everything i ever really needed to know

when i was growing up, a pink, laminated piece of paper was displayed on our refrigerator. a relic of my days in pigtails and ribbons, the paper was titled “everything i ever really needed to know, i learned in kindergarten.” the basis was that all of life’s key skills, such as compassion, sharing and kindness are learned alongside nap time and finger painting.

and i agree. to an extent. that many integral, vital traits and lessons in that classroom. that as we ride with training wheels, we are traveling at the speed of light. toward realization. maturity. heartaches and exultations. and kingergarten is the place that prepares us.

but last night, as i entered our little cottage and heard little paws on the wood floor and felt the soft impact of fur on my skirt, i realized something else.

everything i ever needed to know in adulthood, i learned from my dog. 

being loyal means being there. plain and simple. even when what you see or know is ugly. pablo  whimpers outside my bathroom door when i’m inside, scratches at the covers when i’m in bed and he’s on the floor, and serves as my shadow no matter where i go. i leave the room for one second, he’s behind me on my heels, lightning fast. if you want someone to love you, the first thing you’ve got to do is be loyal to them. gain their trust and ensure them—there’s nowhere that you can go that you will lose me. i swear.

you only get what you give. for every belly rub, extra dollop of peanut butter, and game of fetch i give to pablo, he gives me slobbery kisses, nose nudges under the covers, and smiles as wide as his face in return. because he knows a concept that is so difficult for humans to grasp. you can’t hug someone with your arms crossed. only when you open them up, wide as the sky, are you in the position to embrace and feel love.

when it’s time to rest, rest. don’t try to do a little play/rest juggle. just lay down, cross your hands under your chin, and let out a deep sigh from the bellows of your gut. because it’s beautiful and normal. and you’ll be ready to play with ten times the fervor when you’re done.

trust. even if it means you might get hurt or lost. just trust in people. every day, i hook on pablo’s leash and gently tug him outside, to a world that is new each morning. i lift him up, spin him around and even sometimes tie his ears in loose bows. and he can’t do anything about it. so he trusts. as humans, we have more of a choice. so choose trust.

God sends rain on the just and the unjust. no one is immune to sad times, hard feelings or even, bad hair days.

celebrate the little things. every little achievement, victory or half birthday. because life’s too short, yes, but also because that’s what life is. life is not work. life is not play. life is those little moments and celebrations that happen in the middle of those two extremes. it’s a gorgeous thing, too.

when you’re scared, don’t be afraid to show it.

no matter how unbeautiful or unworthy you feel right now, you are. you are special. there is no such thing as a lost cause. we picked pablo up looking like this.

never be afraid to add a little flair to your wardrobe. it’s what keeps life interesting, colorful and playful.

love your mama. she’s the only one you’ve got.

i have a college degree and i'm getting ready to start graduate school this spring, but the best education i’ve ever received came from a bichon with four paws and a tail.

sense and sensibility

am i less of a lady if i don't wear pantyhose? my mama said a lady ain't what she wears but what she knows.

-india.arie, video.

sometimes, i use the light from the refrigerator to see my way around the kitchen. i leave it on way too long, sucking up way too much energy and driving our power bill up.

i typically wear flats with no socks in the wintertime because sometimes, socks and flats don't work.

i often go to bed with wet hair when it's chilly out, which makes my mama sad and almost always gives me a head cold the next morning.

i don't always wear a camisole under my v-necks.

one time when i was 13, i sat down in the creek behind our house and just slopped mud on my legs for an hour.

i stay up far past a reasonable bedtime on friday nights with the sweet knowledge i can sleep in that morning.

not only do i sing in the shower, i talk to myself sometimes when cooking, pretending i'm on the food network. ("ok, now all you have to do is dump that can of cream of mushroom soup into the crockpot. see, isn't that easy? even you can do it!")

i'm not, by standard definition, always sensible.

because i'm in my twenties? because i'm a woman? because i'm still figuring my way around life, learning how to manage it and love it at the same time?

no.

