Cath, etc.

I Was in Her Sunrise

Photo by Lady Gooner via Flickr

I've stopped and started this post numerous times, not entirely sure what it is, exactly,  that I have to say today.

There's much to process, but to pick the morsels that you might actually be interested in, ahh, therein lies the challenge.

Between the Moxie Fab World and Cath, etc., sometimes I just don't know how much more there really is to say. I mean, to be quite honest, as much as I enjoy it, I get really tired of hearing myself write sometimes.

But the other day I got an email from one of my readers, Jo, who said:

I was driving to Mass yesterday morning.  I live in Michigan and it was quite a foggy morning.  About a mile or two down the road, through a heavily treed area, you could just see a very light colored sun coming up.  It almost looked like the moon, but it definitely was the sun, coming through and breaking up the fog.  I immediately thought to myself...if I was Cath I would be doing some serious "creative writing" or poetry about this sunrise.  You didn't even know that I was thinking about you and your talent...but I was!

These words touch me deeply. That she would think of me in that little bit of time when the sun broke through the trees sends me to that place inside myself where grace and tenderness live. That she would take the time to share this with me is a gesture that transcends all the ordinariness there is in the world. And even though she thought of me and how I might write this scene, she has captured it perfectly. I am there, seeing the sun break through the fog, sharing this early Sunday morning moment with Jo, a woman I have never met.

...and yet, I was in her sunrise.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. There is power in the blog. Power in the connections that we make as strangers who then become friends. Power in the knowledge that over the miles and through the air, we are a part of one another's lives despite the fact that we have  never met and may, indeed, never meet.

This seems to be the theme to my week. As I celebrate the blogiversary of the Moxie Fab World, I have been reminded of the connections that I am making in that blogosphere, too. My heart is warm and full.

Thank you for listening. For coming back day after day as I struggle to make sense of it all. For allowing me into your world through your comments and emails. For indulging my seemingly growing need for cadence and rhythm in the words that I write.

Thank you for reading these words that attempt to express how lovely it is to know that I was in her sunrise.

The Gathering of Leaves

Strewn about the yard, the leaves that sprouted in early spring, created shade at the height of summer, and transformed magically as autumn ripened, await their burial. Dust to dust, earth to earth, it is a ceremony as full of ritual as any in my life.

For is there any observance so pleasant as the gathering of the leaves...

on days when sunshine is in abundance...

...and there are happy, resilient flowers to keep you company as you toil?

When, out of breath, your body responding to the aerobic benefit of your work, you look above and see the forgotten silhouettes of the trees whose tending you now nurture, realizing this new cleanliness will provide the backdrop to the landscapes of the winter months to come?

There is a rhythm to this work that I cherish.  There is a reverence for this transition that is sacred. There is a sensuousness that rises from deep inside as I sweep their crisp bodies into piles with my rake, scoop their fragrant forms into their plastic coffins, and wait as more sever their ties from their tree-homes in the twittering breeze.

For it is the ultimate signal that much is coming to an end. The superlative metamorphosis from life towards death.  And yet, there is much beauty in the brisk clarity that is November, in the soft snowflakes of winter,  in the sleep that will deliver us unto spring.

But for now we measure progress by swatches of green...

 

by depth of color...

...and by ratios of branch to leaf:

 

Knowing that we must participate fully in this work...

 ...in this solemn celebration 

 ...of life, and death, and the connective seasons from which we are born.

What's One More Day?

Please bear with me. I'm just writing. Stream of consciousness style. Out on my back porch in the sunshine on this warm November afternoon.

Just feel like writing. Poring forth. Processing out loud. There's a cricket poring forth somewhere in the viburnum. He and I, we're in a rhythm.

Cars buzz by on the road out front, maybe it's moms taking their kids to and from this and that. I used to be one of those moms. I'll be one of those moms a little later when I pick Beccah up from the train tonight when she's finished with work.

Or, maybe they're people heading home after a long day at the office, or the store, or the school. Maybe.

I had the day off today and had high hopes of being productive. I've been cleaning out my office, getting old Cards by Cath cards ready to ship off to Operation Write Home. The rest I've been unable to part with. I am having the hardest time letting it go completely. The hardest time. I'm still not sure that I will. There are an awful lot of stinkin' cute cards up there, if I may say so myself.

