Weekends-are-for-fun Road Trip: Pittsburgh!

Posted on August 14, 2012 by Hannah

When James and I were in the Calgary airport coming back from our honeymoon, James saw a kid wearing a Pittsburgh Pirates jersey, and happy to have found another fan, James asked if he was from Pittsburgh. “Naw man,” the kid replied, “But I wish!”

I am pretty sure that is the only time that this question has ever elicited that response.

Now, I am not trying to bash the fine city of Pittsburgh, I am just being honest about the fact that it isn’t exactly appearing on all the Pinterest boards entitled “Places I wish I was” or “Dream Vacations” or “Want to live here” or even “Maybe this place wouldn’t be as bad as a trailer-park.”

But Pittsburgh is the home of James’ beloved Pirates, so we did indeed take a roadtrip there last weekend to see them play the San Diego Padres.  James has been a Pirates fan since he was a kid, thanks in large part to the amazing story and person of Roberto Clemente. Yet despite his lifelong devotion (a big deal indeed since the Pirates have not had a winning season in 19 years), James had never actually been to Pittsburgh to see them play.  And as he has been so good about letting me spend most of our wedding money on pillows, curtains, and excessive Ikea furniture, I said that we could also take some of it to take a Pittsburgh Pirates Pilgrimage.

Let me say that I am not a Sports Person. I mean, I bleed blue like all central Kentucky people worth their salt, but I am not – by any stretch of the imagination – a Sports Person. I do not participate in activities where coordination is involved, I do not understand most sports, and I happily spent all the time at my brothers’ games growing up eating Jolly Ranchers at the concession stand. But I love James, and sometimes when you love someone, you have to take up the causes they think are important. Which is why, as Pittsburgh is having a fantastic season, I am joining James in paying attention and rooting them on. And thus we left for Pittsburgh on a Saturday afternoon with the intention of staying outside of town that night and then going in the next day for the Sunday game.  When we got to our hotel about 9 that night we were in exceptionally high spirits after a dinner at Cracker Barrel. My spirits were due to the exceptionally awesome food… and James’ were due to mocking me and my love for Cracker Barrel. (Apparently some people don’t view it as the fine family dining establishment it is. And yes, most of the other people there were obese old people, and yes, a coupld had oxygen tanks, but my biscuits were legit. )

Our good moods were very providential because when we arrived at the hotel that we had booked online for a steal (Danger Sign #1), we were in for a surprise. Before even opening the door, we noticed a large stain spreading out from under the door. Upon entering, James proceeded to check the room for a DEAD BODY, because that was how strong the rotting smell was. We went down to the front desk and informed the ladies that our room in fact smelled like something had died, to which they became very evasive and refused eye contact, and insisted that someone had stayed yesterday with no complaint.

Um, that didn’t really make us feel better.

We left Hotel of Death Smell and continued on to Pittsburgh…. only to discover that there are no. vacancies. anywhere. Apparently Pittsburgh is a hotter getaway spot then I thought. Finally, we took the first empty room we found, which is how we ended up staying in the nicest  hotel I have ever stayed in and having breakfast in bed from a silver tray the next morning while propped up by an insanely large pile of pillows.

The next morning we headed out to the game and all was smooth sailing from there. The Pirates won, after an abysmal start, and we were able to sneak in to great seats. Plus, I ate so much ballpark food that I was kind of sick that night, so I count the game a success.

I know it is weird, but PNC Park is one of the prettiest places ever. Pittsburgh is a kind of grungy town, but there is something honest about it, hardworking and aggressively beautiful. It is a testament to American pull-yourself-up-by-the bootstraps spirit, with its skyline a interesting blend of modern marvels and gothic inspiration. It is past glory trying to forge ahead in the present. And seated in the stands cheering for a team that might just be pulling it together, I though that maybe, just maybe, I could become a Sports Watching Person (not playing – there are limits). Because everyone becomes a family when they are watching a baseball game. We all high-five and cheer and talk like we know each other. And everyone becomes a patriot while watching a baseball game, as we take off our hats for the national anthem, and honor present soldiers, and cheer for the Cub Scouts who carry the flags.  And everyone, it seems, becomes just a little better then they were before they started watching.

Instagram photos: so excited for the roadtrip that we can’t both get in the frame. pink clouds in Pennsylvania — my first time in this state. matchy matchy Wegmanns. yellow bridge. James’ free lunchbox. Hannah’s favorite part of ball games. flashing the Zoltane — which Hannah had to practice — when the Pirates scored 9 runs in one inning. happy after the win. PNC park with the Pittsburgh skyline.

