Cath, etc.

The End of an Era

Don't fall off your chair now. Here I am (hello!), emerging from the deep caverns of my lengthy but much-needed blogging hiatus to talk about something so near and dear to my heart, it's like a child. For our beloved Paper Crafts & Scrapbooking magazine is closing its doors, and there's not much more gut-wrenching or monumental to this little corner of our paper crafty world than that. As someone who had the utter privelege of being at the center of much of that magazine's history, I simply couldn't let this opportunity escape--this chance to say one final good-bye.

In fact, it was just a little over a year ago that I was saying my own personal good-bye to Paper Crafts & Scrapbooking magazine. After 8 1/2 years as an editor and 5 years as the creator and author of the Moxie Fab World, I made the painful decision to step down, mostly because I was simply exhausted and burned-out from blogging. And now, here I am again, saying good-bye, this time to a magazine that has provided untold inspiration to an international group of paper crafters, whose positive energy and encouraging spirit has connected us all to one another, for nearly 11 wonderful years.

And while Paper Crafts has meant so many different things to so many different people, for me, it was an incredibly stimulating job in which I was lucky enough to be a part of a phenomenally talented team whose main goal was, simply, to inspire paper crafters all over the world.

From the initial concept meeting to writing the call; to evaluating the submissions; to sending out the acceptances; to writing and then editing the instructions and copy; to preparing the projects for photography; to shooting the photos; to designing the cover, openers, and layout; to writing the cover call-outs; to first, second, and final proofs with even more editing in between, and still more editing after that; before sending it all on to the printers--e-v-e-r-y  s-i-n-g-l-e  i-s-s-u-e was prepared for our readers with professionalism, enthusiasm, and love--and all within seven little months before the on-sale date.

 

Early in our process, we enlisted the help of Paper Crafts Pros Alisa Bangerter, Nichole Heady, Wendy Johnson, and Sue Neal. Kim Kesti became a PC Pro later, and we asked Teri Anderson and Alice Golden to fortify the ranks. This photo even includes Valerie Pingree, our very first Editor-in Chief.

Later, the Paper Crafts Pros were re-branded as the Go-to Gals and included such talents as Teri Anderson, Maren Benedict, Heather Campbell, Julie Campbell, Kimberly Crawford, Kim Hughes, Kim Kesti, Laina Lamb, Jennifer McGuire, Windy Robinson, Betsy Veldman, Laura Williams, and Jessica Witty.

We got together once a year for Editorial Board meetings where we ate and laughed, brainstormed and planned.  We met at CHA where we walked the floor and talked shop.

We watched trends. We explored techniques. We found ways to make paper crafting the seasons and holidays continually inspiring.

We pumped out break-through special interest publications. We invented a holiday. We hosted a couple of cruises.

We launched a blog. And then another. And became very popular on Facebook.

We had a tremendous amount of FUN:

 

...and became very good friends:

 

And you know what? From Day One I knew that I was part of something special, and that this would quite possibly be the best job I might ever have. I am incredibly grateful to managers such as Stacy Croninger, Jennafer Martin, and most importantly, to Jennifer Schaerer, each of whom saw something in me and encouraged me to stretch my wings and fly.

It was a rare and wonderful thing to learn how magazines are put together and the process by which they become a cohesive whole, and I still can't believe that I ever got the chance to do it in the first place. To have done it in this amazingly creative industry, this beloved connective hobby of ours, was a gift beyond any I could have ever dreamed or imagined. I learned so much about so many things, and I will be forever changed in phenomenal ways by the experiences that I had, and by the people I met along the way.

These photos say it all--these people, these experiences, the good work that we did, will live as cherished kernels of goodness deep inside of me...

...as long as I have a heart that beats.

Yours in honoring the end of a most moxie fab era,

~Cath

PS You should have arrived here from my good friend, Alice Golden's blog. To continue on the hop, be sure and pay a visit to the ever-inspiring, and my fellow New Hampshirite, Cindy Lawrence.

Cue Hallelujah Chorus

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Today is the day I get my life back.

Surgery on my shoulder will occur at high noon. Cue western whistle.

I wouldn't say that I'm necessarily giddy about it, because I will have to endure a different kind of pain in order to get said life back, but as surgeries go, this one's got some high hopes attached to it. Cue "High Hopes."

Here's an explanation of what's going to happen to me today. Cue dooms day "dun, dun, dunnnn."

If all goes well, I'll be in a sling for two weeks followed by a relatively quick rehabilitation. Cue happy crowd.

If the surgeon discovers tears which need repair, then I'm in a more elaborate sling for at least 4 weeks followed by a much more involved rehabilitation. Cue disappointed crowd.

