Music is what feelings sound like.

Photo courtesy of Flickr

"She is the bride of a King that loves her stronger than the ocean's tide / she's an example to the world of a captive that's been set free."

- Sam Heilig, "Words Fall Through"

I'm always game for an addition to my singer/songwriter iTunes genre. Send 'em my way!

Merci beaucoup to the guy that passed along this Georgia boy's name.

Cause now, I have some new songs on my fall-asleep playlist.

(Yeah I know, I'm 21 and maybe sometimes still go to bed with an iPod like I did in 9th grade. RIP, silver mini iPod.)

But I always did fall asleep to melodies. 

(Except for my brief departure to Delilah's hypnotic voice and radio show in the mid-90's.)

So I think it's kinda how we are wired if our mamas sang to us.

(Bonus points if you danced to it for 16 years.)

Consequently, I sing and rock little 3-month old I babysit every day. And after I sing Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah," a little Drew Holcomb, and some Sunday School classics, and Carson's blue eyes blink open and mischievously look at mine, I whip out the arsenal of ADPi chapter songs. Can't help it. I got about 10 songs memorized and they kinda sound like lullabys.  

And then I go back downstairs and watch Toy Story with my 2-year-old boyfriend.

Did you know 2-year-olds prefer to watch movies more than once?

They do :)

10% Off at Buffalo and Company!

Wildlife Series Tee Shirt. Photos courtesy of Buffalo and Company.

A coupla months back, I waxed poetic on the branding of Buffalo and Company. Grounded with the idea of creating Southern, classic American products that aim to represent the rugged, dust-and-dirt man's man, the company makes me grin--I've got a thing for guys a tad rough around the edges. (Freud would probably attribute this to having a huntin', shootin' fishin', bushoggin'-at-the-family-farm father. You know, the kind that broke his arm being thrown off a buckin' bronco at the Auburn frat rodeo circa 1980. The last time he wore pink was probably when my darling sister graced earth in 1991.)

True, a pair of seersucker pants on the right gentleman makes me swoon, but the scruffy, devil-may-care type is the way to my heart. Enter Buffalo and Company--I'll have what they're having. 

So when Xan came to me with a discount offer for my readers, duh--no brainer. Polos, tee shirts, fishing shirts, leather goods, baseball hats-- Check out the product line at Buffalo and Company and get 10% off with this code: MISSMAGNOLIA

Word on the street is they're perusing for a few good men. If you're interested or know someone who may want to be a B&C campus rep, give Xan a shout.

Hemingway Fishing Shirt. So maybe no fish bit last week and my friend pulled his golf clubs out and we drove balls into the field instead. I adore this shirt despite my luck.

Buffalo Polo

Charcoal Rip Stop Hat

So welcome my newest (okay, first, but like anyone's counting) advertiser--Buffalo and Company! Whatcha think?

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I'm a wanderer I have no place or time.

I'l' be feeling so fly like a G6, like a G6, like a like a G6. Photo courtesy of We Heart It.

Post a zillion college graduation pictures on Facebook, and the "what's next for you" question becomes everyone's new favorite:

People: "Ash, congrats! *fist pump/pound/chest bump/etc.* Aight, so tell me what you're doing next."

Me: "Well, for almost a year, I'll be on the road as a traveling leadership consultant for Alpha Delta Pi sorority. I figure I have a bunch of rando sorority knowledge/fun facts to impart upon the youth of our nation and wanted to shake things up."

People: "No WAY--my friend that did that for her sorority (no lie, who knew this was such a popular job). Where are you based?"
Me: "Kinda Atlanta? Um, my suitcase? I don't really know..."

In less than two months, I start my first post-college job. When I say traveling, I mean heavy emphasis on the traveling part. Like, heavy as in I usually won't stay put longer than a week.

So that's why I'm coming to you. I have a SLIGHT overpacking tendancy--as in life, I like options ok? And I think I've done the airport-by-myself-thing once. Contrary to popular belief, interning in the Southern Living travel department didn't teach me everything. Yikes. So please. Help. Me.

I want to know everything. From the "pack the heavy stuff by the suitcase wheels" to "Tory Burch Reva flats will set off the security alarm and cause a scene." (Do they? I dunno. Someone tell me, otherwise my ballerina flats and I shall learn the hard way.)

Further, what "stuff" do you like to travel with? Below is my wish list as of 5.26.2010. Feel free to sponsor me, I take checks.

Kate Spade Large Colin cosmetic case. Because keeping your makeup brushes in a glass champagne flute isn't gonna fly on the road. (Fly, get it? Mwhaha.)

Longchamp Le Pilage. Bandwaggoning. Again. But it's super light, eh?

Vera Bradley Ditty Bag. I was told to get one stat because despite their inherent cuteness, I will not be using baby bottles of anything.

Baekgaard Leather Travel Companion. Because I vow not to be my usual absent-minded/forgetful self for ONE year. And I may get to go to Canada, hence a passport.

AquaBells. As seen in SkyMall. I would, I know.

