When we went on our ill fated trip to Chicago, my mom had a pile of not-really-Irish, Irish crap for Grace. You know - Kiss Me I'm Irish beanie hat, green socks and a couple of strands of beads - that kind of stuff.
At the time I was slightly concerned about the beads - the strangulation hazard of it and all - but I humored her and brought it all back to Maryland with me.
The beads sat unnoticed by Grace until about a week ago. It was like some sort of girly light in her head went off, and she fell in love with them. When at home, she wears them non-stop, as you can see by this photo (in case you didn't them past all the paint).
Then a little light went off in my head.
The first trip Matt and I ever took together was to New Orleans. No, not for Marti Gras, but on Bourbon street bead vending is always in season. In fact, it was one of our most memorable trips, because we took Amtrak from Southern Illinois to New Orleans - and it was horrible. Once we got past Paducah, Kentucky (What? You've never heard of Paducah? :) we were sick as dogs. The train rocked like it was on the high seas during a hurricane - with the supplement of bad cafeteria food wafting out of the snack station.
Anyway, we left New Orleans with sever hang overs (who know a Mint Julip wans't smiliar to a Grasshopper?) and quite a collection of beads. The have been also been supplemented over the years with beads from the sky show at the Rio in Las Vegas and the necklace that comes with a Lobsterita at Red Lobster. (Classy, I know.)
I've never wanted to part with the beads, even though I've had no use for them for the past 10 years. They've been collecting dust in a box in our basement.
Thank you my colorful friends. You'll be living up to your full potential now.