HELLO
Mom to Iris. Wife to Todd. Our little family lives at the foothills of the Ozark Mountains in Fayetteville, Arkansas. We love it here and I love sharing little bits of our life.

© 2014 sarahfortune.

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Articles written by: Sarah

Oh Sunny Day

As mentioned in my last post,
I started summer off right
by having a few girls over
for some fun in the sun.

The afternoon included a
kiddie pool, a slip-n-slide,
& even a little gift giving.

You see,
I missed GL’s birthday when I was in Hawaii.
So Brains and I put together a gift basket,
which just so happened to include
a framed picture of Steve Harvey.
Shirtless.
My girl GL loves Steve Harvey,
mostly due to his writing skills.

I don’t get it.

oh sunny day!

The day couldn’t have been a more
perfect blend of relaxing and fun.

the set up

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

Orange Slice Jello Shots

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

the fun

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oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

the funny

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

oh sunny day!

the friends

oh sunny day!

I don’t know about them,
but I plan on doing this
every weekend
until Fall.

Summer Love

Maybe it’s the Memphis in me.
Maybe it’s the nights
in Mississippi & Arkansas too.
But I love summer.
Humidity, sweltering heat,
messy popsicles and all.

The abrupt southern switch of seasons,
always bringing back memories.

Lucero shows,
sweaty & drunk.
Green grass & beach towels,
hot flip flops to the side.
Day drinks,
always appropriate.
Sweet tea,
& BLTs.
Red shoulders,
turn to tan.
New freckles,
shining under sundress straps.
Random road trips,
with thrift store adventures.
Sneaking into swimming pools,
& liquor into Sonic cups.
Short skirts,
longer days.
Watering gardens,
summer beer in hand.
Late night walks,
amongst the slugs.
Front porches,
with fireworks & friends.

A few past photos
have captured my love.

Happy Hour for one

4th of July

Porch Days

Strawberry Shortcake Picnic

Bittersweet Styles photo shoot

Hogscald Holler

Bittersweet Styles / Summer 08

Bittersweet Styles photo shoot

Savannah Vacation / 2006

Savannah Vacation / 2006

Savannah Vacation / 2006

ode to summer

Savannah

Picnic on campus

View from room at THEhotel

Kansas City

Water Valley, MS - Girl Trip!

Arkansas & Sweet Tea Vodka

usa!

Mississippi - Girl Trip!

Memphis - Girl Trip!

Old photos / me & the fam van

A brown bag evening.

Sadie just cold chillin'

Savannah Vacation / 2006

nighttime beach walk

rooftop pool & a pina colada

July 08

lately...

Bittersweet Styles

Westwood Gardens

Arkansas Thrifting Adventure

Starting today I’ll be capturing
this year’s summer adventures.
Girls are headed over this afternoon.

Highs in the upper 80s,
sunshine,
kiddie pool,
slip-n-slide,
orange slice jello shots
should do the trick.
New memories
to add to the list.
With tons of photos
to go along.

Stay tuned.

Driven

As of this month
my car is officially
paid off.

A six year loan
on my first brand new car.
It’s finally, really
mine.

Kind of a big deal
seeing as how my
previous cars have been
anything but
new.

My first car was a
1964 Dodge.

first car.

Sounds much cooler
than it was.

Worked all summer
at the music store
it the Oak Court Mall.
Slinging CDs,
soft porn,
and cassette tape singles.
In a really ugly
polo shirt.

Saved my dollars,
and my dad did too.

Old Photos

Bought her from a family friend.
No one could tell if she was
green or blue.
Mystery paint felt like
scales.
Long and mean
like a gator.
I named her Allie.

first car.

Before we got her
up and running.
I sat still with my morning coffee
in the back seat waiting.
Memphis mosquitos
joined me through the
rear windows that actually
rolled all the way down.

The breaks never fully worked.
Took two feet
to slow me down.
And the gas pedal.
It nearly fell through to the street.
So my dad built me a new one
out of wood.

Cops pulled me over
in that thing
more times than I care to remember.

first car.

Once for blowing bubbles
out of the window
while driving with friends.
Cutest traffic violation ever.

Worst time was in Overton Park.
Early one morning,
heading towards the coffee shop.
Noticed a helicopter overhead
curiously taking my same path.

Shortcut through the park.
Red light at Poplar.
Pointed towards the Hi-Tone.

Suddenly surrounded by
a handful of police cars,
motorcycles,
and the chopper
still hovering above.

Frantic yelling instructed me to
put my hands up
as they slung open my car door.
Strangers riffling
through the notebooks and clothes
in the floorboard.

Turns out,
my car matched the description
of the getaway car.
From a bank robbery.

Realizing I could do no harm.
(not that kind anyway)
They left.
Left my doors still open,
tears in my eyes,
and my hands still in the air.
And really left me needing that
morning coffee.

Another incident,
no cops were there.
But they could have been.
Allie and I accidentally
ran over my good friend.
Twice.
But she’s okay.