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Wegmann Waffle Wednesday

Posted on August 9, 2012 by Hannah

Because new families like to start new traditions…

… especially ones that are covered in Nutella and whip cream (remember crêpe night on Tuesdays?), and involve alliteration.  You can find the waffle recipe we used here. And be forewarned that if you triple it, and there is only you, your husband, and your one very tall friend, you will have LOTS of waffles left over, even after forcing everyone to take thirds and insisting that your guest take a bag of waffles with him.

Anyone have any great traditions/ weekly meals that they want to share?

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Between the sky and water

Posted on August 5, 2012 by Hannah

I had lots of lofty ambitions for this week, one of which was a nice long post with tales from Banff…. but that didn’t happen. Instead, this week has been lots of Craigslist searching, returns, and cleaning, culminating in a trip to Ikea, that left us both wiped out. Note to self: Ikea on a Saturday afternoon is a special form of torture, especially when you get trapped behind a Slow Walker, and it seemed like there were only Slow Walkers at Ikea today. Also, children should be banned from Ikea. And they should have adults only shopping evenings with soft jazz, appetizers, and empty aisles.  As can be seen below, Ikea almost got the best of James, and this picture was even taken before we got to the “Marketplace” and found that Ikea was fresh out of Klôpsloffstëinerfloofds and Aaaauuuunnnderlandershandgermidsts. Or whatever they are called. 

So instead of having a wild first weekend out with friends in the city, James and I came home to assemble furniture with unpronounceable names, do laundry, and nurse bad head colds. And I don’t mind at all.

But as James marveled at the weird blob-like beings that demonstrate how to assemble Ikea products, I finally uploaded the pictures from our honeymoon. And so I leave you with these two panoramas of Banff, of that perfect place caught between endless sky and sparkling water.

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Honeymoon, via instagram.

Posted on July 31, 2012 by Hannah

We are back in DC after the most wonderful last couple weeks. In the upcoming weeks expect

  1. Wedding recap as I sort through pictures others have taken and wait for our professional pics.
  2. Pictures of our new apartment (which currently looks like a Macy’s/ Bed,Bath, and Beyond bomb went off in it)
  3. Lots of stories and pictures from our amazing honeymoon, because it was basically the best trip ever.

On that last note, here is just a glimpse of our trip to the Canadian Rockies, aka, Most Beautiful Place Ever.

coffee lovin’ husband.  amazing breakfast overlooking the mountains. Saltlik, home of perfect steak and amazing mac n’ cheese. picnic lunch by a mountain river in Jasper. James questioning the quantity of food erred at tea time. high tea at the Fairmont Chateau overlooking Lake Louise.  Rocky Mountain Bagel Company, home of the best bagel sandwich I have ever had. driving along the Icefields Parkway to Jasper.  husband grilling steak for dinner.  mountain rainbow. last sunset over Banff.

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Reader, I married him.

Posted on July 25, 2012 by Hannah

And it was perfect.

And I loved it all, despite one or two stressful moments that are already so faded in my memory of the day, that I am sure they will be eclipsed altogether before we even legally change my last name.

And it went too fast, and I didn’t make it to the favor bar, or have seconds of the awesome food, or entirely finish a slice of cake (though I did start 3), or get to spend enough time hugging all the people I love.

And it was the most powerful feeling in the world to walk down that aisle and see the people we love from every part of our lives gathered together for once, and then make our vows before God with all of them witnessing our covenant.

And that’s all I will say for now because I am in the Canadian Rockies with my husband and everything else just has to wait.

*Thanks to my amazing big brother Zach for this photo, and for holding us over (along with the bazillion other ones that I saw on Facebook when I opened my computer today — thanks friends! ) until we get the ones from our wonderful photographer.

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A baby!

Posted on July 17, 2012 by Hannah


No, not mine. Obviously.

Sometimes it is nice when someone else has an ALL CONSUMING THOUGHT, like me with the wedding these days. And the only thing more all consuming the a wedding, in terms of planning, dreaming, etc., is probably a baby.

Amanda is preparing for her sweet baby girl, whom we are already  pretty sure is perfect.  She came over to help me finish wedding crafts this morning (who knew that getting married involved so many trips to Hobby Lobby? I have been every other day for 2 weeks. I am not exaggerating. I actually know that the days when they restock navy 5/8 inch double faced satin ribbon. Someone save me from myself.), and when she pulled up looking so perfectly pregnant, we postponed crafts briefly to snap some pictures.

* When I am someday pregnant, I hope to look like Amanda, who is only pregnant in her stomach. I will probably look pregnant even in my fingers.

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My Wedding is the Stuff of Nightmares.

Posted on July 16, 2012 by Hannah

We were warned it would happen.

