when you're happy like a fool...

In the words of Theodore Roosevelt, 


"Let us remember that, as much has been given us, much will be expected from us, and that true homage comes from the heart as well as from the lips, and shows itself in deeds."


As the eve of Thanksgiving falls upon us, I sit sipping wine, surrounded by my boys, warm and cozy, loved by friends near and far, and missed by family. I can not answer the monotonous and customary "What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving?".


Um... what am I not thankful for? You would be a fool to pick one solitary thing. I look around and am so thankful for EVERYTHING. God. My church. My parents. My brother and sisters. My friends. My house. My dogs. My bed. My memories. 


Everything.


It's a good life and don't you dare forget it. 

Happy Thanksgiving.

every leaf speaks bliss to me.

Mary Anne Evans, better known by her pen name, George Eliot, once stated, 

"Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns."

My boys and I would agree. We took a walk together down to the dog park, basking in the Carolina sunshine and the abundance of leaves beneath our feet. 

If I could, I'd make my bed on the hardening earth, turn my face to the warmth of the sun, and enjoy the silence of the world.

you gotta have wings to be first in flight.

MY PICTURE HERE. 

I did it. I did it. I passed my driver's test... and am officially a North Carolina resident. 

While the gentleman at the Durham DMV was cordial and friendly, he definitely made me work to get my picture on some plastic. After several trips home, hiding a coffee cup, playing with my hair, and racking my brain for some answers... I hopped in front of the camera and showed North Carolina the face it had been missing these past years. 

I made sure they even asked me to register to vote. And boy... did I say "Republican" with a loud and proud tone. Add 1 to the Republican vote in Durham County. NC GOP... I'ma comin' for ya. 

As I walked out, temporary drivers license in hand, proud as can be, I couldn't help but think of my dad. 

6 years ago, he left. He left me, he left my mom, he left my grandmother. He left his job. He left his car. He left his watch. He even... left his driver's license.

He left this earth. 

He just... left.

And being in North Carolina brings both treasured and painful memories of him back to my thoughts. 

Circa the mid to early 90's, my father and members of a team in the Department of Transportation designed the above license plate. While Ohio likes to think its the birthplace of aviation... we don't give much credit to their talk. Hello... We've got Kitty Hawk.

My dad was so proud this design and worked so very hard on it. He made me a license plate when I was 9 to put on our station wagon with my name on it. While I would refuse to drive that car in my teen years, it was still pretty wonderful of him. 

My father was an amazing person. He was incredibly intelligent, dashingly charming, and so funny. He could light up a room with his smile and command the attention of just about everyone in it. His laughter was infectious. His words, immortal in my mind. 

I was unfortunate enough to never truly get to know him as person outside of my father, but I'm slowly piecing together the legacy he left behind and the man he was.

nothing like dog days...

Moving has been quite the experience. I didn't realize all the little things that go in to relocating. I have to say though, middle of November...70 degrees...warm and sunny. Yeah. It's not that bad. I've been making sure that through studying for my North Carolina driver's license and applying for job after job after job... after job... that I make time to decorate, get to know the neighborhood, and maybe do a little graduate work.

While my best friends have literally been nothing but wonderful (thank you Robb for all the electrical wiring you've done... even though you're not an electrician?) and amazing (thank you Hannah for putting up with me taking over your room until I finally get organized) and terrific (thank you Sarah for letting me do laundry in the wee hours of the morning, and even some of yours too??), I have to say two huge thank you's go out to the loves of my life, my canine best friends, and the two love bugs who have literally done nothing but support me all the way, been there for the tears and the joy, and give kisses and ride patiently in the back seat while we made that long drive.

Thank you Teddy and Bobo. 

Thank you for cuddling with me, loving me unconditionally, and always being so happy to see me even when I wasn't at my friendliest. 

Thank you for always knowing what I mean and never asking questions.

You truly are man's best friend.

i've put another notch on my Bible Belt...

I have to say... religion, both structured and unstructured, has always been a fascination of mine. After throwing a fit outside of the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, France because I was not allowed to buy a rosary, I think my parents knew I was a bit of an odd-duck. To be honest, my father's response was inadequate in answering my questioning of his justification in NOT buying a rosary. I was simply intrigued by the beautiful and intricate metal architecture, and he said "We aren't Catholic." What did that matter? I was a collector of anything and everything beautiful and mystifying to the 9-year-old mind.


