The Boys of (Almost) Summer

Through the back patio doors, I sat and watched. Yes, I had a car to clean out and a garage to reorganize. But this seemed far more important.

 Being the mother of two rambunctious boys, I endure countless hours of bickering, fighting, teasing...you name it. The soundtrack of my house is often a cacophony of a television blaring, footsteps running on hardwood and screams. Not this afternoon. The boys had their friend Asher over to play after church and I had the privilege of witnessing children at their finest and most innocent.

There, in a backyard where the late afternoon sun dropped long shadows on the dark green grass, I delighted in watching three boys play a game of baseball. With nothing more than a couple mitts, a ball and a bat, they took turns pitching and swinging and, upon any form of contact, took off running for imaginary bases that seemed to be in a different place with each turn at bat. What warmed my heart the most, though, was the simple joy with which the three interacted. There was no fighting, no arguing, no wrangling for whose turn it was. Instead, I watched as an older brother helped a younger brother including kissing a hurt finger from a stray pitch. Giggles erupted as they chased each other trying to tag for the out and the uncorrupted joy on their faces was a sight to behold.

It reminded me of the beauty of friendship and just how genuinely fulfilling it can be. I remembered the days of playing flash light tag or hide 'n seek in the back yard while my parents visited with other adults. Or endless days lacking technology but filled with hours of just being a kid-- filthy clothes and hands but enough memories to last a lifetime.

I'm so glad I took the time to watch the boys play today. What a sweet reminder of why being a parent might not be the worst job in the world ;)

Focusing on the Good Stuff

It's so easy to let our minds get stretched and twisted and focused on things that steal our joy. So, for the past couple days, I have really tried to pay attention to the "little stuff" that makes me smile. It works wonders:

Making pancakes with a four year old
and having him tell you it makes him feel special

The smell and sound of the rain
as it pours outside an open sliding glass door

An unsolicited kiss and hug from my 10 year old son

The same child vacuuming the dining room without being asked

Laughing out loud at a tweet

Song lyrics that hit the spot

Red jellybeans

The happiness on my child's face as I made him
a ghost from 2 pieces of Kleenex

Dancing to 80's music as I clean house

Picking up the phone and hearing a friend
say "Girllllll...." as she starts in on a story.

Seeing how excited your son is to have
his Daddy take him out for a "Man Breakfast"

and... being blessed with another day
to appreciate all the little stuff in my life.

Onward to the weekend...

Saving the Best For Last

It's really not even possible to sugar coat a day like today.

As the largest street newspaper in North America, the twice monthly paper releases we conduct are vital to the distribution of each new issue produced. It's the first time our vendors--all homeless or formerly homeless individuals--get their hands on their new product to take to the streets of Nashville. It's a very important day in the life of our organization. But today was one of those days when Murphy's Law kicks you in the head and then laughs at you just for spite.

In short, we had to relocate to a new area of the church where the release is held because of an art project consisting of handmade birds perched on lines strung across the front of the sanctuary. And even the best laid plans don't prepare you for the unexpected hurdles: record high temps outside and an AC unit trying to keep up, volunteers calling out, printers not working, the power (and thus the microphones) going out...you name it. Needless to say it was one of the afternoons you just heave a deep sigh and keep on chuggin. But there's a bright spot in this whole scenario and I wish my tired brain would allow me to recall his name.

After serving hundreds of familiar faces--some gracious and some in their usual state of ornery--we finally called the last numbers to come through the line to purchase their papers. And the very last person to come through was a new face--a vendor trainee--participating in his very first paper release. He was short in stature with rosy cheeks and sandy blonde hair and his awe at the assembly line we had constructed to distribute over 12,500 papers in just a few hours was apparent on his face. As the very last person to be called, he had every right to feel grumpy or impatient; instead, he was a refreshing reminder of the reason we do what we do.

As he pulled out a few wrinkled bills to pay for a handful of papers to sell, he grinned and thanked me and said, "This is all very new to me. Thank you so much."

And with that, all the tension between my shoulder blades and every ounce of frustration I had felt over snags that were beyond my control melted away. This guy was genuinely excited about the simple blessing of having a job.

And suddenly, I became very grateful for my own.

