Year in Review

It's that time of year again to ponder on the changes of the past year, and turn the page for a new year. It's exciting and nerve-wracking to know that the wedding is now close enough to count in weeks, and I can hardly believe it!

January of last year began with my trek from Michigan to Boston with what few possessions I could manage. I spent most of the time worrying if Avalon would be alright, and didn't notice my freezing gerbils. It was a lesson in not forgetting the details. We also spent the layover in Pittsburgh gathering our wedding party, spending time together, and had fun with my sister who traveled down to celebrate with us.

February was a bit strained. We enjoyed good company in New Jersey for Wicked Faire, but unfortunately not everyone could say so. I look forward to see them again, but it is my sincere hope that some day we will be able to let our guards down to fully enjoy, as I am deeply fond of all parties involved. I am far enough removed from the drama to not be able to pick a side, nor would I want to.

March saw Monster Mania, getting to see Malcolm MacDowell as he casually said hello, and our very own Gary Busey stories. He really is just as nuts as you'd imagine, and many of the people on the panels attested to this. I had wanted to see Jake Busey, but he either didn't show up, or I always seemed to miss him. My crowning glory of course was meeting Terrance Zdunich, the writer, director and gravedigger star of Repo! The Genetic Opera. He is as awesome as I had wished.

April witnessed me turning 30, and while I had tried to put together some kind of party without putting together a party, it fizzled. I was still very happy to have some of my friends stop by and there was still much enjoyment to be had. I think for 31 I might to a redeux and have a bigger bash now that my social life includes a lot more people.

The month of May began my time with Best Buy, and it's been a bit of a whirlwind since. I love my job, but there are days when it makes me feel my age. There are days when it's not clear what they really expect of me, and there are days when I feel like nothing could stop me. Regardless of hard work or good ideas I pass along, it's the compassion for co-workers that I hope is my lasting impression. Since working there I have tried to keep up with who's mother is in the hospital, or what birthday is coming up. I think my leadership team was especially surprised by the fruit baskets I put together for them considering they hadn't been expecting anything like them for Christmas.

The summer was a rush and somewhere in this I stopped waiting for the bottom to fall out. Matt hadn't changed his mind or reverted back to old bad habits. I hadn't thought of leaving this new life for the comfortable familiarity of home. I adjusted well to this complete change and there's not a day I regret it. I had worried perhaps when I had accepted the marriage proposal that it was a hasty maneuver to keep me around. It's clear now that isn't the case, my leap of faith was well places and I stuck the landing with four stars.

As the year progressed we became close with new friends, and by Thanksgiving I was so happy to have company over that could just enjoy conversation, good food and wine. Krystal and Josh have been some of the best salve for the burn of homesickness I've ever found, and I can't even begin to describe how elated I am that time spent with them has been so enjoyable. I look forward to more dinners and nights hanging out as time marches on.

It was our first Christmas together, just us. We combined our traditions of stockings and pajamas on Christmas Eve. There were moments where everything got fuzzy, and it felt like home but in a completely new way. I could see our future, our kids, our home that is yet to be, and knew I would be looking back on these moments with fondness. The foundation of our lives have been joined and now we're building a family.

I've learned some of my stoutest friends are there for me in new ways. I've learned that new friends are always waiting to be discovered. I've learned that life can be so bittersweet in equal parts that it's hard to tell which is which.

I have also learned that not everyone is as capable as I am of handling past pain. My brother is not inside some physical piece of equipment, or even in pictures. He's in my heart, in my blood, and in my mind. These things cannot be taken, cannot be monopolized or lied about. I will lay down my warrior side on this and let those who wish to claim some weak tie as greater than family to learn from their lives. The words spoken in a eulogy remain so apt to this day. Be careful you don't forget the man and make him into something he never was. Stay true to the memory, and not to whatever ideal suits you.

With that, be at peace. I will strive to remember that my life has been blessed as things wind up into this hectic New Year. To all my friends, family and fans, I love you! You are my life, you are me.

Tattoo concepts, life in general

So, I've been considering new ink. I don't want to get it right away, I need to finish my back and I certainly don't want the piece I'm considering done before the wedding. It needs time to gestate in my head, to come together artistically, and for me to feel it's perfect. Why? Because it will be the biggest tattoo, and most visible, to date.


After some deliberation, I've decided to plan out a Sailor Moon sleeve for my right arm, stylized in the later anime style and simply left as bold outlines. No color. I haven't yet committed to putting this on my arm yet, but I'm definitely leaning that way.