The closer that the wedding gets, the more the dream becomes reality, and as every little girl fantasy of silky dresses, pretty flowers, and perfect moments materializes before my eyes, the nightmares intensify. Not, mind you, any involving James. He is merely The Groom, and all of these nightmares involve The Wedding, an entity that sadly is often thought of not in conjunction with The Groom.

No, I mean The Wedding Nightmares, the ones where everything goes wrong and you wake up in a sweat with the sheets twisted around your head because all of the roses were lime green and the bridesmaids refused to do anything other than dance the polka down the aisle. The Wedding Nightmares usually bear no semblance with The Wedding Dream that is being realized in my waking moments.  Here are some of my top Wedding Nightmares, broken down into what I think are typical categories.

The Location Swap: Instead of finding myself at my reception in the lovely park as planned, I was in an endless Victorian house, but with no furniture. I was running through the house in my poufy dress but couldn’t find any way out, which was torture because the caterer was trying to get in, so as a result, all of my guests starved to death. Yes, this is kind of like Sartre’s No Exit meets one of those horrible wedding planning shows. This is what happens when French grad students plan weddings during the semester.

The Decoration Disaster: My mother and I have very few altercations overall during this wedding process. However, we did have several…. differences of stylistic opinion…. over the reception decorations. I wanted floral table arrangements, she wanted bowls of fish swimming around. I wanted absolutely no decorations in the ceremony, she would wrap everything stationary in tulle if she could. Now ultimately, we worked everything out and are both super thrilled with the décor now, but in the midst of these discussions, I dreamt that I showed up at the reception only to find that she had decorated – and made all of the tables and chairs – out of book boxes. Book boxes, for those not in the know, fill our basement, as my mother manages selling my grandfather’s books from there. As kids, we built them into forts and paraded around in dressups, as is seen in the photo below (and yes, I went through a particularly ugly spell for about 8 years, during which all together too many photos were taken and are now reappearing as we prepare a wedding slideshow):

In the Decoration Disaster Nightmare, I showed up and the reception was decorated like that. And I might have thrown something.

The Vendor Failure: We are blessed with fantastic vendors, from hair, to makeup, to photography, to food. Remember, these dreams do not correlate with reality. I want to emphasize this in case my dear sweet photographer reads this and is too scared to come to the wedding. This nightmare was on the part of my mother, who has never even met our photographer. But in her dream, the photographer didn’t show up. However, my mother is a problem solver, and not only did her dream spiral into madness, she fixed the problem in her sleep. First, she rallied my brother and dad to take photos. Next, when the photographer did show up, my mother TOOK HER CAMERA and then said she could have it back once our entire deposit was returned. That’s right, my mother stole in her sleep and was proud of it.

The Dress Debacle: After receiving the call that my dress was in, I dreamt that I went in to get it but no one could find it. They kept on putting me in dress after dress, insisting that each was the one I had ordered, and ignoring my pleas to the contrary. I kept on trying to text Rachel to email a picture so I could prove them wrong, but with no success. Finally they strapped me into a hot pink gown covered in black sequins and I fled the salon weeping. I woke up ACTUALLY CRYING (go ahead and judge) and crawled over into Liz’ room to have her remind me it was just a dream.

Any brides out there have any crazy wedding planning nightmares? Or am I alone in my sleep freak-outs?

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Traverse City is for the Cool Kids

Posted on July 14, 2012 by Hannah

So when I was at that impossibly wonderful wedding a couple weeks ago, I had an epiphany: northern Michigan is basically the best-kept secret ever.  The lake beaches are cleaner than the ocean beach, the water seemed bluer, it wasn’t hot, there were no overcrowded roads or obnoxious beach stores with neon lights, and lighthouses dotted the aspen covered hills. Basically, I spent the whole drive having spasms over how I lived in Michigan for 4 years and never made it to the lovely northern coast.

Before going to Frankfort for Gen’s wedding, my road-trip companion Jenny and I decided to go to Traverse City. Traverse City is, from what I can gather, the hub for cool people who like to wear awesome clothes, eat healthy foods, and blog. It is where cool people live like Megan of The Fresh Exchange, or Jonathan of  Culture Keeper.

Confession: I am not a cool person. How do I know this? Because I proudly own 5 Celine Dion CD’s (including the Christmas special) and I love movies starring Mel Gibson, preferably where he is in any sort of costume. Don’t be a hater. I would pick Braveheart over an artsy movie with no plot and obscure music any day.

But I went to Traverse City anyways and tried to not draw too much attention to my un-cool self. And people, you all need to stop what you are doing NOW and plan a trip to northern Michigan (in the summer, duh.) and stop at Traverse City, home of  The Most Free Samples Ever.