Real joy comes not from ease or riches or from the praise of men, but from doing something worthwhile. ~Wilfred Grenfell

Another March 13

March 13 reminds me of one of my favorite poems by Carl Sandburg:

"The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on."

It always seems to sneak up on me but once it's here I feel the silent weight of it perched on my heart until March 14 rolls around and then it simply moves on.

If I look back at my blog at the different ways I have observed the day my Mom died it is as varied as the colors in an early morning sunrise. There are some years I am more upbeat and reflecting on all the quirks that made her the fabulous woman and mother that she was and then there are those more melancholy writings where the longing for her in my words is palpable.

2012 seems to be one of those years.

Unable to sleep last night, I lay there struggling with a pretty big decision in my life. What advice would she give? What insight would she shine into the situation to make clarity seem even remotely possible? She knew me like none other. And even though I sometimes pushed back against her advice out of sheer stubbornness, I always knew it was the best path to take.

But, she also raised me to be a strong woman able to weigh the pros and cons of any situation and arrive at a sound (most of the time) decision. So, I'll channel that today. I'll also crank open the windows, let the breeze blow in and saturate my senses with the sound of bird songs, the gentle dance of bright yellow daffodils, the smell of fresh cut grass that she loved so much and the peaceful cadence of clouds floating by in a perfectly blue sky. She thrived on the simplicity of these things.

That's how I know she is still very much with me. No March 13 can take that part of her away from me.

Tyson

It started out as a normal day. Well, as normal as a day where you have to unload 40,000 newspapers off a truck by hand can be.

Then I met Tyson.

You know, there are people in life that kinda knock your socks off and remind you of all that is good about living and breathing and not taking a single second of life for granted. There are people whose smile brightens up a room and whose presence simply makes you feel better. Yep, he's one of those people.

You see, Tyson was going about his life when on June 10, 2010 he and his father were in a horrific boating accident that nearly claimed their lives. His Dad was in a coma for two weeks and Tyson 99 days. His family was told he would never walk or talk again and that he would most likely remain unresponsive. Yet here he was, sitting across from me at lunch after helping unload and stack 40,000 papers. He also is finishing his degree in chemistry at UT Chattanooga and is getting married to his longtime girlfriend next June. He is, without doubt, a living, breathing miracle.

There are many things in the story of this young man that are shake-your-head-how-can-that-be-possible things. Like how did he survive 45 minutes with no oxygen after his windpipe was crushed? How did the abscess in his lung disappear when doctors said it could not be attributed to any medical intervention that had been performed? He is the first one to admit that it is nothing short of a miracle and I believe this to be true.

But what struck me most about Tyson is the joy he pours into others. Even after my brief time knowing him, I felt blessed to hear his story and see the smile spread across his face when discussing the things he loves in life including his fiancee Jenna. It made me thankful for all the little things I take for granted. It reinforced for me that anything is possible and that our lives can change forever in a moment's notice.

But, more than anything, it made me grateful to have crossed paths with this amazing young man. Thank you Tyson for your smile, your optimism and for blessing me with your story.

I am forever changed.

Tis the Season to Build My Own....

The Sunday afternoon smell of fresh-from-the-oven peanut butter cookies, worcestershire pecans and hot apple cider fills the air while the sound of a crackling fire and the The Polar Express provide the perfect soundtrack for this day.

I love this time of year. There's always something to look forward to. From checking the mailbox to see the spit-shined images of our friends and family in the form of Christmas cards to hearing the familiar strains of a favorite carol sung in harmony...some of my favorite memories involve Christmas and the weeks leading up to this holiday.

But, along with the good come the more bittersweet moments. As I sat in church this morning, we had a time of prayer with a beautiful version of Amazing Grace played in the background. I could not contain my emotion. Tears welled up in my eyes and poured down each cheek as I thought about my Mom and how much she loved both that song and Christmas in general. It evoked in me that longing for her, for my childhood...for the sound of the Beach Boys Christmas album blaring and the smell of cherry walnut bars ready to come out of the oven. It's that silly little angel that would spin by the heat of the candle flame and the chubby little ceramic Santa that was always perched on an end table next to a sprig of holly. It's the wrapping of gifts with her showing me just how much to snip off the end before I taped it down and it's the familiar bulge of the orange in the toe of my stocking. These are things I remember. These are the things I miss this time of year.