Why Sailor Moon? Because, quite simply, I adore the show. Not the dub, but the original Japanese version and I can't think of any better sleeve theme for me than my all time favorite show. Plus it lets my inner nerd shine, and who doesn't love that? As an aside, no one seems to even have a Sailor Moon sleeve yet, so that makes it even better! (Shush about any retorts that there's a reason no one has it. I love the show, have for over a decade, and that's enough for me.)

Life has been changing at a fast pace for me since November. Life decisions have been made with little to no thought and it seems a little bit lately like things are going too smoothly. I expected bumps, disappointments... pain and suffering by this point and it is markedly absent.

Matt has been the kind of fiance I needed him to be for the past couple of years. No reverting back to past habits, no fears or doubts and no lingering feelings of insecurity. It's like climbing Mt. Everest for five years and suddenly realizing the peak isn't a mountain peak at all but a stunning oasis of verdant grass, deep pools of cool, fresh water and comfortable climate filled with soft cushions, white clad ladies with giant palm frond fans and all the delicious food one could ever need. I could get used to this.

Work, if possible, is going even more stellarly than my relationship. Exactly sixty one days from my first day of orientation as a part-time cashier, I attended my first day of orientation as the Hiring and Training Coordinator. When I stepped into the meeting room this morning to address the store managers, I received a healthy round of applause and felt like I'd won a Grammy Award. They are blown away by my ideas, by my ambition and by my motivation. I wasn't shunted to the side even after my "moment" was up, constantly asked how I view the inner workings of my store.

There is a down side to this though. I have thrown myself into work, 300%. I don't know of anyone to be promoted so high so shortly after starting a new job. When I get home, I'm so tired I can't even lift my arms to put my socks away. The place goes without tidying and every day more I feel like I'm dropping the ball. I haven't found my rhythm for work yet, balancing the effort so I don't come home exhausted.

I just hope I can balance them before the piles of dirty laundry become sentient. Just looking at them makes me want to sob.

O brother, where art thou?

Seven years. Seven years ago today the whole world shattered. He left us.

I can still hear my sister scream. I can still see my mother sobbing hysterically. I can still feel my heart being ripped through my chest and devoured by the cruel form of death.

I guess maybe I should start a little further back than this. Give some idea of the life he lived so that his loss could be a little better understood.

Christopher Michael Peake was born July 15th, 1972. Named after Christopher Robin of Winny the Pooh fame, he seemed to be a rebel from the very start. Technically my half brother, he was the child of my mother and her first husband, and from what I understand, his father's near identical clone.

As we grew up, Chris became my biggest tormentor and biggest protector. He would chase me through the house or playground and mercilessly noogie me or sit on me until I couldn't breathe. But god help anyone else not in the family who tried to do the same.

As I hit my teenaged years we had a bit more in common. It was Chris who taught me how to cruise the circuit in a car, hanging out with friends on a summer night. It was in the back of his truck, speeding down old back roads that I recall my best summer nights with crazy friends.

But our fights got worse. Neither of us felt we appreciated the other. Both of us thought the other got the better deal. The boy who resented his parent's split became the bitter man who felt he was on the outside looking in. No matter what we tried, this would be something we could never mend.

He would call, late at night in his life over the road as a trucker and talk about everything under the sun to stay awake. I think we connected the most on those calls, and later, when I'd go on trips with him. My most favorite memory of these later years was sitting on a flatbed trailer after getting these huge presses tarped, eating bologna sandwiches. He side hugged me and said he was proud. I wished I'd known his clock was already ticking down to the end.

He'd spill things about his life that I probably never should have known about, and shared that he felt no one really ever cared about him. And would usually end it with "The good die young, so I'll live forever".

On July 25th, 2003, just ten days after his 31st birthday, he was gone. He had been in a trucking accident three days earlier and when they went to send him home a pulmonary embolism which had formed in his deeply fractured ankle stopped his heart.

If he thought he had no friends he was sorely mistaken. Half of my hometown grieved for him, the other half scratched their heads in disbelief that someone they knew could be gone. His funeral was held in a small town by the name of Perry. For those three days of visitation and funeral, his mourners doubled the population.

I can still see friends emerging from the double door room, in tears and sobbing wildly, or else stone faced and drained of color. I can hear a thousand "I'm sorry"s in my ear, that caused me to feel sick for many years after every time I heard those two words.

