Fashion by Chantal

Thailand 2005



Thailand 2005



Oregon 2005



Nashville 2008



Nashville 2008



Nantucket 2008



Nantucket 2009



Utah 2009

Chantal + Traveling + Sunday = Ubiquitous (and wrinkle free) black dress.

Link Tidbits

Source

Thinking of you Jess, I thought this was so cute

Thinking of you Adam

Cute Halloween idea

My FAVORITE Halloween idea

It is a toss up whether the second picture down or the mash potato ghosts are my favorite

Love the cupcake conehead things

A Tried Stone

a “stone, a tried stone, a precious corner stone, a sure foundation” would be used. (Isa. 28:16.)

Just a little thought I want to share. A question I have had to encounter a lot in my life is the question, 'Why do good things happen to bad people?' On my mission in France, I was constantly given the question, 'If there is a God, why do bad things happen to good people?' I cite Christ's life. He was the son of God, and yet he suffered tremendously. If he didn't know his divine purpose, it would seem that God hated him.

But today, the phrase "a tried stone" from Isaiah struck me. Christ remained true despite it all. He obeyed the will of his Father, even when it meant taking on the sins of the world. He was tried in all things, and not found wanting. Now, as a resurrected being, He is a sure foundation.

I know that Christ lives and when the trials of life come, as they inevitably do, remember, that the greatest being that ever walked mortality with us had a hard time too. There was divine purpose to it all, and there still is.

What Did You Do Last Night?

I just saw this on another blog and was thinking how funny it was that my life is nothing like hers...at all.

But an intriguing question nonetheless. My exciting weekend started off with an interview at the branch president's house. It was at 7 pm. I went there straight from work, so I was still in my suit when I got there. But thankfully, I didn't feel overdressed because he was in a suit too.

(I know, you are riveted at this point, thinking, "could it get much better?")

At some point before the interview my roommate had called asking if I could babysit Max. Well, I had no great plans, so why on earth not? Besides, she often lays breakfast out for me in the morning, packs me lunch, and cooks me dinner. OF COURSE, I'll babysit Max.

I was driving home, pondering the greatness of the invention of the GPS, when I got a call from Stephanie.

"Are you still planning on coming?"

Complete pause.

"Uh, oh, yyyyyeeeessss, I am still planning on coming." Truth was, I'd totally forgotten that I'd responded to the facebook invite to go to her concert.

"But I am running late, so I don't think I'll get there in time...and I am going to bring Max with me, if that is o'k."

"Sure, I just wanted to know if I should have Shane save a seat for you or not."

"Best not, because I'll be late, and I'll need two seats. See you there!!"

I called my roommate; she got Max ready to go out. He had a bright, yellow, Sponge Bob Square Pants hat on when I got home. I kept the heels and changed into a black dress.

Max and I headed out into the night.

When we arrived and usher found us a seat where we "wouldn't disturb people." As we sat in our seats I scanned the crowd. No other children anywhere to be seen.

The concert was A-M-A-Z-I-N-G, and I am not a huge fan of classical music. I was amazed at how phenomenal they were, especially for a community orchestra. Max picked his nose through the first half of the concert.

After intermission, poor little Max fell into a deep sleep in the theater chair that his body weight barely kept down. Thankfully he wasn't snoring. After grappling with what the best mode of action was, I decided to carry him out.

I softly grabbed his hand in an attempt to wake him up, but he was COMPLETELY out of it. I pulled his little body onto my lap, and managed to stand up without "disturbing people." A kind usher saw my plight and steadied me by holding my elbow as I carried the 60-pound child down the red, carpeted staircase in four inch heels.

It was quite a long walk to the car and I tried to hold Max tightly in my arms. When he woke up enough to stand up, I managed to get his Sponge Bob hat back on. He walked groggily to the car.

I discovered as I got Max ready for bed, that his mom had dressed him over his pajamas. Smart woman.

What did you do last night?

