Last week, the Mister and I returned from a week in Florida and our engagement photo shoot (squeal!). I was excited for alot of reasons, one because I'm really getting married, I mean, like, for real, real. Two, because we're actually getting married, these photos make it all official and stuff.  And last but not least, we got to spend three hours with the lovely Cat Pennenga of Cat Pennenga Photography. 

Cat and I were neighbors  in an artsy Sarasota neighborhood called Laurel Park years ago.   She was dating a guy who later became her totally adorable husband (and sometimes superstar photo assistant) Greg, and I was, well, I was a hot single mess for a good while. 

Cat lived above me in her little love nest and later moved out with her new husband.  I subsequently met the Mister and we moved into Cat and Greg's love nest and voila! 

Laurel Park Love Magic. Seriously, that apartment is a love factory- it churns out some of  the best and brightest couples. 

As soon as we announced our engagement, Cat asked to shoot us and I instantly agreed. I couldn't think of a better person to do it. We had so much fun! Cat came bearing props and heaps of cute ideas and I had a shirt that became the sensation of the photo shoot. It was, in Cat's words, love overload.  Here's a sneak peek! 

P.S.-There's more pictures of the shoot and the fabulous tea party scene on Cat's blog here. Enjoy! 

So. Much. Fun! I can't get enough of them, really, and am so excited for the rest of the shots. I could look at these a million billion times over. Love them. Thank you, Cat! 

"Abso- lutely not!" I shouted. 

"There is no WAY I am living here!  There isn’t any space for our stuff!  And what the hell is this room?! It has NO purpose! 

Cue full blown tantrum mode. 

We were a day out from returning a lease on another house. The rental agreement was signed and the move-in date scheduled. The Mister had been out visiting a friend when a "For Rent" sign caught his eye. He came home and told me about a place he thought I should see. 

According to the Mister, this place had “potential” and the rent was substantially lower. The nice lady across the street was the landlord. I could see the excitement in his eyes so, begrudgingly, I   agreed to take a look. My heart, though, was already living inside the other house, the one with fresh ink on the agreement. 

 We drove down Walter Henderson road to a little brick house that sat back from the quiet road. We were greeted by a sweet, older black woman named Florence. Florence Flowers. Miss Florence had lived on Walter Henderson  since she was a young girl in the house two doors down from where we stood. Miss Florence now lived across the street in the house with the well-manicured lawn. Her sisters still lived on the street too. Miss Lucy was to our right and Miss Jeanette lived adjacent to Miss Florence. There were big trees and chirping birds and, thankfully, no homeowners association. The driveway was quaint and covered with rocks.  

I entered through the side entrance, a door that was attached to the kitchen from the carport. The first thing I noticed was the smell. From deep within the pores of the aged wooden cabinets and possibly from the house itself emerged a distinct smell of mothballs and cooking grease. The linoleum floors were embarassing and did little to belie the 1950’s origin of the home. To my left stood a washer and dryer. No laundry room, just a washer and dryer hanging out in the kitchen.

 Sacrilege.

I continued into the next room, an empty, windowless square that served as the portal to the rest of the house. I've heard of all-purpose rooms, but this was a "no- purpose room.” Connected to it were doorways to the living room, single bathroom, bedroom and two additional rooms. An old light fixture above suggested the possibility of light. 

 But, I wondered, where was the dining room?  

So far as I could see, there wasn't one and no logical place to put one. Where would we eat? 

I peeked into the living room, trying to visualize furniture in the space, but kept getting distracted by the odd placement of the front door. It opened directly into the living room. There was no foyer or entryway. I began to picture guests entering our house like an interruption. I imagined the door swinging open and Person X awkwardly busting through, in Kramer-esque fashion, disturbing my home and most likely blocking my view of the television.

Then there was the space issue. There was none. The closets were impossibly small. The three available closets couldn't even fit my wardrobe, never mind the Mister's clothes and the rest of our stuff (and we had A LOT of stuff). I quickly glanced over the rooms, trying my best to be polite to the nice lady who seemed eager to fill the place. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. As soon as we pulled out of the driveway, I lost my shit. 

"NO! No way am I going to live there!” I was beyond mad. 

 What ensued could only be categorized as one of the top three knockdown drag-out fights of our relationship. At the time, we were both overwhelmed with uncertainty and fear. Having moved from Florida five short months ago into a living situation we could no longer afford, we were facing our second move in less than six months. This certainly wasn't how we pictured our bold and adventurous out-of-state relocation. The Mister saw it as a financial relief. I saw it as an insult. How dare he!

After some impressive yelling and dramatic tears, I agreed to move into the little house on Walter Henderson road. Of course, I felt like the Mister owed me something since I was being “forced” into this hole of a house. I had no idea how we were going to make it work. It was so small and the layout so awkward. But we did. 

On July 15, 2010, we packed up and moved. 

Miss Florence allowed us to paint the interior of the home, an unusual luxury for renters. She let the Mister build a garden in the backyard and we moved in during the heat of the summer, hauling kitties and boxes and our entire garden including the soil. We lost a few cucumber plants in the transition, but mostly everything survived, including us.
 
Slowly, we took trips to the local home improvement store and found small space solutions for the house. Thanks to Ikea we have a dining nook in the "no-purpose room” and a kitchen floor that doesn’t embarrass me. The Mister built me a closet and a shed. We bought storage cabinets and the trademark stench of the place was arrested with Nag Champa and Voluspa candles.

Frankly, we happier than we have ever been. The little house on Walter Henderson road has become a home. Our home.

Consequently, just as fate arranged for us to fall in love with the little house on Walter Henderson road, it has intervened once again for our wedding. Our first (expensive) venue fell through and we were left without a place to get married. We did our due diligence and visited a few other venues with no luck and then, it hit me.


Directly across the street from us, Miss Florence had lush green grass, a perfect tree and to the well-trained and budget conscious eye, a blank canvas. I gathered the courage to ask Miss Florence and her sisters if we could host a wedding on their property. After some hefty inquisition and a few long discussions, they agreed. We’re getting married on October 13, just foure short months from now and each morning I wake up grateful knowing that this place, our home and wedding venue,  somehow found us.

Yes, this must be the place.