I remember sitting in the house, blown away by how life could change in a heartbeat, and how empty everything could be. People poured in, people poured out and my mind slipped away for a while.

Seven years on you would think perhaps it's gotten easier. The wound still bleeds. I'm getting married next year and he will not be there. My wedding photos won't show him and his smirk. What would he be doing today? Where would he be now?



I miss his laugh.
I miss him singing along to country songs.
I miss him every time I hear an airhorn.
I miss his calling me "kiddo"
I miss his warped philosophies on life.
I miss his tears when he would call.
I miss his bitching at me for not taking my possessions seriously enough.
I miss him picking on me.
I miss him saying he's proud of me.
I miss him, I miss him, I miss him.

Sometimes I wish by saying it enough I could be granted one chance to tell him I love him, that I'm sorry our last words were in anger, and that I have learned so much from his passing.

I know where he is. He's in my head, while I replay memories. He's in my heart, stitched together as best I could. He's with me, and with you, if you knew him and loved him. He is the connection between us all now, making sure that no matter how far from home we sail, we'll always stay in touch if only to keep his eternal flame burning in our hearts.

I wish he was here. Plain and simple. I can still taste the Southern Comfort and feel the cold surface of the coffin as I kissed him goodbye one final time.

Rabbit is good, Rabbit is wise

Picture this. It's 1996 and I'm sixteen years old. My family and I are in the darkened movie theater, sitting back and sipping frozen Cokes when the lights dim further and the film rolls. I had no idea I was going to see something that would change my young and mushy brain. I just thought it was a cool night out at the movies with my family.

A few minutes into the film, a wide shot slides in with a crop-dusting bi-plane zooming low over the crops and a red Dodge Ram drives through the country side to a musical score that still gives me goosebumps. I remember, clear as a bell, my exact reaction. "Whoaaaa" whispered and barely heard.

The movie was the film Twister, released in 1996 starring Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton. It would become my obsession until I graduated high school.

I took meteorology classes, set up an official NOAA weather monitoring system in our backyard with my dad, and often went to Radio Shack to oogle the walkie talkies and other neat gear I supposed we would need.

It was my solid plan to head out west with my sister and become a storm chaser. We were going to be the financially broke but happily fulfilled team in our hodge-podge of vehicles chasing tornadoes to a rock and roll soundtrack. We'd even have a red Dodge Ram.

I learned a lot during my obsessed time. The differences between tornadoes and macrobursts, the Fujita scale and what a "bow echo" means. Jen and I even got really good at gauging when a storm would hit, how bad it would be, and how long it would last just by spending so much time studying them and staring wide eyed through the window at the lightning flashes.

We would blare the Twister soundtrack, had all of the lines memorized and for a while really believed we would go out and change the face of tornadoes and what we know about them.

Life intervened of course. A friend who saw that I was letting go of my dream pressed a Twister Pet Tornado in my hand to convince me that I shouldn't settle for a mundane life when I could chase dreams. I still have it, a clear plastic tube filled with water and glitter. When you spin it, it causes a vortex to form, like a tornado.

I wish I'd kept the dream instead, but I can't say I'm unhappy with my life. If I had gone down that path, I wouldn't be who I am, where I am and what I am today. I would be some other Julie. Some crazy, psychotic Julie with windblown hair and batshit crazy eyes screaming "It's the finger of God!!!"

Come to think of it.. that isn't too far off from where I am now..

Typhoon!

I like asking odd questions of people. Sometimes it's "If you were a car, what would you be?" or just asking people to make up a story on the spot and tell it to me. For the record, I'd be a hot pink Mustang (GT of course).

The whirlwind of my life is finally settling down to a balmy breeze. I've always been just a little slow to adjust to great changes in my life, and I sometimes still wake up wondering if I really am still me, and how I got here. Every week I stop and take stock of how far I've come and how sturdy things are.

I realized years ago that when your life changes so vastly from either tragic or amazing events, those first few steps are shaky ones. The upheaval is the same, even if the outcomes are different. Eventually after a little while it becomes clear that solid ground is as solid as it appears, and you're able to feel a little more comfortable.

It's been six months since we threw all my stuff in Matt's trunk and moved in together. Not once have I regretted this, although I wondered if he did a couple of times. Not that he acted like it, I just wanted to be sure he wasn't feeling overwhelmed in a bad way.

