i will live deliberately

i had a conversation with a lady this week about stuff. she and I are about the same age, so i figured who could know more about stuff than two middle-aged women who had been through children and men and lived to tell the tale.

she seemed as disheartened with stuff - a.k.a. car payments, overly-decorated houses, pricey vacations, unexpected commitments, shopping for things you didn't need while working at a job you hated, etc - as I was. things that really make no difference in my well-being or quality of life.

oh, make no mistake, there was a time when the right car in the drive-way meant the difference between living well and barely living.  the flashy metal was in a four-year cycle, trading on and trading up, which also meant more money each month. but who cared? I had a new car. that's what i was supposed to do, and boy, did i look great.

now, in my drive-way sits an 11 year old saab that, god-willing, will get me from a to b without having a stroke. I keep up the maintenance which if I counted it up would probably equal a car payment - but still, that's random and I can live with random. i've never had a car this long, but  I do fear the day, when old Bessie just can't belt out another chang-ching. I would miss her and my trepidation each time i climbed in. we've developed quite a relationship, and I think, we still have time to explore more.

people are keeping vehicles longer these days. they aren't as concerned with the froo-froo that once consumed our lives. there's a joy in simplicity. staying at home, saying 'no' to things and meetings that really aren't that important. leaving that charming artifact on the store shelves and asking a second time, 'is it necessary?'

i ask that a lot lately. is it necessary? will this make me a better person? is it worth my time? am I selfish to put myself before what is expected of me? and this answer to all - is no.

by the time people reach my age, it is the person staring back in the mirror who must be the priority. if I can feel good about my decisions, or lack of ones, I will be just fine.

no more stuff for me. nothing unless it's absolutely necessary. simplicity. thoreau had the right idea when he escaped to walden pond -  to live off the land with only the bare necessities. to live deliberately. to be himself, and not be concerned with what other people thought he should be.

we would all be better if life included only what we truly needed.

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.

no good

My eyes are glued to her photo. I gasp. I smile. I gloat. I'm in the midst of an extreme moment of karma, physical evidence that what goes around, comes around. "I knew it," I convince myself. I knew in my heart that God never forgets, and He takes care of his small birds, mustard seeds, and the like. I have been vindicated. It is pay-back time for the grief, and yes, downright craziness, she caused me. We're even now.

A night passes.

Really? I put on my big girl panties and breathe. Really?

Does a cloudy, unflattering mug shot for stealing a hairbrush in Wal-Mart (I'm just guessing since she looked so forlorn) actually make up for the hours of pain, tears and fear I experienced some ten years ago - almost to the day? Can a bond of $1300 be equal to the thousands that I lost? And not mention the years stolen from my life? What about my children? Can it replace their grief?

Hours have passed since my initial revelation, and the sun is rising. The mama bird flips up to her corner nest and then flies down again to the porch railing, heading out to find food for her young. The horses pass by the upper field, grazing and every now and then, raise their heads to make sense of an unknown sound and quickly, once they determine everything is okay, resume nibbling. The cat sits at my feet, all cuddled in a ball. Never impressed by the movements of the birds or the horses. He only moves when I do. He is only moved by me.

I realize that I am no different from yesterday morning, even with my new-found knowledge. Every thing I've tried to discover, every one that I had informed, every high-five I lifted are movements and thoughts that I surmised would make me a different, more satisfied person. One with a new sense of worth and made greater because of her atonement. Nope. Didn't happen.

Knowing something bad happens to another can't increase my value. If my mom were here, she'd tell me it diminishes mine. I should be the lofty one. I should be the better one. And I will be known by my thoughts and deeds. And at this moment, I change gears.

I'm sad that people don't lose their spots. That they don't change. That they don't understand that good is the only road to follow. I guess people become so cemented to a certain path that veering off is never an option. Doing what is right is the only option.

So, I will forgive my thoughts - they will come to no good. I haven't been able to forgive her yet. Nor the others, but in time, I will. I have forgotten to the point that I can get through any given day without thinking of the day my world ended. It gets better - even with a pop-up reminder of her terrible face.

My bird, my horses and my cat don't have time for her - and frankly, neither do I. 

stronger than death

“I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge. That myth is more potent than history. That dreams are more powerful than facts. That hope always triumphs over experience. That laughter is the only cure for grief. And I believe that love is stronger than death.” ~Robert Fulghum, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten

I went to a funeral. A man of 92. A man who had lived a long, good life. A Godly life with a wife and five children.  His family was there, holding onto their mother, joining together to say good-bye. Even though I didn't know the man personally, I knew his brother and sister. I know the strength of the family.

I thought of how things have changed. Family numbers aren't staggering anymore. I do have three children, but since I'm an only child and so is their father, there's no close or distant relatives for that matter. They mostly have each other. There are no long lineage of brothers and sisters, no massive Thanksgiving or Christmas celebrations with women and men and children struggling to add seats around the dinner table. No mountainous pile of Christmas presents for the grandchildren or great-grandchildren. Where has the family gone?

And what about faith? The minister read from Tom's Bible that Tom, more than likely, read from every day of his life. It was comfort, strength and guidance in a world that had grown more and more complicated. If there ever was a question, there was always an answer within these pages. Where do we go for answers these days? I have faith, but my children do not. Most think of the church as the last choice for advice. Most search the web, flip through the magazines, comb the self-help section of Barnes and Noble or make a split-second decision based upon what someone has done previously. None of those are true and lasting. Where are the answers?

Tom Carter

This conundrum baffles me. I have no answers. I don't know what will happen when the older generation leaves all of the young ones to carry on. They relied on their 'guidebook', the Bible, and the only attention it receives these days comes in the form of the History Channel.

How do we carry on so that when our 92 years are over, we're okay with everything?

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.