i am favored

"judy, you are favored," my new friend eagerly told me. i just sat there without a clue as to the next word that would come out of my mouth. so, i waited.

"judy, you are," she said more convincingly. "i don't use puffy words. I mean it." i think she did. the longer i sat there in silence, the more i heard those words resounding over and over. i was favored.

the backstory is simple. i'm going to a birthday party at a monastery tomorrow - the 102nd birthday of the founding father for the only monastery in georgia. i suppose my friend recognized something i didn't. i admit, it is kind of cool that i am being allowed in a part of the cloister where no one is allowed to visit, but i have been down this road before - a journalist asking for access for a story. but then i thought, of all the people in the world, this man - this father - would be the least impressed with my credentials. he couldn't care less. it was his birthday, and as i was told, he - as well as all those around him -  wanted to share his life with me. in fact, who am i kidding - yes, i got access to jason aldean in sanford stadium, but he didn't know me from the faceless armadillo crossing the highway.

i realized that these two events are as different as night and day. the aldean concert was a media circus, his moment to flaunt before the home crowd just who he had become, and the more eyes on him, the better. it would make him a better man, a better entertainment. a better paycheck.

for father luke, his invitation is personal and selective. more than likely, he will not understand my role at his celebration, but he will hopefully catch my eyes and hear my greetings. he'll answer my queries, and with his wonderful humor, he and i will both laugh when he answers. he will care enough to bring me into his space, and hope that i will return the respect. he will not need my approval or presence to authenticate his life.

i am favored. not simply because i get the opportunity to do things many don't, but because i get to tell stories of a generation that still has so much to teach us. i'm allowed the opportunity to sit with the sages of this world, to photograph them and capture moments when they are happiest, and to write down their words so that when they have gone on to greener pastures, their legacy remains.

yes, my new friend, i am favored, not because of who i am but because of those i have met.

sunrise morning

it's easter weekend. although it's cool, spring is coming on soon, and i can't be more ready. my thoughts have been living in the past for most of this week for unexplained reasons. possibly, the popping of the pear trees, the azalea blooms warding off the cold, the aroma of spring floating through the air. and i think of mama and daddy and spring in clarkesville.

right around this time of year, i always observed black dots in our pasture. newborns. dropped whenever time came. nothing made daddy prouder than waking me way too early in the morning and squealing to "come" see our newest baby calf. he loved on the mama cow and made sure she was as comfy as possible. and he didn't take his eye off the baby until it was on all fours. he was a good daddy.

on good friday, we always planted our garden. this meant hours in the field, driving the mule, dropping the corn, and complaining a lot. however, i didn't complain months later as i slathered butter on my perfectly formed ears of sweet corn. i strangely forgot about the heat and the dirt. i still try to plant my few tomato plants on good friday, a long way from the ten acres i walked as a child. i thought everyone planted on this exceptional day. if you were southern, you did. occasionally, i forget that everyone is not that lucky.

it was the sunrise service on sunday morning that always tested my faith. rising early on the weekend never made sense to me, but on this weekend, it did. in the middle of a golf course, on the tallest hill around, church members watched the sun squeak over the hill. i grumbled, but that defined my easter. then, daddy and me would rush home. i'd put on my bonnet, my froufrou of a dress and my always too-tight shinny black shoes, and we'd head to church. as i grew older, i sang in the choir - sans froufrou - and it was always the most spectacular song for that morning. after the service, the three of us would then return home where sunday dinner and laughter would season that day and all the ones that would follow.

my rote movements through the years, i'm afraid, have failed my parents and myself for that matter. i still survey pastures this time of year for the arrival of black dots, and i can't help but smile and remember daddy. i try to plant when the weather allows, but i have left behind the sunrise service and songs of resurrection. i can't say why, only that i know it's not as i had intended. i watch, i listen, i inhale the heralds of spring and i remember. i stand amazed at how years change us, how circumstances mold us, and how what we think will never vanish, always does. although my stirrings are quite different than before, the hollows those early traditions carved in my heart remain. there's not a day that goes by that i don't recall from where i came and know that with a little effort and inspiration, i can be back on that tall hill beside daddy watching the sunrise.

a girl and her glass

My husband and I are homebodies. I make no apologies for it. When he's not making IT magic or I'm not researching my latest article, we're here - right here on Mayne. Surrounded by aging pine trees and gnawed oaks, sprouting jonquils, pastures with too little grass for four feisty horses, two rambunctious albeit passive dogs, a fluffy (we'll just leave it at that) kitty and the two of us. I like it that way. There's no effort in happy. It just comes as easy as rain.