Now the chapel for the wedding is booked and.. holy crap this is really going to happen! Everything I dared to let myself dream on a frigid December evening while heading back from the cabin where he proposed is coming true! It's real now, and as such, all the more exciting!

The wedding party, AH! The wedding party! A better group of people I couldn't ask for. I feel for the first time that this is how it's all supposed to be, instead of how it always just had been for me. My future in-laws always seem so happy to see me, and those people who were Matt's friends for ages don't see me as taking him away, but as joining him. And they support it! Imagine that! They don't hate me on principle!

I think I'm going to cry on my wedding day, but not for sadness at all. What an amazing concept..

Wherein Hollywood Kills My Religion

It's nothing new, Hollywood has taken facts and skewered them to within an inch of their lives, added a few explosions and gratuitous nude scenes and voila! Big summer blockbuster. For the most part, I get it, I don't say anything. Explosions and sex fill seats and earn money. Money makes the world go round, never mind what they say about love.

That said though, I have yet to see a good Hollywood movie in which my religion isn't treated as a plot device. If Christianity or Judaism were treated the same way, there would be much hell to pay. So why ours?

I happened to be surfing channels and found "E!" channel playing The Craft. Originally released in 1996, it was one of the first movies I saw that had anything to do with what would become my chosen spiritual path. Glad I did NOT take it seriously. Here's the cover:

Remember this movie? Yeah, it was a big movie that year, and for years after it would come back to haunt me. "Are you a Nancy or a Sarah?"

This movie commits just about every crime Hollywood has ever made against my religion. First, they still use terms like "God" and "Devil", terms most seasoned practitioners don't use. Yes, we believe in God, but generally as the term "Goddess", the creatrix of our world. Some even go so far as to say "The All" is just that. It's nameless, genderless and unaligned with good or bad. It is whatever is in your heart. Myself, I feel nature is a duality, all things have male and female. Therefore that is reflected in my spirituality, God and Goddess.

The "Devil" just outright doesn't exist. We believe in personal accountability, so no scape goats. You f*** up, you own up to it and learn from it. No one made you do it. No "Hell" either, folks are reincarnated if they make poor life choices and keep doing it until they get it right. People can also choose to come back to be a guiding light. To be fair though, this is just how my view of the world works. I understand this conflicts with a lot of other religions, but I'm not saying they are wrong. It's just how I perceive the world.

Back to my rant. They refer to a made up entity named "Manon", referred to as a male (which is a big travesty seeing as male and female are balanced in the true Craft, if not in favor of female) and exhibit powers. Powers, I might add, that do not subscribe to the known laws of physics. Last I checked, Witches are human. We don't fly or change our hair color by whim (unless you buy the hair dye) and we don't cause snakes and bugs to just appear. If I could, do you really think I'd be working at Best Buy and living check to check? Hell no! I'd be making money off my abilities and you wouldn't have to ask if I have powers, I'd just show you.

The Craft has always been about embracing the divinity invested in you by nature. You're born divine, you are a part of nature, and there is magic in the blooming of flowers. Not green f****** sparks shooting out of your fingers or waving a wand and saying "Wingardium Leviosa!". I love Harry Potter, but it doesn't further the Craft's public image.


I digress, the first half of this movie you kind of get a skewered sense of the Craft. They use our language, our symbols, and our close bond, but they turn it into something high school outcasts delve into, instead of something anyone might find comfort in. And did anyone else notice it was the sexually promiscuous, "slutty" character that's deemed evil? Sexist much?

By the second half of the movie, all character development and integrity is shoveled out the window and it's all special effects and girls wearing tons of black. Since when did Witches become synonymous with vampire? Snarky comments rule the ending and while it's entertaining, it's still butchering my personal beliefs.

The Craft isn't what misfits do to bond, it's what legitimate folks do on a daily basis. The Craft doesn't give you special powers to break the laws that govern our world, they just help you see the divine in everything. And slutty, goth adorned girls are not the sole practitioners of our Craft.

With our image already so damaged, why does Hollywood continue to trivialize something so important to people and make it a vehicle for fancy effects and cheesy plots?

So I pose this question to you. If your religion, spirituality or personal beliefs that you hold sacred were continuously butchered to market movies to mass audiences, how would you feel? The only other example I have seen of this was the Hindu religion being slaughtered by Mike Myers in "The Love Guru".

I'm still somewhat indifferent to Hollywood's antics, but I wonder how much of this people outside of the Craft believe. How much of what's portrayed in these movies affects what people really think of us?