So obviously we're hoping for no tears. Cue happy crowd once again.

The bottom line is that I am, eventually, going to be well again.

Which, after 6 1/2 months of pain and limited mobility has not been a known eventuality, and the greatest gift I could possibly be given on this day. Cue Hallelujah Chorus.

It All Begins Tomorrow

It is her last day living in the city of her birth.

Her belongings, now trimmed to the barest of essentials, are packed in her car, the bags and boxes strategically placed in order to maximize efficiency.

The notices have been given, the farewell luncheons have been shared, the good-byes have been said.

For there is an adventure awaiting her in Chicago. Her generous aunt and uncle have invited her to live and work with them in their Aveda salons.

And being 23 and unattached and ready for your life to begin, it's an un-pass-up-able opportunity bringing unforeseen horizons. A change-up that will bring new experiences and challenging chances that, by their very nature, can do nothing but inspire growth.

It is all ahead.

And it all begins tomorrow.

An Explanation & Some Fun News

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Long time, no see, Blogfriends!

As many of you may be aware, I've been nursing a pesky rotator cuff injury in my right shoulder that involves some calcium deposits that are refusing to reabsorb. After 5 months of physical therapy, a few X-rays, an MRI, and 3 procedures involving cortisone shots and a nasty lavage and aspiration, I'm finally going to see a surgeon next week.

I haven't been able to do much during that time because I am in constant pain. I mean, it's still difficult to chop vegetables and stir them in a pot. And my beloved gardening? Right out. Exercise? Fogeddaboudit. And not that I mind not being able to vacuum, but I'd give just about anything right now to suck the ever-living dirt right out of our many and varied, and somewhat neglected, carpets. (No offense to my trooper of a husband, Mark. He's picked up the slack on just about everything around here, not the least of which is our very large yard that is bull dozing its way into summer!)

And of course, computer time has had to be kept to a minimum. It's seriously all I can do to get my posting done for the Moxie Fab World. You know, my day job.

On a lighter note, I do have some fun news. I got an email a couple of weeks ago from Jane at The Mindful Word asking if she could reprint some of my articles. Here's the first. Maybe you remember that rant from August 2009? Well, funny thing is, it's still true today no matter what grocery store I'm in, even if it's 2,500 miles from where the rant began.

Thanks for hanging in there with me. I'll let you know what the surgeon says on Tuesday of next week.

Christmas Greetings from Our House to Yours

It's been a year now since Mark and I left our home in Utah to begin a new life in New Hampshire. We've been busy, busy, busy settling in, adjusting, and making our house a home. And while it has been one of the most challenging experiences either one of us have ever been through, there's nothing like a little Christmas to make you feel right at home.

We've decked the halls (quite literally):

...and added a faux mantel to the new fireplace:

(Who knew? All you need is some bookshelves and some screws and voila! Instant mantle!)

Our snowfriends are happy in their customary spot--the kitchen window--where we get so much sun in the wintertime, I'm worried they might start to melt:

There are some sparkles in the sun-drenched dining room:

...and some carollers in the entryway:

Outside, the lamppost is festive:

The wreaths add some cheer:

(And like good New Englanders, there are candles in every window.)




Even the birds seem to be celebrating:

For little by little, bit by bit, this house is starting to feel comfortable and familiar:

A cherished spot where we wake up to sunrises such as these:

Our daily dose of enchantment from this magical place we {now} call home.

Merry Christmas to you and yours from me and mine in the 'Shire!

The Gesture

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I placed my wrists at my laptop, positioning them just so, readying my fingers to form a sentence.

And by placing them, I mean I lifted my forearms, settled the inside of my wrists against their customary resting place, and watched my knuckles round in a high, graceful arch, as though I were at the piano. Index fingers on "f" and "j," the remaining digits spanning the row, as though the keys beneath would play a scale or an arpeggio beginning on middle "C."

And I am five years old in Carol Hurst's piano studio, learning proper hand position as passed down from the masters. Wrists down. Knuckles high. Fingers round. Pads flat. Elegant as a ballet.

When scales become sentences, arpeggios morph into paragraphs, etudes--poetic blog posts, and concertos become other large-scale works that lie dormant on a CD-R someplace dark.

My hands at the keyboard, my daily practice.

The best of all instructors.

Now

I block out days. I post ahead. I make my way to them.

I stay in their homes. I sleep in their beds. I cook with their pots and pans.

I rent a car. I stock the fridge. I hug them extra long.

I do the dishes. I pick up the tab. I listen with open heart.

I check their welfare. I gauge their joy. I comfort when tears arise.