But, you do this little thing on the way to something else, and then I got distracted and answered a few emails and before you know it I'm on Facebook and a bunch of blogs I follow and then I worked out, cooled down, showered. Thought about how g-r-e-a-t I felt afterwards. Checked the Moxie Fab World blog comments, answered a few more work emails, started playing Sudoku (I got my fastest time on a hard puzzle ever--7 minutes and 7 seconds), and before you know it it's lunchtime and Mark, who worked from home today--a rare event--is sticking his head in the doorway asking me if I want to go to lunch.

Heck ya and off we went, trying out the new deli at Pirate O's and feeling like we were whisked back to Moulton's in Amherst, NH feeling so pleased with ourselves that we found a little bit of quaint in our own backyard.

The sun so warm we could have taken a nap, but no, I had a quick blog post to write, and he had to get back to work, and still I didn't go up into the office because I'm checking out this and that online, and looking into the profile of this high school pal I'd friended weeks and weeks ago but never took the time to make real contact with and before you know it I'm thinking some ginger peach tea would be nice on the still sunny back porch and I may as well take my laptop with and before you know it I'm here rambling on and on to you and listening to the cricket at the same time. Multi-tasking at its best, I'm tellin' you what.

And yeah, I didn't get into my office, yet, and now here comes Mark, literally, here comes Mark out the back side door with a glass of red wine in his hands, and excuse me for a moment while I push the pause button to pay attention to this unexpected bit of joy in my day...

...and really, that's just the point, isn't it? There's productive and there are the bits of joy. I've enjoyed every small ounce of this day. No regrets whatsoever.

Come to think of it, I think I'll sit a bit longer in the sun. The office has waited this long. What's one  more day?

And For That, I Am Truly Grateful

By morning, it had already been a lovely day.

I woke to a cheerful daybreak, the moon floating high above the roof of the garage, smiling at us as the coffee was poured.

At Mark's departure, his daily dismissal at precisely 7:12, I fired up my laptop, checked my personal email, today's Moxie Fab World blog post, my work email, and Facebook, engaging myself in the calm, sweet solace of routine.

I proceeded to fix some glitches in the blog post, noodled around a little on Etsy, decided not to update my Facebook status because I didn't have anything particularly interesting to say, and answered a few work emails mostly involving change approvals for projects that will be appearing in an upcoming special issue.

It made for the beginnings of a perfectly regular day.

I made some oatmeal with a tablespoon of ground flax seed, sugar, and skim  milk and waited patiently for some material to arrive in my work inbox, without which I could not begin.

At which point Beccah came downstairs, coiffed and spiffed, ready to take on the world--25 minutes early.

It was then that my morning began to shine.

For Beccah is a new girl now that she's single again. She broke up with her boyfriend of 2 1/2 years over three weeks ago, the official discussion in which both mutually and respectfully agreed that the relationship could never work has taken place, and she is moving on.

And by new girl, I mean empowered, in charge, focused, and happy.

As I drove her to the Trax train that will take her to the bus that will get her to class (breaking up with a boyfriend who also has a car changes everybody's lives), I suddenly felt so grateful.

• Grateful to have the opportunity to help her out in her time of need.
• Grateful that she has taken control of her life, knowing how difficult it was for her to let go of someone she loved so deeply.
• Grateful that she has come back to us with such enthusiasm after having spent so much time with someone who didn't love us as much as she.
• Grateful to have shared the epiphanal Saturday in which she cried with joy as she enumerated all the deep discoveries she had made about herself in yoga class that morning.

Grateful that my Beccah is back.

Upon my return, I acknowledged my gratitude with a walk around the neighborhood--the crisp, electric air glowing in the morning light. Each step felt lighter than the last as I passed familiar houses and timeless landmarks. Strangers waved, dogs barked, and resting fields wished me well.

Perhaps they could sense my appreciation. Perhaps they could see the bouyant spirit that was born in me from the ride I gave my daughter that morning to the train. Perhaps they could feel the happiness that surely must have been beaming from my every extremity as I passed. 

For I am grateful. There's nothing like watching your child make strong, solid decisions for herself, knowing that she is embracing what she needs to be truly happy.

