Cath, etc.

It's a Blogiversary Party in the Moxie Fab World--and You're Invited!

Thursday of this week will mark the blogiversary of the Moxie Fab World, the blog I host for Paper Crafts magazine.

It's been one of the most fun projects I've ever worked on and I've made a ton of new friends in the journey. Maybe you're one of them. :)

I'm still pinching myself when I think that I actually get paid to find trendy inspiration and write bippy posts for my readers.

And while I know that you, dear blogfriend, might not be a paper crafter, I did want to let you know that as part of our blogiversary celebration, I'm giving away 12 b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l holiday projects created by some of the most talented paper crafters in the industry today.

And I'm talking b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l.

All you have to do is hop on over and leave a comment in order to be eligible to win.

So drop on by! I'll be the one with the funny hat on. I hope to see you there!

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?

Photo Op 11: Leaves

Leaves by Elsie N. Brady

How silently they tumble down
And come to rest upon the ground
To lay a carpet, rich and rare,
Beneath the trees without a care,
Content to sleep, their work well done,
Colors gleaming in the sun.

At other times, they wildly fly
Until they nearly reach the sky.
Twisting, turning through the air
Till all the trees stand stark and bare.
Exhausted, drop to earth below
To wait, like children, for the snow.

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.

Happy Haunting!

Have I mentioned recently how much I love my job?

Oh, I have? Well, bear with me, because I'm going to say it again.

I love my job.

Here's one of the many reasons why:

The 9 Brides of Frankenstein

My take on the theme

Each year we dress in a team Halloween costume. Last year, we were hippies, though I spent Halloween in New Hampshire and missed out on the fun:

Kelly, Jennifer, Susan, Brandy, and Stace

Although, Mark and I did channel our inner hippies at a party Susan and Beth had hosted the week before:

The year before that the Paper Crafts team was a girl-band; the year before that, pirates; and the year before that we were a motorcycle gang.

And yeah, I'm kicking myself because I don't have any photos of those great costumes for you.

But this year, with the addition of Matt, our token man to the team, we enjoyed being the 9 brides of Frankenstein. Which could only happen in Utah, of course!

Jennifer, Susan, Matt, me, Brandy, Holly, Brenda, Kelly, Melinda, and Sarie

It's one of the ways I get my Halloween jollies every year, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Here's the other:

This year marks the 15th year of putting the "eyes" in the upstairs windows for all our neighbors.

And here's another:

 Our kitchen bay window. Click here for the full treatment.

What are your favorite ways to celebrate Halloween? With our kiddos all grown, I will admit, it's fun to have a couple of pieces in place to make sure that I still celebrate. I hope that no matter what your age, you still get into the Halloween "spirit"!

Happy haunting!

The Jury is In

...on the old CSA.

Today is the first Monday since June 9 that we didn't stop by the garden that Jill built for our weekly box of vegetables.

OK. That's not entirely true. There was the Monday we went to New Hampshire and couldn't make the pick-up. And then there was the Monday that I had the Go-to Gals and the Paper Crafts team over for dinner (the night before our editorial board meeting) and Mark was out-of-town. Simply couldn't be helped.

But other than these two times, we've faithfully picked up our box o' veggies. Sometimes we even got a big ol' sack o' fruit.

And while I got a kick out of having carrots with tops:

...and I became engaged in an intense love affair with arugula; unearthed the mystery of mustard greens, turnip greens, and Swiss chard; learned how to cook and enjoy beets; and tasted the best potatoes I am likely to ever have; our thumbs are turned way down for CSAs.

The biggest issue for us? Quantity. We just couldn't get through the vast variety of vegetables they sent our way. And don't get me wrong. We love our veggies. We eat a lot of them. More than most families, I would guess. But not enough to eat nothing but veggies three meals a day. Because that's what it might have taken to get through them all before they went south.

On top of all that, our daughter, Nicole, brought over produce from her own garden to use. A friend at work did the same. It was a bounty with which it was difficult to reckon.

We got a real appreciation for eating in season, though. The root vegetables, in particular, seem to me better suited for late fall and winter. And yet, we were receiving them in mid-summer. I had a hard time bending my mind to the idea of eating a potato or a turnip in July. This may sound strange to you, but I don't eat many potatoes to begin with, and if I do, it's for Thanksgiving and maybe a Sunday dinner in January with a pot roast.

I could do without the turnips altogether.