Things That Really Were

Allies march into Poland

My grandmother was only 12 years old when the allies marched into Poland. Those were dark days, she told me during a phone conversation this afternoon. For three years, so from the ages of 12 to 15, the only reports on the news were that the allies were losing. The summer after Pearl Harbor, which happened on the morning of Sunday, December 7, 1941, my great-grandfather joined the military. With news as bleak as it was, it was time for him to give back to his country. Great-grandpa, a cousin, and another man joined the military. For those who joined the military before they turned 18 (parental permission was required, but almost all parents gave it), if they had maintained a high enough GPA through high school, the Nantucket High granted them a war diploma so they could leave. Doesn't this seem so unreal?

Hitler's Youth Soldiers

Fast forward to the fall of 1999. I am in living in Paris traveling by train to Germany for a weekend trip. I am excited for this trip because I am taking a European history class and this trip coincides perfectly with my class. Our reading assignment for Monday was about Nazi Germany. The book contains pictures of Hitler's youth army. I am sitting there in this overnight train reading away in my history book, when several young German soldiers entered out train cabin. One large, blond soldier sat next to me. I struck up a conversation with him, and when I ran out of things to say, I went back to reading my book. Soon, my friend Audra, who was sitting in a seat facing me, said in a hushed but serious tone,

"Chantal, I think you should put your book away. The soldier looks offended."

Turning to the solder I asked him, "Does this bother you?"

He said in a loud, defiant voice and a thick German accent, "We are NOT killers!"

Needless to say, I put the book away.

Allies enter France

After my study abroad, I returned to France a few months later as a missionary. I was amazed at the older generation of French citizens. For instance, while at Christmas dinner, one older lady told of how she was only six years old when the allies came to France. She was hiding in a field. This was not an extraordinary conversation, but simply her sharing a bit about her life at the Christmas dinner table.

These stories that were just part of a curriculum in my history class, were her life, and this was the case with most of the older French citizens. They were children when the allies had finally arrived and the memories were poignant.

I guess I am writing this because these things seem so remote to me, but this evening I was chatting with Grandma on the phone. It is amazing how often the conversation with Grandma turns to the war. It was a huge part of grandma's formative years. Her high school friends left for war. Some of them never came back. Her dad left to serve. The tragedy of the world was her personal tragedy. The reality of those events humbly hits home for me.

These things really did happen.

Music

Many of you don't know this, but I have a secret passion for music. O'k, o'k, who doesn't right? Agreed. Music is one of those things, I don't know anyone who doesn't like it. Add me to the masses. I tend to fall in love with songs obsessively, which HAS to be annoying for my roommates. One of THE biggest sacrifices about serving a mission was that I couldn't listen to the radio. The day I was released, the music was back on.

When I was younger (junior high), I used to compose songs in my head. Sometimes I find songs by artists that explain a musician's relationship to their song, like the song here.



2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song
If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to

Writing a song is an AMAZING experience. You don't feel like you are writing a song per se, but you feel like the song has an existence all of its own, it always was, and you are the one who heard it, and wrote it down. There is an electrifying emotional connection to the song and you are simply the conduit. You hear it in your head, but more than that, you can FEEL it with every ounce of who you are. Consequently, I love music and artists where it is obvious that they feel their music, because it really resonates with me.

Interesting perspective on song writing in This American Life Episode. I actually fell in love with the Phil Collins song mentioned because I could tell that he was very emotionally connected to his piece and as they say in French, ca m'a marqué. (literal translation is 'that marked me'. There isn't a perfect equivalent in English.)

My experience gave me a new appreciation for people like Mozart and even the eccentricities of musicians and artists. (You know what I mean, the violinist who has to actually enact the music in bodily movement while they play and they look mildly crazy.) With the intensity of the music, you feel like everyone else's experience with the song is a fuzzy, black and white photo compared to your rich, colorful view of the beautiful vista from the top of a mountain. You wish everyone could experience the song in its rich entirety.

Picture from here.

(Even cooler pictures taken by my sister's awesome boyfriend, Sam here.)

Impressed

This is what my distant cousins in Quebec are doing :). They did this entire video in one shot, no cuts. Amazing.