To joy! (and sweet, patient friends)

I’ve missed our time together over the past several months! I’ve had a bit going on (of course, who doesn’t?) plus there have been some technical issues with the blog that have taken a while to work out. I am hopeful things are fixed now and we can resume normal operations! Thanks for your patience and for coming back here to meet me.

This little gem floated by on Facebook recently, shared by Mrs. Howard, my high school World History teacher and one of the most influential people in my life. I hope it will lift your spirit and remind you, as it did me–every moment offers the chance for joy!

 

XXOO,

Cathy

 

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oh, the places I’ve been

It has been that kind of summer. I have traveled somewhere in the neighborhood of 9,486 miles (I counted up) and that was just getting from city to city. It has been a time of grand excitement, heartbreak, pure exhaustion, and a whole lot of love.

But now it is October. And I am home. Momentarily I am home.

This most unexpected scene greeted me at the airport.

 

is there anything better?

 

Or for live (albeit jiggly and giggly) action:

 

 

How happy I am.

 

XXOO

An unmooring.

IT’S BEEN A LONG WHILE, friends, since I’ve visited you here, deep summer filled with such highs and lows it’s difficult to get my bearings. I’ve found it hard to write, impossible to imagine how I’d ever find the words. There has been so much sadness. And joy, overwhelming joy, and kindness and grace and gratitude, coming along in grand sweeps and sways.

A roller coaster, proverbial as that is.

There is no need for a detailed accounting. It is enough to say my dear Daddy, who spent his last years in a fiercely determined fight not to let demon Alzheimer’s get the better of him, finally succumbed. The last weeks were awful. Wretched. A NOBODY-SHOULD-EVER-HAVE-TO-GO-THROUGH-THIS kind of time. But also, an open state which gave us some of the funniest, most tender, most beautiful moments we ever spent.

 

one of our last visits

 

And there were the sweet days following, remembering, with my brothers.

And the outpouring from Dad’s broad and beloved circle.

 

THERE HAVE BEEN a thousand other worthy-of-mention occurrences over the same period. I spent a few glorious days at the Appalachian Writers’ Workshop–the highest of highs–where the focus on craft (and particularly that of the talented and generous Michael Parker) impacted my writing and clarified the tough requirements of the dreaded novel edit. (I regret I was called away before Nikky Finney‘s keynote. It would have been a great honor to meet her.) During this same time many, many dear friends faced mountains of sorrow and stress. There has been an unusual frenzy of sickness and loss and change. Still others are dealing right now with the wonderful/horrible transition of a child leaving home. I will never, ever discount the deep emotions that result from this college drive-away; it has been seven years for me and I swear, it still hurts.

And yet.

And yet the fog lifts, time and again.

 

with my Daddy … July 15, 2018

 

THIS, THEN, is what became of my summer.

The rises and falls, the scramble for footing.

The full surround of grace.

And still the loss. The deep, deep loss of my Dad.

 

XXOO

 

 

When You See The Light

 

We’re at the height of our powers, he said,

and we laughed,

 

 

we friends who’ve known each other for years,

friends who mostly know the truths.

 

Think about it, he said.

 

 

Our kids are grown. Our careers are built. We have money enough.

(He was being quite earnest.)

We’re healthy, functioning physically. We have our wits.

 

 

We can pretty much do what we want, and enjoy it.

 

Then this, which came at me like a ton of carefully fired bricks.

 

It’s not gonna always be like this, he said.

 

 

Now is the golden time. 

 

(Height of our powers.)

 

 

Let’s be grateful.

 

 

XXOO

 

 

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Your Attention, Please

 

 

God had my attention.

It was as if part of the message, itself, was Look here. I’d like to make this perfectly clear, and so He had it delivered by a handsome young preacher, a Princeton scholar who spoke with ease and an earnestness that was as disarming as it was charming. All 1100 of us in that Presbyterian Musician’s Conference congregation leaned forward as his Puerto Rican heritage story crescendoed.

I waited, and watched.

Diversity is not a problem we need to solve, he said.

BOOM there it was.

And this, which will be with me for my lifetime.

God’s truth is we are burdened with each other’s stories.

We prayed the Lord’s Prayer in seven different languages simultaneously, as a congregation, as a people connected, in love.

When they heard this sound, a crowd came together in bewilderment, because each one heard their own language being spoken.

Amen, I thought.

Amen, he said.

Amen, Amen, Amen, we sang.

 

XXOO

*Dr. Eric Barreto, Weyerhaeuser Associate Professor of New Testament at Princeton Theological Seminary

It’s all in how you look at it.

 

You know I do love my South Carolina birds, the bluebirds in particular. They are elegant, tasteful, devoted.

 

 

But let me tell you, up here in these North Carolina mountains the world is quite different. We’re learning a great deal about a lot of new things, a new collection of feathered friends among them.