Mother's Day

Some people grow up in this world never knowing the love of a mother. They try to replace this bond and fill the void in a plethora of ways, usually resulting in some horrible travesty of the missing emotional tie. I myself am blessed not with just one stellar mother, but with a few. Over the years I have met some incredible women who have adopted me into their families and treated me as a daughter. I intend to honor the biggest players here as my tribute.

First let me start off by saying that each of these remarkable women have given me life lessons that have stuck with me over the years. Some have shown up on a blazing white horse in dark hours, and others have been on standby since the day I was born, just waiting for the single word that I need them. They have filled my life with love, been there for my ups and downs, and always wish me the best on my future, no matter what it might be.

So the biggest reason for this post today is to say thank you. I hold each of you dear, and I hope that when I have daughters of my own, be they my own flesh and blood or adopted into my family by a close bond, I can pass on a bit of you to each of them.

I will begin with Mary Trubiro. Thanks to good fortune, we were neighbors, and my mother became very good friends with Miss Mary, who had daughters my age. Without even a second's hesitation, Mary would be there if I needed her, riding to the rescue if mom couldn't be reached. Even years later as an adult, I still find myself warmly welcomed whenever I knock on her door, and a "quick stop in" becomes a much longer break over coffee that stays with me long after I have left. Her charming laugh, her great hugs, and her warm hospitality will be something I strive for as my own family grows.

Following along we have Carol Hilliker, who was not only there to chauffeur Laura and I around in our young years, but even took me on the family vacation where I still hold some of my fondest Northern Michigan memories. Always smiling and always so kind, she never once complained of my many many visits to hang out with Laura, and often played music on her piano. I can still hear the melodies from Somewhere in Time, and nothing made me happier than to see her in Civil War garb while she explained some of the quirks of life back then. Her tenderness and talent will always be with me.

Paula Perkins. Oh lord what a lady! Growing up with her sons meant we got to see a lot of her, especially on towards high school. She was the quintessential nerd mom, allowing all of us to LARP in her back yard over bonfires. I think I spent more time her in kitchen gossiping than I did actually playing. I remember her cooking dinner for my whole family while we dealt with Chris's funeral, and headbanging with her at Branden's wedding. I will always think of her affectionately as Mama Paula, and will always strive to be the fun, nerdy mom that everyone adores.

Aunt Patty, who isn't technically my aunt as she's my mother's cousin, but since when did that ever matter to me? I sadly didn't know much of her in my childhood years, beyond the stories my mom would tell us about her youth. Thanks to the miracle of social networking sites I've gotten a chance to connect with her and I can say she's more like a twin to my mother. They have the same way of talking, the great personalities that make me laugh and such big, compassionate hearts! I'm hope I'm just as compassionate with my children as she is!

My grandmothers of course warrant being listed here! Grandma Michael and Grandma Cromwell both helped so much in raising me. I still have the dolls and blankets grammie Cromwell made for me, with my "Grammie loves me" blankie still bringing a wave of peace and happiness to me. I was inseparable from it as a little girl, and one day I intend to pass it on to my babies. My gramma Michael was a constant presence in my life, living so very near. Classy, elegant and still a firecracker, she was forever trying to get me to stand up straight and taught me the importance of always having red lipstick in my purse. My grandmothers were wonderful to me, and though my gramma Michael has passed on, she's still in my heart, and will most likely be heard from again when I try to get my girls to stand up straight!

As I wind down the count down, I want to mention my future mother-in-law, Mrs. Janice Murphy. From the very first she has always thought to send me little trinkets, including my first Terrible Towel that still resides in my most special belongings. I've gotten to know her a bit, but I really hope to get to know her a lot more in the years that come and while I'm just starting to cultivate my relationship with her, she deserves a huge thank you. Without her, I would not be engaged to the most amazing man. She brought him into the world and raised him, and for that I owe her my future happiness. She's so kind and caring, always warm and hospitable and always so careful to make sure I'm taken care of while visiting. I see great things in our future as mother and daughter and I'm so thoroughly pleased how well we get along! Convention be darned, I love my future mother in law!

