Stormy Weather

“When it rains…”

“…It pours!” My friend finished my sentence loudly and with tons of feeling.

We’d both been having a rough couple of weeks: those types of weeks when nothing seems to go right and when everything closes in on you. The domino effect of bad luck had invaded our lives, and we were in one of those dreaded funks.

Looking back, the things that were bothering us weren’t really all that bad. They were simple things, the bumps and turbulence that life hands you sometimes…just to make sure you’re still paying attention. It’s those kinds of times, those kinds of bad days and frustrating moments, that make the good days that much better. It’s important to keep things in perspective, to not get bogged down in the bad, and to always appreciate the good.

It’s easy to say all that now, looking back, having watched a week of devastation on the East coast from Super Storm Sandy, having heard about the countless tragedies affecting those around us, tragedies much worse that the simple problems I had been facing. But even those facing tragedies and bad days today will surely have a brighter tomorrow…that’s just the ebb and flow of life.

And I sincerely hope that that’s also the ebb and flow of government and the future of our nation. Let’s face it, y’all; America is in one of those funks I described earlier. Our nation is having a “bad day.” We’re still the greatest nation in the world, but the beauty of America, the beauty of freedom and democracy, there’s been a shadow cast on it lately.

We used to be united; a country full of opinions and differences but that was ultimately cohesive: a team, a family. We’re not united anymore, though. Opinions and differences that were once respectively shared now only seem to tear us apart; the politicians leading us jump on those differences, highlighting them, driving the wedge between us further and further down.

The last few weeks have been a blood bath. Television, Facebook, Twitter: everyone’s been abuzz with election commentary and mudslinging. On Facebook and Twitter alone, I’ve witnessed countless personal attacks over whose voting for whom and whose opinion is “right.” Friends fight with friends, and the division between us is driven even further.

But like I said, maybe this is just a funk, a rough period for America. Maybe one day soon the economy will turn around and relieve some of the stresses Americans have been feeling. Maybe one day soon politicians will reach across the aisle and join together on making important changes. Maybe one day soon we’ll be a great nation united once again, with respect and love for each other and all of our freedoms.

On Tuesday, I will vote. I will exercise my right and freedom as an American citizen. I will do so among countless fellow citizens, citizens who may not be casting the same vote as I but for whom I have nothing but the utmost respect. On Tuesday, we have a chance for a new beginning, no matter who is elected. We have the opportunity to start fresh and come together once again. We will vote for different candidates; we will never see eye-to-eye. But we will always remember that we are a nation, a nation of diversity and unity that has the potential for greatness.

Stormy weather will pass, and the sun will shine once again.

Author's Note: This was written in response to The Lightning and the Lightning Bug's prompt "Storm." Hope you'll join us!!

On Halloween Past

For three years in a row, I was a black cat. With long whiskers and a little nose drawn on my face with eyeliner, a tight headband with felt ears, and a black turtleneck and leggings, I pranced around our neighborhood, meowing, hissing, and embracing my role with verve and vigor. Sure, I wasn’t the most creative at dressing up for Halloween, but it was a holiday I loved nonetheless.

I looked forward to scooping squishy handfuls of guts and seeds out of big orange pumpkins. On such occasions, Mama would cover the kitchen table in yesterday’s newspaper, preparing the work space of the family artist: Daddy. Daddy’s deft hand would then trace that year’s masterpiece onto the surface of the pumpkin. I loved to watch him, as he cut out each sliver and chunk, the spooky face of the gourd emerging before my very eyes.

After the carving was complete and as the sun was setting, we’d deliver, with much ceremony, the finished Jack O’Lantern to its rightful spot on the front porch. Mama would place a small tea-light in the bottom, light the wick, and Jack would come to life, glowing spookily in the early dusk of the October night.

These memories of early Halloweens are still treasured, and the same sort of excitement that gripped me as a child when the air would cool and pumpkins would start popping up on front porches still bubbles up every fall.