Perhaps that is why I now try to create those same sort of smells and sounds and traditions with my own boys...so that one day they, too, might have specific memories of this holiday. But right now I am feeling more selfish than that. I am wanting to be the kid. I want my Mom to walk out of that kitchen and tell me she has a big pot of vegetable soup and cornbread ready for our viewing of The Christmas Story or It's a Wonderful Life. I want all the pieces of the gingerbread house (or my holiday season) to be lovingly laid out for me with a bowl full of frosting and all the perfect candies for decoration organized into neat little containers.

But it's not that easy. I am the grown-up. It's my turn to make the soup and buy the presents and create the sights and sounds of this holiday for my little ones. And instead of just missing her and wanting to curl up in the fetal position, I will channel her energy and her spirit and love of all things Christmas and create memories of my own. It's time to decorate my own gingerbread house. As imperfect as it may be with its leaning walls and sticky peppermint wreath on the door...it is still my own.

Now where did I put that recipe for cherry walnut bars..........

I Bigger!

The swift cadence of the hurried footsteps coming down the hall was my first tip-off that a little boy was aware of the significance of today. "I BIGGER!!!," he shouted as he made the turn from living room into front hallway just steps from our bedroom door.

In my groggy stupor I smiled at the innocent belief on his part that he had, indeed, grown at least a foot overnight. "Happy Birthday, Jacob!" I whispered as he jumped up on the bed like a surfer mounting his aquatic steed and exclaimed "I BIGGER, MOMMY! I FOUR!" The jubilant tone of his voice was no match for the mile-wide, now-four-year-old grin on his little face.

As I reveled in his pre-dawn aging celebration, I found it hard to believe it had been four years since that day. A day when a young woman went into labor and when a slightly older woman sat in her home just north of Atlanta and cleaned and cried and worried and paced and cleaned a little more and double checked the closet in the newly-painted upstairs nursery so tightly jammed with newborn clothes that nary a Q-tip would have fit in there...a day when two families would be forever intertwined even though they might never speak or see each other again in this life...a day when a phone call from the adoption agency saying "he's here!" would bring the slightly older woman to her knees with tears of relief and panic and joy and simultaneous sorrow for the young woman facing a wrenching decision. November 29, 2007 indeed was a day of deep emotion and celebration and prayer and thanksgiving all wrapped into one.

Now as she watched his big four year old eyes sparkle and patted the soft chestnut colored hair on his head, she was overcome with a wave of celebration of her own. From the marks on the laundry room wall tracking his amazing growth spurt this year to the incessant questions about life that now spewed forth from his talkative little mouth, this child had blossomed. He was BIGGER! in every sense of the word and she was proud to have played a role in the spunky little fella's development.

The sense of importance about his getting "bigger" was not lost on me, either. As the younger brother to a very smart and rambunctious brother six years his senior, this milestone was a signal he was surely catching up (and ironically, in size, he actually is). But there were two much-greater benefits of this birthday than trying to be like his brother or giving his Momma a reason to reminisce...

"Mommy! Now that I BIGGER I can wear those shoes that are lighting up in there can't I Mommy? And can we get cupcakes with the rings in them for my friends, Mommy? Since I BIGGER today???"

Yes, sweet boy. Because you're BIGGER.

****************************

I love you, Jacob.

Happy 4th Birthday.

Love, Mommy

How Do You Make Brown and Other Burning Life Questions

My 3 year old son had been alone in the bathroom with me for a grand total of 2 minutes when the bombardment began:

• What is this? (opens my bottom cabinet, pulls a tampon out and holds it vertically with an ever so inquisitive expression)
• Why do you put this in your eyes (picks up bottle of contact solution)
• Why do you put on the make-ups?
• When are we going to da movie feeter?
• Did you know Skyler's Mommy died and went to Heaven?
• Where is Heaven, Mommy?
• How do you make the color brown?

My head, still reeling from a week long headache, could not comprehend the magnitude of what must run through my child's brain on an ongoing basis. His big blue eyes implore me to answer each and every question to his satisfaction. But sometimes I just don't have the answers.

Like how in the heck do you make brown anyway?

But what I am most thankful for is the fact that he digs. He plunders. He wonders and asks questions and wants to know every detail about everything in his path: what it is, why it is there, how does it work and will he have one "when he is the parent?"

