our skin and the grass–our grass–stick to our feet.

When we bought our condo, it was perfect for us as first-time (and broke-ass) homeowners. We have a concrete patio out back and a square section of mulch with bushes out front, and the landscaping is taken care of for us. Which is nice, even still, but I’m ready to have a yard to worry about. I even told Ian I would mow the grass (or pay a neighborhood kid to do it–you can still do that, right? Hire teenagers to mow lawns?).

We just need more living space, both outside and inside. I don’t mean need as in we’re going to die if we don’t get it, but I kind of feel like my soul needs it, if that makes any sense. I want to be able to set up a guest bedroom without sacrificing our home office. I want to be able to walk outside barefoot and commune with nature right in my own yard. I want to not be so crammed in with people I don’t really know. I want to see more green than beige when I look out my window.

And let’s be honest here: I want to yell at neighborhood kids to get off my lawn.

A journey to the Mountain State

Last weekend Ian and I packed up and headed east to go to West Virginia for his dad’s family reunion, something I had been looking forward to for months.

Go ahead, shake your head at me, it’s ok. Ian thought I was weird for being excited about the reunion, too, especially since 1. it wasn’t my family, 2. I had never met any of the people there before besides his grandma and cousin (who I had just met the weekend before), and 3. it was in West Virginia. Not like we were getting to travel to someplace exotic.

But y’all, if there’s one thing I picked up on from the moment I moved to the South it’s this: Country folks are awesome. Even if they don’t know you—hell, especially if they don’t know you—they take you in, feed you, ask you how you’re doing, tell entertaining stories, and make you feel good and welcome.

And West Virginia, while not exotic, is in the mountains, which we all know I love and aspire to live in one day. (Seriously, some of you are wishing to become rich and/or famous, but I’m saving up all of my shooting stars, fallen eyelashes and pennies in pools so that one day I can live up in the mountains. And when I go to town, people will see me, all wild-eyed and crazy haired, and say with whispered excitement, “Oh, Megan came down from the mountain today!”)

Plus I had never been to West Virginia, and I always look forward to getting to travel someplace new.

I was not disappointed. Ian’s family was great—and the food… Oh the food. There was barbecue, pasta salad… y’all, there was an ENTIRE ROOM filled with desserts. I am not even kidding.

So colorfulAnd while I didn’t get to see a holler like I had been so hoping for (Ian’s dad said we might get shot driving up into one where they might be making meth or moonshine or growing pot), West Virginia did me one better by giving me Blenko, the historic glass-making company in Milton where Ian’s dad worked and his grandfather was a glass-blower for many, many years.

That place was incredible. I’d heard about it for years from his mom and dad, who both grew up in Milton, but I guess I just wasn’t prepared for the beauty of it. I mean, you hear “glass factory” and you think some place that makes windows and shit, right?


You need to go look at my pictures to even try to understand the beauty of the art they are creating there. They make functional pieces as well as decorative ones, and I made Ian spend at least an hour, if not more, there on Friday as I just wandered around in awe with my camera attached to my face.

When you walk in the door, you’re immediately in the show room, or whatever they call the area where they have items for sale. Table after table is filled with various glass objects grouped by color… an array of colors that make rainbows look dull and inadequate. Upstairs is a museum filled with glass and tools from the early days, separated by years and designer (I believe), and there were several pieces of stained glass as well. We couldn’t take the tour because they have cut back production to only four days a week, which was a bummer. I was really looking forward to a glass-blowing demonstration, but I know we’ll be back to visit sometime again.

I loved this fence so muchOut back is a garden area with two footbridges that lead to a duck pond. The fence that lines the garden is made of a smooth light wood occasionally interrupted by panels of glass in varying colors and designs. I was entranced by the fence, as you can probably tell by my photos. Every panel was different, and the detail was amazing.

I could have sat in that garden all day, eyes tracing the detail of the fence as it snaked through the grass, and never gotten bored.

We discovered you could feed the ducks, so of course we did. We bought a bag of corn at the front desk and walked across the bridges only to realize that HOLY SHIT these ducks were aggressive. As soon as the first kernels hit the ground the cute, polite ducks were overtaken by an armada of hissing Canadian geese and some kind of pants-shittingly large white geese. Aflac ducks showed up soon as well.

GeeseAs soon as the Canadian geese started hissing at me I handed the bag to Ian and peaced out of there, leaving him to find his own escape route (Hey he’s like 4 inches taller than me; I was not about to get bit in the ladyparts by a hissing rabid goose over some corn).

The next day, after the reunion, I made Ian go back to Blenko with me again so I could take more pictures with a different lens (I was caught off-guard Friday; I was not expecting to step into some kind of magical mystery glass world with so much light and color and inspiration) and get the crazy-ass ducks on video (which required us purchasing more corn and getting chased once again).

Let me tell you, that place was incredible.

We also visited with Ian’s mom’s mom, his aunt and cousin for a while, and had dinner with them Friday night, where we caught up with his uncle as well. They are such warm, friendly people, and since the first time I met them a few years ago have always made me feel a part of the family.

As we headed out of Barboursville (where our hotel was, also known as Barboursvegas because of its strip joints and liquor stores, I’m told) Sunday morning, I was a bit sad to leave. West Virginia is beautiful, and I only saw a small part, but what I saw I liked. I’m glad Ian’s family is there because I know we’ll visit again. I don’t think I could ever live anyplace as small as Milton, but I can see why people would like to make their home there.

Plus, there’s something to be said for a state that formed itself by separating from a Confederate state.


I’ve been busy lately (despite what this picture suggests), but I promise I have a ton of blog posts stored in my brain. As soon as I can shake them out and into WordPress I will.

In the meantime, why don’t you go check out