In a perfect recreation of that childhood ritual, Jeremy and I line the kitchen table with newspaper. The perfect pumpkin, which has been chosen with much consideration to carving surface, stem, and color, graces the table, as my mad scientist husband brews up a suitably unique theme. Last year was “Cannipumpkin,” in which a smaller pumpkin was affixed to the larger one as if it was being eaten. This year the theme seems to be leaning towards zombies; they’re trendy right now, and we want to be as timely as possible.

Cannipumpkin

My grown-up Halloween doesn't include the trick-or-treating of childhood days gone by, and to be honest, I sometimes miss the process of going door-to-door, smiling shyly, and receiving the fruits of my labor. I miss getting home from a hard day’s night and dumping that plastic pumpkin and all of its treasure into the living room floor. Organized child that I was, I would group my candy by type and color. The bounty of Snickers bars, Smarties, and Dum-dum pops would sustain my sweet tooth for days.

Nowadays, I have to purchase my own trick-or-treat candy for those potential ghosts and goblins that will grace my front porch on Halloween night. I wish I could attest to being one of the “good houses” with the best candy, but alas, the alarmingly high price of that “best candy” means we offer mostly off-brand fare. Nevertheless, we still get to enjoy the antics of trick-or-treaters, even though we’re a little bit too big to join them. I’m lucky enough to live in a big, friendly neighborhood with lots of families…which is an even bigger reason we have to go with the cheaper candy.

There’s just something really special about Halloween. It’s the only holiday that occurs during my favorite month. It’s at the perfect time of the year weather-wise. It’s got candy. And even more important, it’s got that special combination of mystery, spookiness, and family-time that makes for some wonderful memories.

Happy Halloween! May your trick-or-treat bag be filled with Snickers, Milk Duds, and Skittles and all the other great goodies of the "good houses."

 

I Remember

Memories are funny things. Sometimes they are long-lasting, at other times fleeting. Sometimes they are triggered by pictures, sometimes by nothing more than a familiar smell. They are fragile and delicate and ever-so-precious, and I didn’t really realize until recently, really within the last two years, quite how much I should treasure them.

One of my first memories happened when I was three-years old. It was dramatic enough to stick, I guess. Horse-lover that I was, and have always been, I somehow thought it would be a good idea to take my rocking horse and put it up on my bed, so that I would be up higher. For a few fleeting moments, I was a cowgirl, riding off into the sunset of my bedroom, but then I slipped, fell off the bed, and the rocking horse came tumbling after. Right onto my left arm…breaking it.

I don’t remember the pain. I don’t remember crying, like I’m sure I did. But I do remember the yellow plastic of that rocking horse. I remember its red yarn hair, and its blue nose. I remember the sound of the sand that weighted its bottom as it slipped from the bed and onto my bony arm.

It’s almost a miracle that I can remember those simple details, and of course, there are other miracle memories that are a lot more precious, like the twelve years of memories I have of my grandfathers.

I remember PawPaw telling stories of the Navy and his pet kangaroo in Australia, and I remember Dorsey singing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and tickling me into a fit of giggles. I remember PawPaw rocking on the front porch with a gray and white cat in his lap, and Dorsey walking across the yard with an entourage of rescue dogs trailing behind him.

I didn’t know that I would only have twelve years with them. If I had, I think I would have written things down, things that have all but slipped away now. Things I can’t ever get back. Sometimes, our memories betray us that way.

My grandmother’s memories betrayed her in a bigger way. When her confusion first began, we worried. We took her to doctors and specialists, fearing the worst, hoping for only the best. Alzheimer’s is an awful disease…and that’s a gross understatement. It steals those things that are most precious to us, those memories we love and treasure, those pieces of loved ones gone by.

It can be fickle. Some days, it grants its victim clarity; they are back in the present, sharp and clever as ever. But most days, it thrusts them into the past, a past where worries from yesterday haunt their troubled eyes, where those long-dead trip in and out of their lives. It causes confusion and pain, for both the victim and their family.