And even on nights when my brain thinks it cannot soak in even one more question...I am grateful for every inquisitive bone in that child's body.

Keep the questions coming my child. Well, all except the tampon ones. I need a few more years to formulate an answer for that one.

2:34 am.

The darkness envelopes me as I step out onto the deck. A strong breeze whips through the bare branches and the bushes give off a "sizzling" sound in its wake. The wood is damp beneath my feet as I tiptoe about searching for just the right spot. Arms crossed to huddle against the wind, I reach my destination in the back right corner...

...and I breathe.

The wind picks up and the moist air reminds me of the beach. I close my eyes and suddenly I am standing on a balcony as the surf rolls in. The stray crickets I hear become seagulls and the breeze is now whipping off the water instead of the rose bushes below me. My skin is no longer chilly but instead soothed by the cool touch after what must have been a lazy day of lounging in the sun.

I am there. And yes, it's 2:34am but I am at the beach so it doesn't matter. No school bus to race for, no meetings, no responsibilities. Ahhhhhh.

But reality soon hits and I return to my own bed where sleep eludes me.

At least there won't be sand in it, though.

There's always an upside. ;)

Music to My Ears

As I pulled away from the Nashville airport, tears were streaming down my cheeks. No, I had not just experienced some tearful goodbye with a loved one. Quite the opposite. These were happy tears. Tears of earnest appreciation for the compliment I had just received. I knew I'd want to write about it but I didn't -- and, to some degree, still don't-- know if I could find the right words.

I met Lee Stringer on the first day of a conference I had planned and immediately I knew he was somewhat extraordinary. He oozed wisdom and his life experiences only added to his credibility. As a former crack addict living under the 109 platform in New York City's Grand Central Station, he had endured the most profound of life's stress-inducers: addiction, homelessness, poverty and hunger. And as I listened to his story on the way to the airport, I suddenly felt the urge to drive him to New York instead...to soak up every nugget of wisdom pouring forth from his lips. The only response I could muster was "you...you are amazing."

That's when he blew me away with an observation so touching that I will never forget his mannerisms as he said it or the cool tone with which he spoke. He said "Listen to me. I want to tell you something." I wasn't sure where he was headed, but I knew I would hang on his every word. He continued, "I have been watching you this week. And you are an amazing event planner. You are an outstanding people person...you are incredible at what you do." And before I could thank him, he continued..."But it is not WHAT you do that makes you amazing, Katie. It's how you do it. You plan events and you live your life....with music." As he uttered the word music his clinched fist opened up in a starburst fashion and I was speechless.

You see, music to me is soul-soothing, uplifting, emotion-evoking stuff. It possesses the power to transport me to places I've been as well as places I wanna be...it carries with it a sense of purpose, of communicating feeling. In short, it moves me. That's why Lee's comment made such a big impact on me.

I have struggled recently with a job transition that was not of my doing and a feeling that my eight years of service to them was swept under the rug at the end. But, fresh on the heels of that came this smaller meeting along with a feeling of genuine appreciation by attendees and fellow staff alike. It was refreshing and timely...and then came Lee's observation.

Little did that man know what an impact he made on me. It is no secret that my love language is words of affirmation and his words not only affirmed me but moved me to the core. I love what I do and I love the people I do it for. And as I pulled away from the airport, tears streaming down my cheeks, I realized someone had actually seen me. The me I want to be.

Believe me, it was music to my ears...and to my heart.

Blessed Beyond Belief

The candles were lit and the steam rising off the water glistened on the bubbles that floated on its surface. The windows that line the wall beside the tub in my master bath were cranked open and I exhaled in delight as I slid into the water for a relaxing bath last night. The cold breeze blew in through the window and I felt every care, every worry slip away as I watched the steady rain fall from dark, winter-like skies.

And that's when it hit me. Where was Ron at that very moment? For those of you that know me, I'm sure you are wondering who Ron is and why I am thinking about him in the bathtub :) Well....

Ron is a homeless man that lives on the streets of West Nashville. He sells The Contributor as a small source of income. But, for now, he is without shelter. Suddenly, my love of "bad" weather was tempered by concern for my new friend. As I lay in the comfort of a bubble-filled tub of warm water surrounded by candles, Ron was surely braving the elements in a much less appealing way. And the realization of just how blessed I am hit me like a ton of bricks.

