accouterment.

or (especially British) accoutrement

[uh–koo-ter-muh nt, -truh-]

noun

1. personal clothing, accessories, etc.
2. the equipment, excluding weapons and clothing, of a soldier.

I loaded up Sangria Kia with accouterment galore, including wool base layers, bamboo leggings, my coffee maker, and hats full of buttons. I put an “Asheville” sticker on Sangria’s dupa and she seemed to be glowing, knowing an adventure was on the horizon.

There’s not much I love more than catching up with old friends and family members in a new place full of new local beverages. Sangria found her way to my dear high school/softball/yearbook friend, Erin’s, new house in Atlanta and we shared stories with our other high school/softball yearbook friend, Kelly, until the stars shone high in the sky and the earlier-excited dog got sleepy.

Then Sangria felt at home in Asheville and I could almost feel her relax a little bit. I think she wished we were staying, but she has a lot more work to do to get us out to Ketchum, ID. Asheville holds my heart. Sometimes our hearts don’t get what they want though. Timing has to work out and that’s not in our favor right now where Asheville is concerned. We didn’t see everyone we wanted to and the time went by too quickly. I gave her a pep talk, loaded up the accouterment again, and patted her dashboard as we headed north via college friends, Aaron, Carlee, and baby Holden’s house. It was a weekend full of cuddles, smiles, pool time, and diaper changes. I couldn’t have enjoyed it more. Even the diapers.

I’m now in Cincinnati, OH with my mom’s oldest brother’s family. They are salt of the earth, cream of the crop, tip of the top, and the cat’s meow. I’m serious. I leave each conversation inspired to love more deeply. My Aunt made monster cookies upon my arrival, my favorite recipe from my Grandma Doris, who passed away five years ago this Monday. We sit around in dusters that Grandma loved, drink coffee from her old frog mugs, and share stories and memories. I thought I’d stay a couple days but now a week does not seem long enough. It’s funny how that happens.