And finally, the Piece de Resistance, my biological mother. It's been said there is a thin line between madness and genius, and I think she crosses that on a daily basis. No one I have ever met is as crazy or as sharp as my mother. She'll do absolutely random things that drive me up a wall, and the next day when I call for answers I need to solve a problem, she's two steps ahead and it's already handled. She has her senses finely tuned into her children, and can usually find me... especially when I don't want to be found. She's amazing, she's insane, she's absolutely everything and despite my teasing her and vice versa, I know without a doubt she loves every single thing about me. Every flaw, every cell, every quirk, and she'll always be there to guide me from my heart. I got my bleeding heart and daydreaming head from her, and also my ability to try and think out side the box to figure out what I need. I owe my life to her, and if there is one ultimate compliment I can ever receive, it's that I'm just like her.

To all the women who have been a part of my life and doted on me as a daughter, either real or adopted, you all mean so much to me. I wouldn't be who I am today without your influence and guidance, and your amazing ability to thwart my attempts to get into trouble. Thank you again if you happened to cover for my being silly and young. (You know who you are.)

To all my beautiful sisters, cousins and girl friends who grew up with me and are now mother's yourselves, I think you are the most noble and amazing women. I have known most of you since middle school (and some even earlier) and I know you to be wonderful, strong and passionate girls who have made wonderful, strong and passionate mothers. I hope when it is my turn that I manage half your courage and love of family. I'm definitely taking notes.

Finally, I will wrap this up by saying that I don't need a special day to bring this up, I feel this way about you all every day. But since I have such a convenient excuse, why not take advantage! I love you all, and I keep you in my heart where I will pass down your wisdom, caring and insanity to my own children!

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!

Deep thoughts on the Wedding

Maybe it's the late hour, or maybe I'm just waxing philosophical, but I've been thinking a lot about my pending nuptials. Every day it seems I'm getting more excited, rambling my vows in the shower, imagining the sound of the pipe organs playing as I walk down the aisle, posing for pictures afterward and of course the reception.

I look forward to a day surrounded by my friends and family, a day that gives me no fear or the impending feeling of uncomfortable moments. I've always been obsessed with having everything done perfectly, getting the perfect flowers, the perfect colors, the perfect decorations... but now when I think about marrying Matt, all I can think is that nothing in the world matters except being with him. I'll wear a trash bag and beam the whole day, and it's surprising how very ok I am that the details don't have to be perfect.

So then I had to ask myself, why am I so ok with it? Have I matured? Am I that smitten with my groom? Or is it that every important puzzle piece has fallen into place and it has that wonderful feeling of "When it's right, it's right" permeating everything? My soon to be mother-in-law is fantastic, I really couldn't ask for a better lady. My future brother-in-law and I have enough in common to enjoy a day out, and my family just adores Matthew.

Every time I look at my engagement ring, a shiver of delight runs up my spine and I can almost see the results of our hard labor. My only sadness is that it will only be for one day. I hope that day lasts for a long, long time.  Every moment of the planning feels enjoyable, and every moment leading up to our big day feels like a dream. How exciting!

Switching gears

I decided after the brutality of the French Revolution I'd switch gears a little and picked up a book that the friendly guy at the used book store highly recommended.

It's called "Black Mass" by Dick Lehr and Gerard O'Neill and it chronicles the inside corruption of the FBI and the notorious Boston gangster Whitey Bulger. Being a huge fan of the Scorsese film "The Departed" I saw a lot of parallels. It wasn't until a little fact checking that I realized Jack Nicholson had actually modeled his role of Costello after the notorious Bulger, and in fact the movie is a lose interpretation of the events!

I like the writing style of the book that evokes the 1970's era South Boston, and I'm disturbed a bit to know I've actually stepped across some of these crime scenes without even knowing it.

And so, here I am

Welcome to my brand new, shiny blog! I intend to showcase the things I like, make a few rants about the things I don't like, and pretty much give a glimpse into my crazy world. With some luck, a few people might actually be interested in what they find here. With even more luck, it'll inspire some interesting conversation.

To kick things off, I'd like to point out the blogs I'm currently following and highly recommend them. Some are funny, some serious, and some are somewhere in between. All are wickedly interesting and good reads. Take a second to check them out!

Now on to the things I have been up to recently. As some of you may know, I am a big fan of doomed queens. The women who have worn the crown and fallen from grace in some of the most harrowing stories of history. In this vein, I picked up the book about one of the most famous doomed queens, "Marie Antoinette: The Journey" by Antonia Fraser.



It's such a good read, really making the life of this poor girl come to life. I know, that may seem like a contradiction, "Poor Queen" but it's true. She followed the worst advice not to acknowledge the rumor mongers and paid with her life. Vilified as an overindulged, vapid woman, the queen was actually a study of baptism by fire.