Last weekend, research demanded a brewery visit. The article - which will be featured in Georgia Connector - will offer my best picks for beer festivals in the coming year. The best really isn't a hard choice, but naturally, you start with what's in your own backyard. 

a cold night and he rescued me

To get the crowd feel, we patiently stood in the winding line outside Terrapin Brewery in Athens for over an hour Saturday night, watched as we were undoubtedly two of the (at the most) ten people representing the baby boomer generation while the hundreds that stood by us were barely out of diapers. They came from everywhere, and they kept coming for two hours. Girls, guys, dogs - and dogs. The dogs dressed in Mardi Gras beads had a particular spark in their step. 

I remembered those college years, where the Saturday night outing was a major event that usually took days of preparation in order to pull off. Hugging close to girl friends, laughing the appropriate laugh at the appropriate time, knowing who to follow, knowing what not to say, not to drink, not to wear - it all was a dance that left me left-footed then. 

Evidently, these girls have evolved. They had the moves down. The forced giggle, the lean on the right foot, the hand on the guy's shoulder, the arch of the eyebrow - and that was before they even had beer. Once inside, with the provided glass accessory, they mingled, laughed, taunted, shifted (very little), hugged, gestured, and wandered with nomadic moves - I was exhausted. I was here to research the brewery, not have a lesson in the societal movements of the twenty-something generation, but how do you get one without the other.

come dressed for mardi gras

Although some things have changed (tons of spandex and shorts in winter and accompanied by the right pooch), the basic woman (and guy for that matter) on the prowl has not. Even my husband could foresee each feline's next move (spotting her target with incredible recognition), mainly because he remembered that the progression worked much the same then at Villanova as it did thirty years later at UGA. Put a glass in a woman's hand and she's superwoman, but of course, only if you have the mingling, laughing, taunting - and on and on - down pat. Life hasn't changed that much; it just wears less clothes.

Yes, I took the tour at Terrapin and viewed quite a hometown operation, one that is four-times bigger this year than last. I sampled the seasonal Moo-Hoo, liquid infused with a chocolaty-milky smack. Two thumbs up! I fought the crowds in the sample line as well as the deluge in the bathroom line. I people-watched, dog-watched and beer watched.

one of my picks for evening's best dressed

It was fun for an otherwise home-body that rarely withdraws from Mayne.  Got to see how the younger crowd can still take over a room. I was pleasantly not shocked. Take a girl; add a glass, and it's the perfect accessory for conversation, prowling and wishful thinking. With or without my glass, I had it all even before I braved the line.

just take a load off and enjoy!

traveling full circle

Gone November 16, 2012

Can it be? No more Twinkies? No more Ho Ho's? Why do all the things that we love - and cake and goo are at the top of love list - disappear and fade away? Albeit greed, in my opinion, that erased this icon from the grocery store shelves, it seems to be following the lead of most everything in life.

My daughter's new do.

What became of the classics? The Huckleberry Finns and the Tom Sawyers replaced with vampires and werewolves? The Louis Vuitton Speedy or a string of glass pearls fall behind Juicy or Vera Wang? The classic and sleek bob has been replaced by mountains of gel and long locks trimmed in green (I know the picture is side-ways. It doesn't look any better the other way.). My grip of reality is slowing slipping.

It's those things that are steadfast, consistent, resilient, that we come to appreciate most of all. We know that in the morning we'll wake up and there will be coffee brewing in the kitchen, the cat will be cuddled on my legs, and my slippers will be just a leg drop away. This assurance, I suppose, is something we all take for granted until the world turns on its axis rather unexpectedly. I don't like it when this happens. I like to know that if I eat my black-eyed peas on New Years, I will definitely accumulate thousands of pennies during the coming year. This is so. I have a waist deep plastic cola-cola shaped container that holds mountains of concrete proof from 2012. See, I ate my peas and I have pennies.

I guess everything comes full circle. Things begin with contagious hope, run their course, and then in the whirl-wind of life, they lose a bit of steam after they have given it all they've got, they slow down and bow out with a graceful good-bye. With lots of successes, lots of memories and lots of stories.

Those stories - of a life cycle well traveled - are those I want to tell and record. There are people and places and things that must not be forgotten. Like, the normalcy I felt when mama opted for my first store-bought dress instead of a hand-made one. The teenage tears that poured upon cutting my waist long hair up to my shoulders. Touching my children for the first time. Holding my breath as the gavel fell.

Tell me your story, so I can tell your story. I am looking for those who have lived a long life, those that have wisdom and advice that should not fade away. Stories of hardship and triumph, war heroes who went to war and those who waited at home, lovers, dreamers, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. I want to find you. Help me find you.

My full circle journey begins now, and I'm proud you're going with me. The website will be launched the first of the year and you'll get to meet some great people that will change your life. In the meantime, please help me find the stories before they fade.

Contact me at seeingsouthern@gmail.com.