Instagram — The New Obsession

Yeah yeah, I know I'm probably eons behind today's whippersnappers when it comes to awareness and knowledge of digital toys and software. Heck, even in the 50-year-old+ arena, I'm probably in the category of digital half-wit. But I've got a blog. That counts for something. And an iPhone. Another point there. And I have a load of apps. Dawn, who the heck are you?!?!?

This Instagram thing has got me a bit jazzed (probably even more so than Pinterest!). It's way less daunting than crafting a blog post (which usually involves much angsting over and time spent on shooting images with my Canon). I've connected with Old English Sheepdog owners all over the world. I see what friends and family are doing from afar. I stay connected visually to Harleigh (aside from a visit every day or so to her Facebook).

Before you know it, I'll be sporting an iPad in my palm. And to think I once typed term papers on a typewriter, smacking at a carriage return lever as deftly as I drove a car with a steering column gearshift.

Images below from around Chateau Gahan.

 And feel free to follow me on Instagram @dawngahan.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

A few images from around Chateau Gahan.

The Santa mugs, a gift from Julie. I heart them.

This year, a tree that looks like it came right out of the forest, sets atop my fridge, 

decorated in small vintage-esque ornaments. 

The framed movie poster is of my FAVORITE MOVIE of ALL TIME.
(Don't let the popcorn ceiling distract you from the prettiness I'm trying to create.)

I filled the 2-gallon glass jar with white lites and a strand of glittered plastic candies.

The linen closet door at the end of the hallway got last year's front door wreath. 

And a handful of plastic Dollar Tree candy canes, tied up with lime green satin bow, set jauntily beside.

The bowl is one of two filled with my beach finds from my sabbatical. 

I scored the mother lode of shells while there. Maybe not perfect specimens, 

but they wear the years of being thrown in the waves and tossed ashore. 

A perfect pairing with my old self.

The middle-schooler down the street sells poinsettias every year to raise money for his baseball team. The plants are hands-down the prettiest and fullest. Here are three pink miniature ones in the study.

The bottle brush wreath with silver balls, one of two I scored at Big Lots, is a keeper every year.

I have an embarrassing collection of skates (they hang from the rafters in my attic), 

and so every Christmas, I pull down one pair for the door.

Mistletoe hanging at the entrance to the hallway.