Over the past few days, I have had similar experiences that have opened my eyes to the oh-so-comfortable life I lead. I read an article in a back issue of the paper written by a now-homeless woman that sells the paper downtown. She remarked at the professional women that walk by every day and how she remembered wearing the same skirt as a particular passerby. "Turquoise blue with brown and beige flowers, bought at The Dress Barn," she wrote. She then recalled the days of having skin care products and nice-smelling lotions that made her feel pretty and compared that to feeling lucky to have a bar of soap to bathe with now.

And then I thought about the basket. On the closet in my shelf there is a basket. This basket is overflowing with bottles of lotion and body sprays in every scent imaginable. Rarely, if ever, used. Under my sink, there are baskets of skin care products I just "had to have" and pedicure creams, nail polishes, bath salts and hundreds of hotel-sized shampoos, lotions and the like. So, I devised a plan to take those, divide them into little trial size plastic bottles, slap a label on them with the scent and hand them out to the female vendors I meet. If something sitting unused on my shelf can make someone else's day... then it will surely make my day, too.

Then, the most heartbreaking one yet. As I was returning to the church after lunch, I was shielding myself from the steady cold rain. I thought to myself how happy I was I wore my rain boots as I sloshed through puddle after puddle. As I rounded the corner of the church, a man bearing backpack and tennis shoes soaked through asked my coworkers and I if the church had a clothing closet of any kind. We replied "no" and he mentioned that all he was hoping to get was a pair of dry socks to keep his feet warm.

Really?

I can't tell you how this is changing me from the inside out. I want to help. I want to contact clothing manufacturers about the endless numbers of reject socks they might be tossing and see if we can somehow distribute those to people like the man I met today. I want to do something to make even the tiniest difference in one person's life.

I am incredibly blessed. How can I do a better job of sharing those blessings with others? I'm not exactly sure, but you can bet I'm gonna figure something out.

Rollin on the River...

I will be the first to admit I did not feel like going.

As the sunlight poured through the slats in the window shutters, I was cozy and comfortable and reveling in my lazy Saturday morning slumber. Keith had proposed that we take a family canoe trip down the Duck River and had even gone so far as making reservations. Ugghh....I thought to myself as I pondered a day in the heat rowing a canoe with two whiny children in tow. But up I bounded, located bathing suits, towels and sunglasses and off we went.

After checking in at the canoeing company, we drove down a gravel road with dust flying. I was still in full doubt mode that this outing was going to end up well. That is, until I saw the excitement on my youngest son's face when he realized he would be riding a big, yellow school bus down to our drop-off point. The sheer joy he exhibited brought a glimmer of hope that this might have been a good idea after all.

Boy, was it ever.

As the bus made its way down to the water, I realized this was exactly what I needed... what WE as a family needed. The laid-back feel of the whole process set the tone for the day as nothing felt rushed or scheduled. It was truly an "at-your-own-pace" experience which fit us to a "T." We selected a canoe, got the boys secured into their life jackets, got settled into our boat and off we went. The minute we pushed off I knew it was going to be a good day.

The sun was warm and the breeze cool as we slowly rowed down the first stretch of the river. Keith was in the back to steer and I was up front with the boys sitting on the floor in the middle of the canoe. They took delight in pointing out every butterfly, dragonfly or stick in the water that they were sure was an alligator or snake. We rowed past large outcroppings of rock and under trees with bent branches drooping over the water creating canopies of refreshing shade along the way.

At one point, I challenged the boys to be completely still and quiet to see how many different sounds they could take in as we floated. Surprisingly, they accepted the challenge and we all soaked in the sounds of nature around us. Cicadas buzzed in the distance as the gentle breeze brushed through the branches of the trees above us. The gentle lapping of the water on the rocks mingled with the sound of our oars gliding through the water. It was, without doubt, one of the most peaceful experiences I have ever had. Sure, I have had quiet times alone that were "peaceful"...but this rare moment of solitude with boys that are normally going at mach-10 was special to say the least.

And to think, if I had had my way, I woulda missed it all...Jacob's school bus excitement, the colorful canoes lined up by the shore and feeling of freedom as we pushed off at the start. I woulda missed picking out the perfect swimming hole, tossing the boys through the air, the laughter that always followed as soon as they returned to the surface, and the feeling of contentment that washed over me as I floated on my back staring up at a cloudless blue sky.