Many more memories were made,
Some exciting.
(finding strange sleeping dogs inside)
Some romantic.
(the drive-in on Summer Ave)
Some boring as hell.
(downtown car inspection)

first car.

But it’s the physical detail I
remember the most.

Bench seat up front.
Useless seat belts,
just lap decorations.
And an oil leak that made me
look real tough
every three or four days.
Popping the hood &
checking it often.

first car.

My favorite was the
gear-changing-thing
on the dash.
Like driving a space-ship.
Pushing buttons and
pulling levers
just to make it go.

first car.

Of course the radio
was only AM.
But mostly that was
just perfect.

first car.

I abandoned Allie
in 2000 when I moved to
Washington D.C.
Lonely, rusting under a carport
in Southaven, Mississippi.
She sat until sold for
her pretty parts.

first car.

My second car was a
1981 El Camino.
And that is another story.
For another day.

Weakend

This weekend I tried.
Tried to recreate the beach.
Tried to keep my Maui tan
alive.

Weekend.

I spent most of the weekend
laying on a patchwork blanket.
In the backyard
by myself.

bss

Coronas.
Limes.
Headphones.
It kinda worked.
But not really.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Once the sun went down
I joined forces with the
real world.

Night time drinks.
Hotel bar.
Old school bar.
13th floor.
Burger Beer.
More beer.
Breakfast at midnight.
And my first house show in
years.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

Weekend.

And with that
I’m so very ready for
summer.

Midtown

My last post got me thinking.
And missing.
My home city.
My home neighborhood
of Midtown
Memphis.

Memphis - Girl Trip!

I lived on 12 different streets
in my 20+ years there.
I got to know it well.
Midtowners tend to move a lot,
but never far.

Trading up
for hardwood floors
from just down the street.

Many move to Midtown,
but being raised there is something.
Something different.
For better or for worse…

I was addicted to coffee by the age of 10
thanks to the Seessel’s on Union Ave
who put their fresh brewed pots
by the free butter cookies.
With sprinkles.

Witnessed my first shooting
while I was in junior high.
Saw a drive-by
by the time I was in high school.
A woman shot a guy
in the butt.
At the Mapco on the corner of
Cooper & Central.

Speaking of school,
Mine was across the street from the
Memphis Zoo.
At the time it seemed normal to hear
monkeys while in class.

My parents were hippies
who played music at the P&H.
Tagging, dragging along
my six-year-old self stretched out in the booth
fighting sleep
staring up at the scary cartoon characatures
painted on the ceiling.

Fifteen years later,
I sat in the same booth.
Drinking beer.
Listening to my friends play
instead of my dad.
No need to fight sleep.
But still creeped out by the paintings above.

Discovered punk rock at age 15
with my best friend.
Too young, but together
we took flyers for shows
like they were golden tickets.
We’d get dropped off by our moms
outside of Barristers.
And just hang out
hoping there was a show.
Often there wasn’t.

Late night robberies.
Matched by late night runs to
Video Magic and Baskin Robbins.
There was a bullet hole in the glass
that always caught my eye
while I sat in my pink chair and
ate my sugar cone.

Piggly Wiggly parking lot.
And the graveyard ’round back.

Barefoot in the riverwalk on Mud Island.
Face painted with primary color balloons.
Stubbing little toes
on the ridges of the Mississippi replica.

Summer camp consisted of
the stage at Playhouse on the Square.
Instead of cabins and canoes.

Now-n-Laters for 10 cents
from the Barksdale 8 till Late supermarket.
Hard as a rock.

Saturday mornings spent
hiding in the record shelves at WEVL
while my mom did her storytelling radio show.
Only coming out to read PSAs
on air.

Pre-school mornings at Cooper Cottage
complete with field trips to the Midtown Mini-Mart.
Afternoons spent with my dad
at the Morris Garage by the train track
overpass on S. Barksdale.
Eating pork rinds
and drinking Coke out of glass bottles.

The cold smell of books
in the old library on Peabody.
The giant tree bench in the children’s section
kept me company after school.

There’s a dogwood tree
on Meda Street in Cooper Young.
My parents planted it there
when I was born.

There’s a parking lot
just a little further down.
Where a friend of mine was
shot and killed
years later.
While delivering pizza.

Little holes torn in the tarp of the tunnel
on the Libertyland Log Ride.
Letting way too much light in.
And letting the scariness out.
One year it caught fire
and it made the news.

In 6th grade I discovered I needed glasses
while at Lupe & Bees Mexican Restaurant.
Across the street from what would become
the Lucero Warehouse.
Of which, I saw a lot of.

Summer days at Overton Park.
40s bought by bums.
If you bought them one too.

Milkshakes at Wiles-Smith.
Grilled cheeses at Dinos.
Toothpicks at Hueys.
Homework over bad coffee at CKs.

Most of these memories have been replaced
by adult ones.
On the same streets,
in the same places.

Either way.
Midtown,
I am yours.
For better or for worse.

My grandma Dorothy
and grandfather Ransom
in Midtown.

Old Photos