As a parent, it just doesn't get a whole lot better than this.

And for that, I am truly grateful.

In the Glow of This Magnetic Autumn Morn

I am alone on my porch, watching the sun rise above the mountaintops, the light illuminating the view in front of me in gradual increments. It is chilly, but I am enveloped by my favorite quilted coat and the double-layered polar fleece blanket that my daughters made for me one Christmas long ago.

Knowing that these mornings are fleeting. It will soon be too cold, even for morning porch-sitting in bundles.

But today, I do not mind the crisp bite that numbs my nose, the shrill chill that slows my fingers as I type, nor the sinking cold that is penetrating my body through the chair.

For it is fall. And my 45 years of living tell me that it  must be seized.  Capture it before it strays.

So I am here. On the porch. With my coffee. Petting my dog as he comes up for an occasional love. He's checking to make sure I am still around, saying "hello" in the process, a ritual we have been perfecting for many years.

Walkers pass in pairs. Joggers lumber in the cold. Cars speed with abandon. Bicyclists sweep by in packs. Trucks pull trailers with empty loads.

It is a busy morning in my town.

Children play in the yard next door, their voices ringing through the trees, and a twinge of yearning for my own long-since children pulls at me deep inside. Motherhood is the most rooted tether I know.

I sense the shadow of geese in flight overhead. They chatter in the distance. I wonder how much longer they will stay.

And still, the sun's rays creep ever higher, intensifying the current palette, promising warmth as its aperture widens.

A sheltered calm takes residence as I breathe in the clean, biting air. I inhale deeply, its terse rawness resonating deep inside my lungs.

My thoughts turn to Beccah, whose heart needs mending, having broken up with her boyfriend of 2 1/2 years.

To my devoted husband and the constant gift he is to my life.

To a friend who has become a paraplegic in the five years since we were last in touch. I did not know. I wish I had known. I am so sad.

To my father-in-law, recovering from yet another surgery. Missing him. And her. Still so devastated that they moved so far away.

To my father, long gone. Knowing how much he would appreciate this day.

To the hike we will take later this afternoon. To the other we will take tomorrow. Dropping everything--the laundry, the errands, the cleaning --to embrace this ephemeral season.

When the sun breaks through the trees, solidifying this moment:

Commanding my awareness

In the glow of this magnetic autumn morn.

October

In you, this month of chilly mornings
I hope to find the calm that was not my September,
The soft warmth of my favorite sweaters,
The come-home smell of our spiced pumpkin candle,
And the quiet glow of geese in flight at sunset.

In you, this time of intense beauty,
As leaves turn gold and trees become silhouetted stems,
I hope to rejoice in your watercolor skies,
The loamy smells of summer's decay,
The acrid scent of burning leaves,
The crunchy sweetness of apple crisp,
And the steamy tint of ginger peach tea.

In you, October, I am pensive
As I wait for a quieter season.
There are books to be read, words to be written,
And music to be played.

In you, October, I feel a sense of sadness
As my side of the world tilts palpably towards winter,
Even though I know that I will find beauty
In its chill.

But before then, October,
May you pass slowly and linger long
Alowing me to savor your offerings
Gently,
Kindly,

October.

In the Lavender

In its moss-like stalks, memory lives.

A fragrant offering, I inhale and am lifted

Through time and space, and the cares of the day

To a field on an island

Where you proposed to me, again.

As though there had not been

Ten years of marriage in the interim.

There were diamonds and tears.

A kiss or two, a soft touch, the holding of hands.

It was, my love, a moment of a lifetime.

And yet, there was the lavender.

Swaying in the breeze, its ripe tendrils beckoned,

Inviting us to its sensual feast

As the cool air of the sea

And the warm pulse of the sun

Hastened our welcome.

 It stole my breath

And within me, urged a quickening.

The sudden knowledge that,

In this palette of scents,

This ocean of velvet color,

This open expanse tended by deft, agile hands

Our love would continue to deepen.

It's in a field.

It's on an island.

It's in the lavender.

 

All photos courtesy of Beccah Thomas

Ugh.