because for every unsensible, reckless, illogical thing i do, i do a million other completely acceptable things in return. i'm in bed by 10:30 on most nights. i work dilligently all day. my skirts rarely fall above my knees. the most risqué thing i did yesterday? listen to nicki minaj.

so i have my little escapes. my insignificant acts of rebellion that no one notices but me. i need these times to keep me sane. to keep me at least bordering somewhat on reasonable and yes, sensible.

so maybe i'm not always a lady. that unobtainable epitome of prim. i can't figure out the secret of liquid eyeliner. i have a few runs in my tights. a few stains on my white jacket.

but the beauty of it is, we're all that way.

isn't that perfect?

source

like the back of your hand

not since harry truman was in office has my part of north carolina seen a white christmas. until this year. huge, fluffy flakes began swimming down around noon on christmas day, and didn't stop until the same time on sunday. it was, in a word, magical. but that doesn't do it justice. it was blindingly beautiful. serene. peaceful to an unseemly degree.


and cold.


cold enough to demand sleeping in socks, and i hate sleeping in socks.


so i did what any chilled, bored woman would do. i took a bath. it might be cold enough to freeze the bottle of cider in my passenger seat, but i was determined to be warm. i turned the water on hot and watched it fill up the ceramic tub.


and i sat. and soaked. and read my latest us weekly cover to cover. the water was hot, the kind of turn-your-thighs-a-little-red degree that i just love. it was so humid in the room i had to fan myself with an old magazine. then it happened. the slow, sad process of cooling down. i hate it when i realize the water is teetering on the edge of tepid. because tepid is to a bath as rain is to snow. not quite the same. not quite as hearty or fulfilling.


defeated, i started to reach for the drain with my toes, to pull up the plug and let the water run out. to sit and watch it sink until the chill once again crept in. but then i heard it. a shrill screech. a whistle from the kitchen that was both alien and somewhat familiar to me at the same time. and i heard something else. heavy footsteps on floorboards. the shuffle of jeans and the crinkle of a well-worn work jacket.


and robert appeared in the doorway. with a half smile, he held up our teapot. filled with hot water. he poured it in, and i felt the water rejuvenate. renew. refresh. and i got another good half hour of soaking in.


----
when and if i have a daughter one day, i want to sit her down when she's old enough and tell her. darling, don't marry for money. or because he's good looking enough. or because you're compatible in just the right ways that it makes sense. not because he's smart, dependable or charming, or comes from a good family.


marry the man who will bring you water from the kitchen to refill your bathtub. marry the one who leaves love notes on the dog's water bowl because he knows that's the first place you shuffle your slippers to in the morning. who orders you an extra frosty from wendy's because he knows that when you say one, you really mean two. the man who, when someone in public asks you your name and your stutter flares up, will intercede and say it for you. {by the way, sweet girl, i hope you don't get my stutter, but if you do, we'll go at it together.}


marry the one who shows his love in the way he knows you--the real you---wholly, completely and without judgment. without words or flowery shows of fireworks, but with simple gestures that only you pick up on. because he'll be the one who's in it for the long run.


because situations change. people change. summer heat gives way to fall winds and surprise christmas snowstorms. bath water cools. but the beauty of being with someone who knows your quirks, downsides, and idiosyncrasies as intimately as his own, is that you change together.


and that makes life beautiful. and exciting. and dynamic.


and anything but lukewarm.

this little light of mine

a baby, sleeping in his mother's arms.

this baby would be like that bright star, 

shining in the sky that night.

a light to light up the whole world--

chasing away darkness, helping people to see.

and the darker the night got,

the brighter the star would shine.