I woulda missed it all... but I didn't. And as we made our way back up that same dusty gravel road to head home, I was thankful I gave up a lazy Saturday morning and took the road, or in this case the river, less traveled.

It indeed made all the difference.

"Everyone must believe in something. I believe I'll go canoeing." ~ Henry David Thoreau

Finding a New Rhythm...

The sound of the organ music fills the air as the sunshine pours in, dancing on the dust particles floating about. I sit here, laptop open, tap tap tap.... pondering the interesting twists and turns my life has taken recently.

For so many years, I had become complacent with my career...completely saturated in the familiar, the comfortable...planning events from start to finish for groups with whom I was utterly familiar. My job had almost become second nature. A pattern developed in the cycle of my year and I floated from month to month knowing exactly what to expect day to day.

Boy how times change.

As I sit in an office of the Downtown Presbyterian Church here in Nashville, I am suddenly aware of how interesting my career--and subsequently, my life--has become. As part-time event planner and volunteer coordinator for Nashville's street newspaper, The Contributor, I am not only coming in contact with all sorts of fascinating people but I am marinating in an environment of creativity and relaxed productivity that has long been missing from my life. The cadence of this work is so unlike what I have grown accustomed to and that is refreshing. My day has been filled with meetings, laughter, touring an old bank-building turned home/event space as well as digging through intriguing art studio spaces which I would give up a leg to inhabit.

This new position will also allow me to explore other income opportunities such as the catering company I met with this morning. It is another avenue with an entirely different set of interesting people where I would put my skill set to work through networking, meeting with clients, artistic design...you name it. I could not be more excited.

A few months ago I was in tears at the thought of my job situation coming to an end by no fault of my own and how I would never find anything comparable to replace it. Now I see that the opportunities unfolding for me are possibly much bigger and better than I dreamed.

I'm liking this road I'm on. And as I watch the dust dance on the drops of sunlight I suddenly feel like dancing, too. The tune I dance to may be changing but I will just find a new rhythm.

Look out folks, they're playing my song.....

Runnin' Off the Tracks in a Good Sorta Way

The alarm was set for 5:30am and I had the best of intentions. Rather than prop my eyelids open with toothpicks to finish a report the night before, I would wake up early and utilize the quiet early-morning hours of solitude to accomplish the task. Nothing could derail me on My Track of Productivity. Nothing....until I heard the pitter patter of Spider-man-sock-clad feet turning the corner in the hallway.

"I need a snuggle, Momma."

Derailment of train.

He hopped up next to me in bed, the warmth of his little boy body a soothing heating pad for my chilled-by-the-ceiling-fan arms. He did his characteristic move of inching back until he hit the cradle of my arms just perfectly...wiggling and nuzzling until the spot felt just right. His chest let out a deep exhale signaling that he was just about as content as a person could be...as was I.

We lay there, our in and out breaths in perfect rhythm as I gently grasped his tiny hand in mine. Each one of his fingertips was a wonder to me. Those tiny baby hands had transformed into strong little boy hands--usually covered in dirt or splatters of his favorite strawberry milk. I soaked in this time of stillness, inactivity...such a rarity where a three year old boy is concerned.

That's when I realized that reports can wait. Showers can wait. Making the bed and getting breakfast ready can wait. What cannot wait is getting unsolicited snuggles from a three year old sandy-haired little boy clad in froggy pajamas and spider man socks.

You see, this window of opportunity doesn't open for long. But when it does, it's worth running the train off its tracks every time.

Flying Solo, Uno, One...Me, Myself and I

No man is an island.

Is it not good for man (or Katie) to be alone.

One...is the loneliest number that you'll every do...

All by myself....don't wanna be...all by myself.............ANYMOREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Have you ever taken the Myers-Briggs personality test? Well the first indicator is extrovert vs. introvert and, as you might have guessed, I am an EXTROVERT off the charts. That does not simply mean you are outgoing or like people. It's actually an indicator of where you draw your energy from--others or from within. After traveling alone all week and then coming home to an empty house since Keith and the boys are in Alabama, I can most assuredly confirm that I am an "E" on the Myers-Briggs scale.