My computer has another virus. Oh wait, you didn't know about the first virus, or maybe you did because I got it by clicking on something stupid on Facebook that sent all my FB friends porn. That's a whole other story which has another story attached to it as well. And the fact that you don't know about said story(ies) means that I've been a bad blogger.

Which is part of my *ugh*.

So I've been stuck upstairs in my incredibly neglected office amongst the sad and cluttered relics of my card business on my dinosaur of a computer realizing that it has none of the stuff I'm used to working with/on since I got my laptop almost two years ago and being frustrated because I can't adjust my chair right so I don't get shoulder cramps from using the mouse and I have to wait for-absolute-ever just to wait for it to accomplish the simplest of tasks not to mention the mass amounts of time it needs just to become functional after I boot it up every morning. I haven't had time to clean off the virus because

I've been c-r-a-z-y busy at work, working overtime full-time not part-time at all which makes me wonder if this whole voluntary simplicity thing is for me whatsoever. And while I have had a lot more than usual to do at work--OK, to be fair, a WHOLE LOT more than usual to do at work--I seem to gravitate towards that whole perfectionist, push everything to its limits, and let everything else slip aside kinda mode.

I swear that's where I feel most comfortable. And I hate it when that realization rears its ugly head every so often. Because ultimately it's completely unmanageable and leads me to burn-out.

Ugh.

I had two book club meetings in one week, both of which I put the reading of the book off until the last minute so I was reading non-stop for about 5 days the second week in September. Largely due to the *ugh* that pertains to work.

My father-in-law had surgery and then an emergency rush to the hospital a few days later and I've been worried and concerned about him and my mother-in-law all while having to stay focused with my nose to the grindstone. He's doing better now, thank goodness, but it sure has been hard being so far away, especially when they are having such a difficult time.

I haven't been working out regularly, just about one or two times a week which makes me feel like a slug.

As a result, in spite of losing 14 pounds, it's now only a 12-pound deficit and I'm at a plateau that my body hasn't wanted to bust through in, oh, say, a decade or so.

And every time I write in this blog I feel like I'm just so negative, but I guess anything would feel negative compared to the "bippy" girl I become when I write in the Moxie Fab World.

So I'm just stopping by to say *ugh.* It's been a long month, I couldn't even really tell you where it's gone, because I woke up one day and realized it was fall and I wasn't much aware that summer had come and gone. But then, when I really think about it, September has belonged to my beloved Paper Crafts, where I've been enjoying myself immensely, like when I found this poem in my morning cereal, and developed another Big Idea somewhere as I was walking between Fort and Relation Streets which will reveal itself in the Moxie Fab World beginning tomorrow, and a lovely editorial board meeting with our new Go-to Gals just a couple of days ago.

None of which are *ugh*s whatsoever.

But I didn't include a picture in this blog post. 'Cause my camera batteries all need charging and everything else is on my laptop. Which, as I mentioned, has a virus.

Ugh.

As of Today

 

...I've lost ten pounds in my quest to lose the muffin top.

...I'm basking in the joy of a lovely lunch with my mom at our favorite spot, The Oaks up Ogden Canyon.

...I've read 118 pages of this engaging book.

...I've thought about the fact that I'm getting older, waking up with a start and the dreadful knowledge that it's really much later than I think.

...I've been taken aback by my almost 14-year-old pup, his deafness now so profound that he no longer stirs when we approach him while he's sleeping. A behavior that is the newest symptom in his aging decline and one which is very difficult to bear.

...I made a chocolate chip zucchini cake, the second delicious one of the season.

...we enjoyed an evening with Nicole as she discussed health care reform and her hand-me-down Roomba with equal passion. A delight we will not soon forget.

...we went to a fantastic party in which we met some amazing people, drank the best mojitos we have ever had, and watched the moon rise over the mountain while the lights of the city twinkled brightly below. Thanks Dale and Joy!

...I met Marty, a Paper Crafts fan, at the fantastic party. She recognized me from my column (such a thrill for me!) and we became fast friends.

...I've watched the geese make their sunset flights over the cottonwood tree, their downy underbellies glowing with the golden rays, their wings swishing overhead as they glide west.

What have you been up to as of today?

It's Contagious

Photo by Megan Thomas

 

You can even catch it from a photo.