In many ways, rather than reinforcing the idea of eating local and in season, the CSA emphasized how much my diet revolves around the fruits and vegetables I can purchase in my grocery store and how unwilling I am to change that. I enjoyed the fresh lettuce we received for about 6 weeks this past summer, but I wasn't and am not willing to take lettuce off the menu for the rest of the year. We were never offered bell peppers from the CSA, so in season or not, I bought them from the grocery store because they are a main staple in our diet.

Don't get me wrong, I do have limits on how far away the fruits or vegetables can travel to reach my plate, ever mindful of all the resources it takes to ship the things that nourish my body. I usually try to stick to no farther than California or the Pacific Northwest, occasionally Mexico. But I won't buy an orange that comes from Australia. I haven't bought a banana in a few months, and I haven't bought a fresh pineapple in over a year.

Another drawback? We didn't attend our local Farmer's Market because we were having difficulty keeping up with all the produce we received at the CSA. We missed the fun of seeing the vendors, taking in the crowds, and buying the delicious fruits, veggies, and homemade breads that we knew we would actually eat.

Which brings up another key point. I'm glad I tried new things like broccoli rabe, turnips, kohlrabi, and beets, but they aren't things that I would like to eat on a regular basis, let alone 6 weeks in a row. I guess I'd rather have a little more choice and flexibility. I'm used to it and I know it's available to me. These are very powerful forces in my world.

To be honest, I'm a little disappointed that it didn't work out better for us than it did. I love the idea of eating locally and in season. I wish that I could have adapted better than I did. But in spite of our best efforts, some of the produce went bad before we could get to it, and I felt forced to plan meals that I normally wouldn't have planned, and that jammed me up in ways that didn't make me happy.

I suppose I could have given more of the food away. But if I don't want to eat beets in the middle of the summer, I assumed that no one else would want to eat them then either. (With the exception of you, Jason. But then to get them to you there would be all that fossil fuel involved and that didn't seem sustainable, either.)

So, next year, we're thinking about putting in our own little garden and filling it with the vegetables that we love best. We'll supplement that with trips to our local Farmer's Market and will continue to by organic, local produce as much as we can from our grocery store.

We're still committed to buying local and in-season when we can. But we're realizing that we're modern folks who appreciate a good salad year-round. So, like I said, the jury is in. We're not suited for a CSA, and that's a good thing to know. We'll try another approach next year and evaluate the impact it has on our lives, trying to find the fit that's right for us.

And that's what becoming green is all about. It's a journey, one step leading to the next. Slowly but surely, we're getting there.

Photo Op 10: The Milkweed

The Milkweed
by Cecil Cavendish

The milkweed pods are breaking,
And the bits of silken down
Float off upon the autumn breeze
Across the meadows brown.

My New Home Decor

Yep. I've pretty much wanted to read this book since I became aware of its presence on earth.

If I had a Bucket List, this would be on it. A kind of must-read-in-this-lifetime type of thing.

Yep. I read Anna Karenina a couple of years ago and loved it, intensifying my desire to read this beast of a book:

And yep. This is how far I've gotten. 202 pages out of 1,358.

But it's OK. We're reading it for my Classics Book Club, taking 4 months to get through it. Convenient, because the Big Book is divided up into four Little Books, like so:

So far, I've met at least a thousand different characters, some of whom have the same name (how many Anna's  can one book reasonably tolerate?), and I'm not entirely sure that I know who knows whom and who's related to what person of influence, and what friend is going after which girl or boy, nor was I aware of how many prince and princesses there were in Russian society at the time. But I'm rolling with it.

And I'm getting a great work-out in the process. I mean, this baby's got some heft! I wonder how many calories I'm burning every night just in my effort to keep the thing upright!

I'm also remembering how much "war" narratives are so not my thing. But I've gotten through the 2nd book which was all about Dolokhov and Rostov and Andrey Bolkonsky and Kutuzov and Napoleon and now we get to go back to the paltry lives of those not enjoying themselves immensely in the intense excitement that comes with the life-and-death line-crossings of battle.

Which for me is a good thing.

In the meantime, this is where this book will live for the next 3 months:

Yep. We're temporarily considering it to be part of our home decor.

I'm just glad that the cover's pretty...and trendy. I have it on good authority that chandeliers are all the rage, you know. ;)

It looks awfully nice on my end table here, don't you think?

So I'm wondering, have you read this book? Have you ever wanted to? What is one book that you feel you must read before you die?...And the really big question...what's stopping you?

Me? I'm just glad I have a group that is interested in reading this book with me, because otherwise, it would still be on my list, I guarantee you!

Good luck to me! I'll keep you posted!

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.