Now don't misunderstand me, I like a little alone time just like the next person. But waking up to total silence this morning, I almost felt like I wanted to climb the walls. I showered, met my friend at the farmer's market, snapped pics, ate a turkey panini, bought lots of produce, got my boys a couple of surprises, watched the rain, listened to music, colored with crayons, baked ooey gooey bars and watched a movie. I then offered to bring some handmade pasta and a salad to my friend Heather's house (aka an inventive way to invite yourself over for supper) so that I DO NOT HAVE TO EAT ALONE AGAIN. A people person can alone take so much quiet, folks.

I do know that I am more than ready to see the fellas. And, from what I've heard, the feeling is mutual. But, for now, I revel in my solitude. Guess I could get off my ka-tonkus and do some laundry or straighten the boys' rooms. But that might actually be productive.

Can't have that now, can we?

Thoughts, Life Revelations and a Priceless Pair of Shoes

As I sat cross-legged on the floor just beyond the altar of the Downtown Presbyterian Church in Nashville today, I had an epiphany. I knew that was where I was supposed to be. Right then. Right there. Surrounded by those exact people. A sly grin washed over my face as I realized, for the umpteenth time in my life, that all my stress and worry over trying to control the path of my life was unnecessary. God knew where I needed to be. And, when I found myself there, I humbly shook my head and acknowledged in my heart, "you win. again."

I must admit, my life has been anything but ordinary. And, as I stared up at the spectacular architecture of that magnificent church I was grateful for the unexpected twists and turns that led me to that spot today. In the pews directly in front of me sat hundreds of homeless individuals--of every color, shape and size--listening intently to what my new coworker Tom was sharing with them. I noticed several who used that time to sleep...most likely grateful for the cool comfort of air conditioning on an extremely brutal Tennessee summer day. Just days ago, I would not have pictured myself here--sitting cross-legged at an event for the homeless--but my heart was clearly at home there.

As the new event planner/volunteer coordinator for The Contributor--a street newspaper in Nashville founded to help shed light on poverty and homelessness as well as provide an avenue for income for the homeless--I was trying to take it all in...absorbing every detail of this day from the colors of the stained glass to the smile on the face of one of the ladies in attendance. The staff had been so welcoming, revealing through mile-wide grins that they had felt the same feeling of certainty about me as I had about them following the interview. They seemed genuinely relieved to have me there... a refreshing feeling, indeed.

Just then, it was announced that every person there would be receiving a new pair of shoes from the organization Soles4Souls. The reaction was something I will never forget. Cheers, applause, hugs and even a few tears made it feel more like Christmas morning than the last Wednesday of July. A tear rolled down my cheek as I watched the celebration over a simple pair of shoes-- an object that I have far too many of in my own closet. It was moving, humbling and a much needed reminder of just how blessed I am.

I'm sure this will not be the last time I have this sort of revelation while working for this organization. I realized today that the sudden gear shifts of life are just that--shifts. I was comfortable and stable doing a job for a client I have been with for years and then the CEO unexpectedly dies. The new CEO replaces me with someone local and it feels like a kick in the stomach. Fear and doubt and uncertainty suddenly become a swirling concoction that occupy my every thought.

Until today.

My experience today was more than just a first day on the job. It was a renewing of sorts. It was proof that no matter what curveballs life throws our way, somewhere there is a stained glass window with a sun ray pouring in, a new team member greeting you with squeals of excitement and the smile on the face of a lady for whom a new pair of shoes is a winning million dollar lottery ticket.

Thank you Oh Unpredictability of Life. You keep me on my toes and I wouldn't have it any other way.

A Pretty Place

There is a place that beckons me. A place where childhood memories and dreams for my future converge. It is solitary. It is breathtaking. It is a Pretty Place.
And I need to return there...soon.

My first memory of A Pretty Place is a trip to visit my grandmother in Brevard, North Carolina when I was a young girl. My parents knew of this spot and I was intrigued by the wooded, winding and twisting road that led us to our destination. Located in the back of a YMCA camp, one would never guess that such a stunning spot existed as we passed cabins, basketball courts and the occasional stray camper on bicycle. But, the moment we pulled up to A Pretty Place for the first time, I knew this would not be the only time I made a trip to this spectacular overlook.