Take this guy, for instance.

 

 

He’s a house wren, of course, but since we’re more familiar with the gentler Carolina version, I didn’t know much about his…ummm…habits. Then a friend (who happens to be an ornithologist) stopped by. I excitedly pointed to the nest and he was quick to explain these are not great neighbors. They make a mess, are not considerate, and they make a practice of visiting other’s nests and poking holes in their eggs (oh my). As if that were not enough, there are lots of shenanigans that go on between the Papa and the Mama which are generally unbecoming.

 

may not be the brightest bulb in the box?

 

It all just broke my heart.

 

 

We didn’t disturb the birds, of course, and we’ve returned to the mountains to find they’re still right there. But these days the Papa is spending his time hopping hopping hopping all along the top of the nest box, here, then there, belting out a beautiful (albeit insistent) tune.

 

 

He’s fiercely defending his territory, is the truth.

 

 

 

But I’ve decided I will look at it differently.

I’m going to let the sweet song bring me joy.

It’s his heart that’s overflowing, that’s what I think,

and in this happy state he can’t help but share

his own joyful news

 

 

the babies have been born!

 

XXOO

 

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Warts and all.

I WANT TO BE All In.
To jump at the chance.
To go full-tilt, full-bore, full-on.

I want to grab life hard, and fast, and as my inspiring friend Tim Floyd reminds me–yell YIPPIE taking the sharp curves.

YIPPPIIEEEEEE!

 

But I am not that person.

Instead I move slow, questioning reason, searching for nuance in every little thing (then analyzing its role and significance). I want to know options and variables and alternatives.

I want to see the whole picture.

 

 

This is why it’s such a surprise I’m a moth to the flame of any social media community/creative challenge. The idea of pushing and producing and sharing (while NOT perfecting) is terrifying but also wildly exhilarating.

It’s healthy, I know, adding a little wild abandon to my life. It also nourishes a spirit that’s hungry to make.

Plus it’s just so fun to find community in the midst. (Hi, Laurel!)

 

THAT’S A LOT OF PRELUDE to say when this beauty rolled by

I was so in.

The setup is easy.  Choose an art “action” to do each day, then share on Instagram using the #100day project hashtag. I decided to do a small painting a day, my goal to work fast and loose.

 

landscapes

 

and big fat winter birds

 

and flowers

 

Lordy I’ve found it difficult! (I am not fast and loose–see paragraphs 1 through 5 above.)

Still–it has been so much fun.

 

barns and buildings

 

It’s cool to see the collection I am creating, my on-the-fly decision to do twenty series of five paintings each. And I am woefully behind as life and travel and other responsibilities have gotten in the way. (It is much smarter–albeit not on brand at all for me–to make this a more simple exercise one can complete anywhere in just a few minutes.) Still I believe the intention of a challenge like this is to give it a go and do the best you can.

 

How lovely it is to have the option to simply begin again tomorrow.

 

If you’d like to join, you can find the simple instructions for #The100DayProject here. (I hope you will!) Or just start your own creative initiative and do a little something every time you can. I think you’ll find, as Gretchen Rubin said and I, too, believe:

What you do every day matters more
than what you do once in a while.

XXOO

 

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War. And peace.

 

 

I was moved to tears.

I don’t say this lightly. I also don’t say it for dramatic effect.

I say it because as I stood there looking east over the gentle, vast, peaceful fields of Gettysburg–the spot held July 1, 1863, by the Northern Army of Virginia, before 50,000 of our nation’s boys lost their lives in three days of horrific, bloody battles–deep sadness overtook me in a heartbreaking, guttural way.

 

 

Those fields go on forever.

 

 

 

As do the 1,328 memorials, monuments and markers.

 

 

They are there to remind us

 

 

of the unimaginable price our forebears paid,

 

 

and that we should never, ever forget.

 

 

XXOO

 

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Here, and There

It is a fascinating thing to experience spring in South Carolina’s midlands, then to climb high into the mountains of western North Carolina where nature reveals herself in a completely different way.

What I mean is here at Bickley’s Pond–where the land is flat and the days are already scorching hot, the golds are gone and world is lush with every green imaginable. The earth bursts to life with an immediacy and an intensity that demands you sit up and notice, right away.

 

It is different high in the mountains. The changes come not only later, but more slowly, the earth revealing her beauty in tiny, quiet bits, taking her time, giving you the chance to relish every sweet moment.

 

 

There’s something lovely about that pace and the space it allows for dreaming;

 

 

for watching the green climb slowly up the mountains;

 

 

for spotting one wildflower, then two, then three.

 

 

How lucky Tim and I are to get to experience both.

 

 

How lucky we all are (aren’t we?) to live in a world where seasons go,

 

 

and come.

 

 

XXOO

 

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heart to heart

 

Because sometimes we just need a little reminder

love is all around.

 

 

XXOO

 

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