Okay. Hit me. Best travel tips, best packing supplies, travel blogs. Mark, get set, GO.

Blog title: "Wanderer" by Marc Broussard. Because didn't some wise sage decide love is all we need anyway? Adore you, Marc. And a-HEM--the one who's out there smiling reading this part, thanks for everything. You know who you are :)

Listen up.

Photo courtesy of We Heart It

I debated posting this.

But well, sometimes I throw caution to the wind.

Sermon: "God and Sex," by Matt Chandler, pastor of The Village Church in Texas.

Why: This clip about relationships is kinda-sorta circulating (a sorority sister clued me in), and it's raw. Uninhibited.

Click here to listen.

Very interesting sermon, to say the least. Long-ish, but at least put it on in the background. It's about a God. A God that resists inhibiting our joy with all His unreal, awesome might. A God that, contrarily, looks for the best, most wonderful thing He can find, wraps it up, smiles and says "here ya go, got this for you. I love you." 

p.s. Here is the Church at Brookhills Psalms 23 sermon (I mentioned in another post) for y'all that asked for a link. It's the May 2 stuff. 

Ahoy: Kiel James Patrick

I know, I know. I'm bandwaggoning a bit with this one, but I have kept my crush quiet too long.

Let me begin by saying I'm quite certain in another life I lived on a coastal city. The water FASCINATES me. Sand? Nbd. Say the word "harbor" and I Pavlov's-dog-salivate. Hemmingway has always charmed me. (original draw? The fact that he was besties with F. Scott Fitzgerald, my true favorite. And F. Scotty was married to--drumroll--Montgomerian Zelda Fitzgerald. They met at Montgomery Country Club. Now that I've played Six Degrees with Kevin Bacon BY MYSELF, I'll cool my jets.)

So when I saw Kiel James Patrick's woven silk stud earrings, I flipped a lid.

Because now, I believe I need little nautical earrings* for when I go to the beach. Or lake.

* I theme dress. Case in point: I wore a Mexican print skirt out on Cinco de Mayo** night. My mom is a teacher, it's in my blood. Judge me.

** Yes, to those concerned about my previous post, I finished the paper and went out for the 5th. Good call, Ashlyn. Viva Mexico!

I do not discriminate--their Vicker Lee headband collection rocks as well.

Am I allowed to wear headbands now that I'm a college grad? Sure. I mean, Blair Waldorf does, right?

Dear loyal Plash family readers: I love you. And your island. Melissa, tell anyone how I couldn't bait a shrimp last summer on your daddy's boat and you're going down. It will destroy my sailor-y street cred.

I needed help. I'm used to worms. Photo courtesy of Mallory.

Welp, 'til I move to Charleston, I'll just adorn my ears with the tennis racket studs. That suits my landlocked/rubico courtside style a little more. Pinkie-promise I won't wear them while playing. Come on, didya think I was THAT bad about theme dressing? :)

I Think I Just Graduated...

Proud parents. I'm pretty blessed.

"All children, except one, grow up." Or so declares paragraph one, page one of my Favorite Story Ever. 

I loved every moment of my college graduation yesterday. From the impromptu photoshoot my goofy family decided to have on the Quad to the walk across the stage (in Jack Rogers, to my mother's dismay. My nude heels broke. Uh, whoops).

  

Daddy thought it'd be hysterical to replay 4 years of giving money to Mr. Samford Benefactor himself, Dwight Beeson. Well, it was funny...

But back in sweet Montgomery today, my fingers lilted across book titles until they landed on my go-to: Peter Pan by James Barrie. Yes. I just finished studying CIA investigation of Abu Ghraib and Gothic architecture in Europe. And yes, 24 hours later, I have reverted to age 10.

Can't help it. He was my first crush, followed by Aladdin. My babysitter lovingly allowed us to kill the Mary Martin version VHS. Then, in high school I danced Wendy in Alabama Dance Theatre's Peter Pan, resulting in months of character study. First time I set foot in London, I'm running to the Kensington Gardens Peter Pan statue. Shoot. Do you know what? I realize I am still attracted to confident, stubborn boys today. Okay, now I'm psycho-analyzing myself like my pyschology-major roommate... Miss you, Rach :)

See why they call it Samford Country Club?

Regardless, I'm taking a page from the tale. Yes, I'll accept responsibility. Yes, I'll work to grow and learn. 


But I pledge to be forever young. 'Cause I kinda adore what Kid Cudi says, that people will always say what they will. You've gotta see where God's brought you, the blessings you have, and then--high on dreams--keep soaring upwards.


"I'm feeling like I'm Peter Pan, minus the tights and the fairies /
Happy to see how far I've come /
To the same place it began my dreams and imagination perfectly at peace /
So I move along a bit higher... /
I'll be up, up, and away / up, up, and away / 'cause they 'gon judge me anyway / so whatever."

- Kid Cudi, "Up, Up, and Away"

Swear on my honor this is staged. They made me. Kristen demanded I "go frolic." I'll also jump off a bridge if you tell me, apparently.