Built in 1941, the Fred W. Symmes Chapel, or "A Pretty Place" as it is more commonly known, was a gift to the boys and girls that attend camp at the YMCA. It is an open-air chapel with primitive wooden bench seating leading down to what is one of the most intimate, yet majestic, views of the Blue Ridge mountains I have ever seen.

Growing up a mountain lover, this spot hooked me from the start. I was drawn to the cross at the front of the chapel and how it seemed so perfectly perched on the rock wall separating the structure from the valley below. The saying on the ceiling above the cross was perfect, too: "I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes Unto the Hills..." So fitting for this sanctuary where religion and nature intertwine.

On each visit, I would sit atop the rock wall and glance out at the breathtaking sight which, strangely enough, had the power to both captivate and frighten me with its immense grandeur. In the fall, the brilliant hues of golds and reds would make the mountainsides appear to be in flame...the sun hitting in angles creating a tapestry of color only possible in nature. In the Spring, the lush green of the hillsides would darken in random shapes as cloud formations would float past the sun. The tranquility I found here was unlike no other place in my travels.

The last time I visited A Pretty Place was my last Easter with Mom...a sunrise service, in fact. I need to visit again. I need to breathe in the mountain air and surrender all my worries and feel completely at peace.

I will return there soon....

Whiz, Boom, Bang...Happy Fourth!

The summer sun was pelting us as we arrived, cole slaw and lemon pie in hand, to ring in Independence day with a group of friends. It's one of those gatherings where you know you can let your guard down and be yourself...my favorite kind of get together.

The house was brimming with guests--mostly familiar faces--with kids running to and fro. The food table was overflowing with an array of side dishes and the dining room proved a popular pass-through as it held the coveted dessert table. Each family awaited their turn at the grill and passed the time catching up with old friends and making new ones. Laughter was in abundance and the giggles of children added to the feeling of merriment in the air.

As the sun began to fade, brave souls trucked wagonloads of fireworks down to the pond as the observers positioned their lawn chairs and blankets for the show. Soon, darkness set in and the fireworks were well underway...accompanied by at least eight others on the horizon and throughout the neighborhood. Each pop and whistle bursted open into a display of color followed by oohs and ahhs from the appreciate onlookers.

A sense of contentment washed over me as I held my youngest in my arms and joked with friends around me. I am free on this day. I am free to celebrate as I wish and do as I please...and I realized I was exactly where I needed and wanted to be at that moment.Good food, great company, and the traditional whiz, boom, bang of a sky full of firecrackers.

It was a good evening, indeed.

Lemon Icebox Pie Recipe

If I had known how quickly this pie would go, I'da made more than one for tonight's festivities :) For those of you that requested, here is the recipe. It could not be easier:

Lemon Icebox Pie

3/4 c. lemon juice

2 eggs

2 14 oz. cans sweetened condensed milk (I use Carnation)

Mix together well, pour into graham cracker pie shell and bake for 30 minutes or until firm.

Serve with whipped cream.

Enjoy!

Laughter Really is the Best Medicine...

Found this great article on getting the most out of every day. It referenced one of my favorite all-time quotes by poet e.e. Cummings: "The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.”

That is my new mantra, peoples. OK, I guess it's not entirely new. I do laugh a lot just by nature of me being a dork. But, sometimes I take life much too seriously and let the little things affect my overall attitude. Every time I start thinking about the mistakes I've made, the way I might have been "done wrong" by others...well, it does affect my mood and outlook on the day. So, I'm gonna work on that.

If there is one thing I learned from losing my Mom eight years ago, it is that LIFE IS SHORT. Breaking news, right? Well it might as well be with the way I race through my days...completely overlooking many of the little things that make life good. I tunnel-vision on a project or event and lose sight of all the opportunities for happiness along the way.

Well that is changing, folks.

You see, I turn the Big 4-0 in nine days. And lest you think I'm having some big mid-life, birthday-induced epiphany, it's really not that. I simply have so much to be thankful for. I have lived hard and loved deep and lost big. I have laughed, cried, hurt, celebrated, and tried (sometimes not hard enough admittedly) to document it along the way. And, God-willing, there is a lot more to come. I mean, just today a three year old woke me up singing "Cock-a-doodle-doooooooooooooooo" in my face. A smile-making moment for sure.

It's gonna be a good day.