First stop, Grand Traverse Pie Company, where Jenny and I had peach cherry pie.

There is no picture of the actual pie because it was consumed too fast and with too much glee to have time to photograph. This is Jenny post-pie consumption though, and she is indeed pretty happy.

Second stop, Fustini’s, home of a bazillion special balsamic vinegars and olive oils.

Did you know they make a balsamic that tastes like chocolate? Or Coffee? Or Peach? Or LAVENDER ? OR FIG??? ( And yes, I of course bought the fig, because you know how I love them.) Jenny and I probably spent 45 minutes sampling like pros until we were raving and insisting that we could taste the “bouquet of aftertastes.”  While we were become veritable connoisseurs , the saleslady made a list of places to go and eat. Because people in Traverse City are not only cool, but super nice.

Third stop, The Cherry Republic. For those who don’t know (as in, me, a couple weeks ago), most of the nation’s cherries come from northern Michigan. Translation: Traverse City is an edible shrine to cherry goodness. In The Cherry Republic, we were able to sample every variety of cherry product: chocolate covered cherries, cherry salsa, cherry dusted tortilla chips (why yes, I do now require all my munchies dusted in cherry!), cherry jam, cherry chutney, cherry trail mix, etc. Furthermore, the chirpy saleslady informed me that anything in the store could be opened and sampled and I am pretty sure I abused that policy.  I then further blew my cool cover by jumping in the giant bin of cherry pits to have my picture taken.

After our cherry binge, Jenny and I finished our Traverse City tour off with dinner at 7 Monks. Once again, no pictures because we were stuffing our face with food, as if we hadn’t just eaten every cherry product imaginable.

And it was awesome. Just like Traverse City.

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This is the story of a boy (and a girl).

Posted on July 8, 2012 by Hannah

Two weeks from today, I will be married to this man.

And it seems like just yesterday that we were out on our first date, but really it was four years and five months ago. Four years and five months since we sat across a table at a little pizza place in rural Michigan and admitted that all those French tutoring sessions and baseball playing in the arboretum maybe had ulterior motives.

A lot has happened in that time. A lot of long walks around Hillsdale, a lot of visits to Kentucky and Indiana, a lot of late night Skype conversations from Paris, a lot of trips nack and forth to DC, and finally, a lot of wandering through Eastern market and looking forward to building a home together.

And so very soon, all of this dating will be over. And all the wedding planning, ribbon tying, dress fitting, cake tasting, flower picking, decoration hanging, photo coordinating, detail arranging, and even stressing will be over too.

And something so much more wonderful will be just beginning.

(This picture is from our very first months of dating, but it is still a favorite. Now that James has Hill hair, which is to say short and clean cut, it is fun to look back at the shaggy headed boy with whom I started falling in love.)

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The Fourth the way it should be.

Posted on July 6, 2012 by Hannah

The Fourth of July might just be my favorite holiday. I love Christmas and Thanksgiving, but they have so much more pressure attached. There are gifts, traditions, weighty religious and historical undertones, and all sorts of hype. But on July 4th, we do, as my father says, what Americans do best: “eat, and blow stuff up.”  In the Stone family, this also means dying the food red, white, and blue. I don’t just mean the food that is dyable, like a cake or fruit salad. No. To put it in perspective, one year my mother dyed the chicken blue.

James keeps on telling me that when I eventually spend the Fourth in DC I will love it, but I am not convinced. The big cities can claim Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or New Year’s, but the Fourth belongs to small towns, rural outposts, and tiny communities. It is the holiday where we remember our nations beginnings, where we revel in what we should be proud of, and where we foster hope for our future. And all these things happen best in small towns, where people still know their neighbors and multiple generations cluster together to watch the night sky shimmer with fireworks.  Thomas Jefferson said that American should be a nation of small farms, and while I am definitely not recommending chucking capitalism and going total agrarian, I do think that there is something profoundly American about viewing our country as a patchwork of individual units that never really give up their individuality. And how could I best remember that if I was watching fireworks in a Capital that is happily signing away individual liberty at an alarming rate?

 And no Fourth is better than Fourth in Wilmore, KY, my hometown. I am pretty sure it is what the Founders had in mind with that whole pursuit of happiness thing. the synchronized lawnmower brigade rolls through town. the local grocers chop watermelon for hours in the sun. a menu fit for paradise. man on tractor, smoking a pipe, with a flag, in a parade – that is America. free kittens. 25 cent hotdogs. patriotic potato salad. sparkly crowns from the craft fair. Ivy, the adopted stray and cookout companion.

 Happy Birthday America, I do love you.

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