I laugh more often. I cry more, too. I wish it could all be the same.

I yearn for the past. I chip at the now. I trust that change is good.

I believe in our growth. I have faith in the path. Yet I'd kill for a crystal ball.

I leave them with tears. I fly to my life and its doubt for this choice I have made.

When it's suddenly clear that my path is my own and it sets them both free to choose theirs.

This Summer

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...I ate my fill of juicy, red strawberries; tart, plump blueberries; tomatoes bursting with ripeness; divinely pungent basil; and crisp, buttery corn-on-the cob.

...I wrote for myself in a long-lost journal, an effort to come to terms with who I want to be in this new environment, and rediscovered the importance of connecting with myself away from the public eye.

...I listened to the shrill cadence of cicadas, their urgent trill a backdrop I became glad to expect.

...I walked in the woods and strolled on the beach and marveled, marveled, at the new horizons to which I now have access.

...I supported local farmers, the winery across the street, and the only beef I ate came from grass-fed happy cows from my very own county.

...I dreamed of my daughters and ached for them, their physical presence in my life a void I struggle with daily.

...I prepared for my first hurricane, got nothing but a tropical storm, and was ultimately relieved that we got nothing but a tropical storm.

...I found a reasonable and appropriate rhythm to my work that has heretofore eluded me.

...I have come closer to living a balanced life than I ever have before, and am in complete and utter awe at how much time and effort it takes to live a balanced life.

...I recognized an important shift. Instead of uttering the oft-repeated phrase, I can't believe we live here, just yesterday I caught myself saying, We live here. Subtle, but discernibly different in its expression of  permanence.

Hello, August

tinywhitedaisies

You are a signal. A nudge.

A harbinger of urgency.

You beckon, Quick! Before it all slips away!

You arrive, and suddenly, the days that drip with sunshine are numbered.

And yet, summer's pull, that enticement that urges me to languish in time as the days lengthen, warm, and swell with a certain nectar of loveliness--seems to become more and more elusive as the years wax on. I am lost in my work, keen to fulfill my duties, programmed to stay on task.

And yet, I do feel the draw, the compulsion to heed August's warning. For in it, she reminds me:

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...that summer used to mean wiling away the hours climbing the stories-tall pine tree at the side of the house, searching for the end of the world at the top of the branches, being mindful of the pine sap in every step, challenging myself to go two, maybe three branches farther than I did the day before, until my mama calls me in for tuna fish sandwiches, some cold grapes, potato chips, and graham crackers filled with vanilla frosting--chocolate if I'm really lucky.

 

masika wa

...that summer used to mean long, hot days at the neighborhood pool. Diving for stuff. Playing trolls. Daring each other to jump off the high dive. Sharing a Dreamsicle afterwards. Eating it in the viewing stands up top, everything echoing, the noisy pool sounds warbling in our plugged-up ears, distorted and clangy. Halos around everything we look at with our itchy burning bloodshot red eyes, thinking, goggles are for sissies.

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...that summer used to mean staying up late watching Johnny Carson with my dad. Popping popcorn and adding too much butter but just enough salt. Making Kool-Aid. Opening the windows wide in the hopes of a breeze. In the discernible background, the creek rushes by, there is a symphony of crickets, and big bugs crash against the front French windows in search of light. There is also laughter, and the knowledge that love is more true here than in extraordinary events.

 

Etsy

...that summer used to mean campfires and marshmallows, book-reading marathons, and amusement park rides.

 

Etsy

...band camps and drive-ins and night games with friends.

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And even now, as the Dog Day's moon makes her way back to full, and those carefree days seem ever longer ago, I make August's list in an effort to capture a hint of that young, fun-loving girl:

• Pick blueberries until my fingers are purple
• Bake a pie, a buckle, and a crisp
• Visit the ocean, at least one more time
• Explore Boston for a day, or maybe even a weekend
• Read two more books
• Eat more lobster
• Pay my respects to Robert Frost
• Eat fresh basil and ripe, home-grown tomatoes until they're growing out of my ears

Perhaps the activities have changed over the years, and perhaps I often feel too busy to truly savor the magic that is summer, but August is calling me, and I best not keep her waiting.

How 'bout you? What are your must-do's this August, and what did summer used to mean to you?

She

...is in the air, on her way to me.

I feel an anticipatory thrill as I contemplate our reunion embrace, a tug of devotion so deep it's like she's being handed to me for the first time all over again.

Knowing that the yearning I've felt over the last few months will melt away in that instant.

Like a child at Christmas, I am eager. Seven days to revel in our togetherness, and it's all ahead.

What was once so commonplace is now so rare...

 

...and therefore so much more appreciated.