-from the jesus storybook bible

merry, merry christmas to each one of you. 

may your hearts be light.

love,

courtney

ladybugs and light

i stayed home sick from work yesterday. i woke up with a scratchy throat, heavy head and a pile of blankets that beckoned to me from behind my bedroom doors. so i just did it. gave myself a day just for me. i nursed my cold with hot wassail, plenty of tissues, and all the E! news i could fit in. 


and i tried, with the little strength i could muster, to be somewhat productive. to wrap that pile of presents hibernating in my closet. to get started on my christmas grocery list. to order my textbooks for grad school next semester.


but for some reason, no matter how busy i felt, nothing was accomplished. do you ever have that feeling? when you're so super busy, just puttering around, that you don't do anything of substance? my whole day was spent doing menial, thoughtless tasks that by the time evening rolled around, i felt just as crummy as when i woke up. it should be noted that i also feel incredibly guilty when i miss work, even if it's for a legitimate reason like being sick. i don't know why, but it just makes me feel unhelpful, and i come from a long line of women who show love by helping and giving.


to top it off, we have a bit of a ladybug problem in the cottage. when the temperature begins to dip and we  turn our oil heat on, the little buggers gravitate toward the warmth and the light from inside--a refuge from the chill with plenty of fun windowsills to crawl over. for a while, i've brushed it off. ladybugs are supposed to be good luck, so what can a few hurt? but yesterday it was just about too much, and i resorted to picking them up and taking them outside. 


i had the blinds pulled up all over the cottage so i could get to them better.


then i saw it. when i was putting on my moccasins in the bedroom. the sun was setting. and a ray of light washed in from the living room. i looked at it, then tried to keep on tying my shoes. but i couldn't. i couldn't look away for the life of me. i felt a pull, a real, live tug, in the direction of the light. so i followed it. with my shoes half on, i walked into the den and saw it. my entire little cottage was bathed in light. the windows were naked, their blinds pulled up from my ladybug capturing spree. as a result, the light was that much more brilliant. 


and there's nothing more beautiful than a living room awash with sunset. everything was illuminated with a romantic, soft glow that i can't attach words to. i sat there on the sofa and let it hit me square between the eyes. and i felt the Holy Spirit in that room. and i realized, for all i did that day, i had put my Savior last. i had filled my hours with computer work, checking e-mail, and watching television that i almost forgot to give thanks, pray and reflect. no wonder nothing was accomplished.


so i did just that. like the ladybugs, i gravitated toward the light.and i prayed as i felt it. just as sure as i felt the suede around my ankles. i felt the sweet reassurance that tomorrow would be a better day. everything would be accomplished in due time. peace rushed over me.


and like the ladybugs, i was saved.

 

 source

regularly scheduled & programmed

there's a chicken joint downtown. a little diner with brick walls and a shingled roof. salad bar tuesdays and check-out counters lined with homemade strawberry cake. waitresses wear name tags and will leave a pitcher of sweet tea on the table if you ask. in our little town, it's a major hub. faces pour in and walk out. the crowd is constantly changing, evolving and growing.


but every tuesday night for years, the same two sweet faces sat at the little corner table. holding hands across the silverware, sugar bowls, and bread baskets. robert's great aunt and uncle made it a point, every single week, to stop what they were doing and go there. to be around happy people. to dip some tenders in fresh honey mustard. to just get out of the house. even before i knew robert, i knew blanche and george. him in his gelled, combed hair and she in her ruby lipstick and best dress shirt. they made a point to look dapper, even though it was routine. commonplace. weekly.


because there's beauty in routines. and even more than that, there's comfort. knowing, without question, that today's events will follow the foolproof pattern of yesterday. however, being a slave to routine is different. if the possibility for beneficial change is presented, clinging too tightly to tradition will turn days into quicksand. the idea--the ultimate goal--is to be flexible without breaking. to hold to what's familiar, with one eye on what's unforseen, new and even a bit scary. 


but boy, do i love my routines.


like every tuesday and thursday. on these nights, i join hands with the six people i love and cherish most in the entire world. over my nanno's formica table, we break bread, watch wheel of fortune, and talk about our afternoons. we use paper plates and throw-away cups. i feel the heat pour in through the floor vents. we keep up with who's a return champion on jeopardy(tom has been on for almost three weeks!) and it's beautiful. 

engrossed

my sweet sister and brother

i believe those daily routines, those little eccentric rituals that encompass our hours, are central to our being. they root us, ground us and sustain us. and they're not boring, and partaking in them does not make us sticks in the mud. humans are creatures of comfort. like any good thing, too much will ruin you. but just the right amount? why, i believe we could live on it alone.