For two long years, we watched my grandmother struggle with this disease. We held onto good days like gold and cried on the bad days. There’s a reason they call Alzheimer’s “The Long Goodbye.”

She passed away two weeks ago. Stubborn spit-fire that she was, she never stopped fighting in those two years, fighting for herself and for her family, and now her fighting has ended. Finally, that long, hard struggle to hold onto those priceless memories is done.

Her memories have been fully restored, and she’s with my grandfather and my Gram and Papa now. Our hearts ache, but we’re comforted by that, by the fact that she’s her old self again with all her memories…a gift for eternity.

“I remember.” Two simple words that now hold a world of meaning. Fleeting and delicate as can be. The good ones are a gift, write them down, and lock them away for yourself and for the future.

My Meme, 16 years old, Southeastern Fair

 

Windows and Doors and Hope Rekindled

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Everything happens for a reason. Or so they say.

From the time we're old enough to know true disappointment, it's repeated to us like a mantra, a lulling pacifier designed to sugarcoat failure and despair.

It's a sentiment that wears many hats.

There's the standard: Well, everything happens for a reason.

The educational: Must be a lesson in there somewhere. 

The hopeful: When one door closes, another opens. Or the variation: When a door closes, a window opens.

The romantic: There's plenty of fish in the sea.

The religious: God works in mysterious ways.

Whether it's uttered to soothe the wounds of unrequited love, the smarting ache of a hard-learned lesson, or the tormenting letdown of a wish unfulfilled, we've all heard the phrase and its many cousins. We've all experienced disappointment, unanswered prayers, and the like. That's life, as they say. Whoever they are.

In the midst of sorrow and defeat, it's a hard thing to hear. I suppose it's difficult to see how something positive could come from something negative. At least in that moment it is.

I've lived through one of those moments recently. The worst of the disappointment has passed, though I still have times where I want to scream "why!?!?" at the top of my lungs. I think, for the most part, I'm now at a point where I'm looking towards the future, wondering what windows and doors are hanging open, waiting for me to step through.

I've never been a terribly patient person. I want things to happen NOW. Waiting until Christmas to buy that new bauble that caught my eye? Not gonna happen. Waiting to adopt a new cat until "cat fever" has left, and I'm thinking straight again? Nope, not me. Waiting to get to know a little better the man I met online only months ago before I marry him? Nah, it'll all work out.

I'm just not a wait-and-see kind of girl. So waiting to see what kinds of new opportunities might be just beyond the horizon is not really my cup of tea. But you know what? There's a lesson to be learned here. Don't they also say that good things come to those who wait? 

Patience, Katie. Patience.

So, I sit and wait and hope, hope, hope. Because everything happens for a reason, and for everything there is a season. And y'all, my season has always been fall.

Here's to windows and doors and hope rekindled.

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Funk

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And I don't mean music.

I'm in one. Bad.

A writing funk of epic proportions. And a life funk. It's been about two months now. It sucks.

It happens. We all know it. Life throws you a curve ball, and inspiration flies out the window. I'm not going to go on and on about it. It's all been said before. By me. By others. We're human. Life isn't perfect. Writing isn't perfect.

The second anniversary of Chicken Noodle Gravy is fast approaching. A little over a month away. So crazy to think that it's been nearly two years since I started blogging about my love of a strange family dish most people have never even heard of.

Looking back on the last two years, I'm happy. Happy to see the new friends I've made. Happy to see the changes in myself.

I'm more confident. I write more. I'm now being paid to write. My relationship with my husband is stronger and happier than ever. I'm more positive. My outlook is always improving. I still worry, but I don't wallow in my worry quite as bad. I stand up for myself. I don't let everyone walk all over me anymore. Mostly.

Despite some minor irksome details over the last couple of months, things are pretty amazing, and I'm one happy girl.

Take that, Funk.