One of the things I missed most about being home was weekends spent with my mom and sister bumbling around back country PA, hopping from craft fair to thrift store to coffee shop. This past weekend, while Ian and Dad went to the PSU game, the ladies and I went church bazaar hopping.
What is a bazaar, you might ask? Contrary to my belief, it turns out not everyone grew up with such delights. Think of a little country church with little old ladies.
Add in some homemade crafts, and a handful of garage sale-type junk.
Then, top it off with some fantastic baked goods.
We also made an appearance at the fruit farm, where I stocked up on some PA apple butter. And showed off my new ride.
The next day, I met up with some of my best friends at a local downtown breakfast spot, where we were awkwardly creeped on by a waiter who knew no boundaries. It started with some friendly banter, but as our orders began coming out wrong, it quickly became less and less funny. It escalated to him pulling up a chair and asking if he could sit with us (uh, no), and culminated with my pancake arriving fresh off the griddle with a whipped cream heart.