If we're going to be honest, I believe he always had a bit of prejudice against Catholicism, rightly understandable being raised below the Mason-Dixon line as a Southern Evangelical. Boy, did I show him. I was confirmed at the age of 23 as an Orthodox, veil-wearing, rosary-praying, Virgin-Mary loving, Roman Catholic. My collection of Cathedral veils and rosaries has never been larger.


Sorry, Dad.


But, now I'm back; living a little above the heart of Dixie, right on the Bible Belt, and I can't find a single novena or confessional within 25 miles of my house. The Bible Belt has represented Southern religion at its finest. The term, informal in its use, is a description of the South-East geographic location referring to a cluster of Evangelical-Protestant religion and its subsets, spanning from north Florida to west Texas.


So here I wait, surrounded by openly-conversing Protestants who tell me God Bless every time I buy toilet paper and toothpaste at the Wal-mart checkout. While I miss the chilly temperatures and padded-knee stools of the Cathedral of St. Paul, I secretly... kind of... love it. Forgive me while I do ten Hail Mary's.  


And living with my best friend, the grandchild of a Southern Evangelical preacher, I knew I was headed for a fire-and-brimstone awakening, not to be confused with the Catholic scare-tactic of pure firery purgatory. I may have blinked, or sneezed, or some split-second moment of averting my eyes, and I found myself in the stadium-seating of a rock-band, Evangelical, jean-wearing, Hallelujah! shouting sermon. Where were the head-coverings? Where were the rosaries? Why was nobody kneeling? Are you even allowed to talk in Church? Where's his collar? And I'm pretty sure there's a lady playing Tetris on her Blackberry. It sure didn't matter because, NO CONFESSIONAL! Forget Communion, everyone had coffee cups.


Woah.


I began to yearn for my tradition, my formality, my silent reverence and pin-dropping moments of prayer. But... I needed to give it a try and open my mind. The Church, while bare in its luxuries, stained glass, and marble architecture, was simple, with an effortless appeal in its friendly, Southern-tainted accent and moral charm. The preacher was young, approachable, and easily-relate able. He wore jeans, and spoke passionately, at moments, screaming. His words were uncomplicated and lamen, and to the point, and people were taking notes!


I felt like every time I had entered a Cathedral, there was an invisible bag-check at the door, with large posted signs stating "PLEASE LEAVE EVERYTHING BUT YOUR GUILT AT THE DOOR." And...and...and...and... they wanted me to use my Bible. Like actually open it. And turn pages. And look at the words.


While there was a bit of self-promotion, eerily reminiscent of Billy Graham, and moments of an Anti-Catholic and clergy rhetoric, the sermon was enjoyable and the people were friendly. While I plan on marrying and raising my family in an Orthodox Roman Catholic fashion, complete with child-size veils, rosaries, and motherly-guilt, I am open to exploring what seems to be a warm and welcoming place. Maybe even joining a small-group and do a little hand-raisin'.


I know my roots, but who said I can't spread my wings and see what this big ole' city has to offer.


If you're in the Raleigh-Durham area, check out The Summit Church. It has various locations throughout the cities and offers wonderful services. Bring a friend, a cup of coffee, and an open mind, and you might find yourself rockin' out with Jesus too.

wings and other things...

I've really done it this time. I not only jumped head first, I've run down the dock in my bare feet, butt naked, and somersaulted into it. I'm moving back home. But it's going to be OK. I just know it.


As I continue to pack my life into these plastic bins, I do feel overcome with sadness for leaving someone who has been my rock through the hardest, and most sorrowful moments of my life. My mother. Our relationship has been rocky, to say the least. But what girl doesn't fight with their mom? She has been the foundation that holds my shaky structure when the storms ablowin'. She has caught me every single time I have fallen, and to leave her is harder than anything I think I've ever done.


But... I keep thinking of all the wonderful people I am going to meet, and the fabulous long-forgotten memories that will come flooding back at any random moment, sending me into a joyful heartache for the past. I daydream of the craziness that will ensue the moment my best friend and I set foot over the threshold of our new house. More than anything, I'm excited for the changes I know will come about on the inside. While I'm not excited to be eating Ramen every night, I yearn for the feeling of adulthood that comes with pressure and responsibility. I am anxious to see how I spread my wings, and what wonderful colors they will be.


Ray Bradbury, one of my all-time favorite writers, once said, "Jump, and you will find out how to unfold your wings as you fall."


I'm scared. I'm nervous. I'm excited.


I'm going to jump.