So happy graduation to me! 

Now? Second star to the right, straight on 'til morning.

And everything is going to the beat.

Photo courtesy of Taylor Gunter

Finals. brb. Promise.

Blog title song: "Sleepyhead" by Passion Pit. It sounds like fairies dying and being born at the same time. Or like Red Bull bottled in musical form. Download it.

Hot like Mexico.

As the last political science paper of my collegiate career is due tomorrow (The Media's Effect on Foreign Policy in the Persian Gulf War--riveting, I know.), it's looking like Cinco de Mayo festivities shall be celebrated on the Seis. Tequila and Microsoft Word probably don't mix.

Puebla dresses available at La Mariposa, $44

Ahh, Cinco de Mayo! Here you are again. 

Let us trace my history of loving Mexico:

Forget princesses. For my 6-year-old birthday party, I went with a lovely Mexican fiesta theme. We wore sombreros and dined on mini tacos. Mother claims I bossed every one around.

For my 2nd grade state report, I chose New Mexico for its OBVIOUS connection to its southern neighbor. I spelled Albuquerque wrong on every page, meriting my first "F." Mrs. Furlow lovingly dried my tears and allowed me to rewrite my report and I got the nerdy 100 I was accustomed to. F --> 100? Only in grade 2.

In 6th grade, our class hosted Latin America day for the entire elementary. Mrs. Baker asked me, the resident ballerina, to choreograph a dance for 10 girls, so duh--I went with J Lo's "Let's Get Loud." What a jam.

In high school, I got bit by the French bug and remained a francophile til, well, now. But when my fashionable Texan sorority sister first wore a traditional Puebla dress with cowgirl boots, my former love came soaring back.

I want one soooooo badly.

That's what you're supposed to drink a 'rita in.

Name that dog.

Bahaha. I crack up/smile every time I look at this. PITIFUL.

Harper's getting a sister!

As the Boykin Spaniel #2 mandates a name, we Stallings are torn.

Mom likes Libby.

Willow? Rhymes with "no." Potential training hazzard.

Hollis? My pick. I was told the dogs would get "confused" over the H names.

We liked Scout, until we realized that our other dog's name is Harper. Cheesy? Potentially.

According to Dad's eloquent wisdom, "No one on a dove field knows or gives a flyin' rip if their names are from the same book, y'all."

Wittle baby.

Soooo... whatcha think? Any name ideas? 

She comes home in two weeks!

Don't worry: We've got a small library of bird dog books and Boykin Spaniel Society newsletters (don't ask) to greet her. What can I say? The Stallings family had long had a thing for dogs that point and get pumped-about-life over the sound of a gunshot.

Gettin' there.

Photo courtesy of Pink Wallaper.

Sometimes I wish I could turn off words. Ehh, maybe just turn the facet on low.

Example 1: I can't ever scribble quick enough, and my words tumble end over end, landing in a phrase-heap that sorta-ish-almost captures my feelings. Thus the bane of my journal.

Example 2: Anyone that knows me knows my obsession with music. I can't listen to a song without analyzing the lyrics, which means, duh--I would like to talk about what the singer means. Hence I drive all my friends bananas on a weekly basis.
Example 3: Sermons. Yeah. It's unreal how God uses others to tell us His truths. And how brilliant phrasing is just right. Thank goodness for podcasts; I write slow (see Ex. 1).

This morning during my newly-christened Favorite Sermon Ever, I couldn't write fast enough. Psalms 23: We've it heard a kazillion times. But it takes something big (even just relatively), something unprecedented in life for God to then say, "Okay. Now read my words. See what I mean child?"

If "we shall not want," we know our Shepherd doesn't quit giving to us. Even in our infantile human minds when we "lack"--whether it's a house that just met the Harpeth River or fellowship with someone who meant a lot to us--mark it down that in the midst of pain, He's giving peace. In the midst of hurt he soaks us in healing.

Learning how I'm allowed, even asked, to be quiet lamb made me smile. It's okay that last week I didn't exactly conquer the world (Hello, my name is Ashlyn and I'm a recently recovered Type-A workaholic). It's okay that I just kinda just rested under God's wing. I think I'm learning to trust like I never have before. The unshakable kind. And not only that, but I'm invited (vs. 5) to a table. Hostess? Oh, just the Creator of the Universe. nbd. An invitation where the tablecloth is flecked in galaxy dust from God's fingerprints and cloth spills over the table's edges in rushing waterfalls that would pool at my feet except my toes can't touch the floor because He's so big. And He looks over at me and tells me I'm worth the invitation. That despite my stubborn little brunette head, I'm worth the sacrifice. That He's just all Love and can't help it when He's around me. Around us...

I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on.

There will be an end to these troubles, but until that day comes

Still I will praise you, still I will praise you.

- Matt Redman

P.S. Don't worry. I'll probably post the Church at Brookhills sermon later this week. Obsession? Yup.