that's why my morning are like clockwork. each involves a hot cup of coffee, slippers on my feet, curlers in my hair and my husband's wave and air kiss out the front door as i drive away. i wake before robert and pablo, and return to the dark bedroom gingerly, the sweet smell of sleep permeating the air. i always pick up pablo in my arms and carry him to the guest bed, where, every morning for past two years, we have engaged in belly rubs. every single morning. and just as my morning would be totally off without it, i'd like to think his would be also.

so i'll keep doing it. 


keep waking at the same sunrise hour. keep arranging my schedule to have tuesday and thursday nights free to eat with my family. keep giving the best belly rubs ever. keep meeting robert's smile in my rearview mirror before work. because those routines are healthy, lovely and intensely special to me. i'm open to change, and willing to alter my ways, but right now, this isn't quicksand.


it's the only truly solid ground i've got.

an awakening over soup

something happened last night.

between slipping off my high heels and slipping on my pajamas, a change washed over me. perhaps not a change, but more of an awakening. of something often latent inside my spirit.

i felt feminine. not just girly, but overwhelmingly, achingly feminine.  through deadlines, paperwork and meetings, it can be easy to slip into an androgynous zone, where i lose touch of what drives me curl my hair in the morning and paint my toenails in the wintertime.

it happened in the kitchen. with night settling into the bones of our house, floorboards creaking under my slippered feet. robert was watching television with pablo sprawled across his lap. 

and i was making soup. standing over a boiling pot, letting the rising steam pour its sweet breath over my eyelids. not thinking about work, or that evening's plans or what to make for dessert. that was when it first crept up on me. that womanly notion. and it wasn't just because i was making dinner for my family. it was actually quite the opposite--i was only thinking of myself for a little bit.

it happened because i felt like my mama. and standing over that burner, i felt like my grandma too. this isn't to say that a woman can only be feminine standing over a stove. oh it's far, far deeper than that. nor do i think you have to be obviously feminine to be a whole, complete, beautiful woman. rather, it's about claiming the right to be happy in the kitchen, in that silent, sacred space. it's actually a rather forward-thinking idea, to take back that room as ours, rather than just a vessel through which to please. i felt feminine because i was taking time to feel the woman in me. to sit for a second and wait for the water to boil.

that soup was making me happy in that moment, and fine and dandy if the rest of my family wanted some as well. but this wasn't about them. because i can't be the kind of wife, daughter and doggie mama i want to be unless i take time to indulge myself occasionally. for me tonight, this meant standing over soup and letting my worries evaporate to the ceiling.

so i'll share the recipe with you, along with some pictures from my evening, in hopes that this soup will be for you whatever you need it to be.

lentil soup

ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil, plus extra for drizzling

1 medium onion, chopped

2 carrots, peeled and chopped

2 celery stalks, chopped

2 garlic cloves, chopped

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 (14 1/2-ounce) can diced tomatoes

1 pound lentils (approximately 1 1/4 cups)

11 cups low-salt chicken broth

4 to 6 fresh thyme sprigs (i left these out)

2/3 cup dried elbow pasta

1 cup shredded Parmesan

directions 

Add the garlic, salt, and pepper and saute until all the vegetables are tender, about 5 to 8 minutes.  

Add the tomatoes with their juices.

Simmer until the juices evaporate a little and the tomatoes break down, stirring occasionally, about 8 minutes. Add the lentils and mix to coat. 

Cover and simmer over low heat until the lentils are almost tender, about 30 minutes. *tip: if you leave a wooden spoon in your pot, it won't over-boil.

Stir in the pasta. Simmer until the pasta is tender but still firm to the bite, about 8 minutes.
Season with salt and pepper, to taste.

Ladle the soup into bowls. Sprinkle with the Parmesan, drizzle with olive oil, and serve.

so try it. indulge in what makes you feel like you, feminine or not. whether it's making soup, writing, or fly fishing. because if it's special enough to make you happy,

it's special indeed.