the song that wasn't

I sat down to write you a song

A simple melody you could hold on to

I wanted to tell you I love you

I wanted to tell you I feel you near, but

Two hours later

A blank sheet of paper

And I’m still here

Your words are beautiful

Your words are wonderful

Your word’s the lamp unto my weary, wandering feet

My words are ordinary

My words fall flat and every

Single time I write them I feel so inadequate

Cause you wrote the book

xxxx

i can breathe in a small town

i'm from a little town in the piedmont triad region of north carolina. i was raised on a rural road, with barns on both ends. a crop field sits vacant behind and in front of my childhood home. i can always tell what season is coming, and which is quietly making its gentle exit, by the height of the corn that stretches to the sky.


i left this town for a while. spread my wings in the big city. only to return the day after graduation to that same rural road, just a few miles down from where i was raised. because that's home. and i can't pretend it's somewhere else, even on days when boredom strikes and the nearest city is 25 minutes away. and the thing is, i love big cities. i feel a deep excitement and stir in the most untouched parts of my heart when visiting friends and family in places where shopping is outside your front door and the sweet hum of nightlife lulls you to sleep. i really do revere it, and the folks who call it home. because home isn't an address, after all.


this post, however, is not about my small town, but another little hub about 45 minutes from my little cottage. lexington, north carolina. barbecue is typically associated with this spot, but when i visit, i steer clear of the little smokehouse restaurants, with their lines out the door and porcelain pigs on the stoop. of their homemade sauces and sky-high banana splits.


instead, i head toward lexington's hidden treasures. every small town has them, you know.


the little diner that only locals know about. that fills up with folks looking for an early bird special around four in the afternoon. where a pitcher of sweet tea is left on the table. where teenagers work after school and during the summer. places tourists overlook on their quest for the nation's best barbecue {and i agree, you can't find any better than lexington.}


first, we stopped at the local thrift store. where i stocked up. yes, my goods are in a {clean} trash bag. this is the country, folks! i found some delicate teal nighties, gorgeous pencil skirts and maybe even a christian dior blouse that will be in my shop soon.

from there, we went a few yards south to the lexington pharmacy. a real, live drug store that looks like the 1940s never left its black and white storefront. inside sits one of the treasures of my heart. a soda shop. with well-loved stools and sweet girls who will ask you if you want your limeade "sweet, sour or in between."

one of our last stops was right beside the pharmacy. a little pastry shop that hits you with a delicious, sweet icing heaven overload as soon as you walk in. it's brightly lit, with dozens of warm goodies waiting patiently behind the counter, hoping you'll break those pesky new years resolutions and indulge. and indulge we did. on french cream eclairs. homemade oatmeal creme pies. and my favorite, warm sugar and apple fritters.

as we drove home, with our bellies full of sugar and the sun turning gold behind us, i smiled as i passed the barbecue crowd. not because they were tourists following a billboard, though undoubtedly most of them were.


but because a hometown is more than its attractions, its shopping, its regional treasures. its carving out that little niche for yourself, which may or may not be the same niche as your neighbor.


and that's the beauty of it. no matter how small the town, its always got room for every person's dreams, aspirations and idealizations. its just big enough.

a busy day off

i fell into bed at ten last night. exhausted to the core even though i'd had the day off. it was one of those nights when you feel sleepy even in the tips of your toes. where flannel pajamas and a freshly laundered pillowcase feel like heaven and your mind drifts to dreaming in the middle of praying.


i had yesterday off, and woke with a mission. robert had to go into work, and as i stretched there in bed that morning, the sun just creeping up and the house still dark with sleep, i felt for him, leaving in the freezing dawn, scraping off his car, going out like it was any other monday. meanwhile, i slept in with pablo. waking every 45 minutes or so, only to look at the clock, adjust my heating pad, and  turn over on my other side, tucking my legs beneath me. 


it was one of those slumbers where even though i woke up a few times, i continued the same odd, whimsical dream sequence. 


so to make it up to robert, i vowed to do something for him, just for him, on my day off.


and in my family, one of the chief ways we show love is through food.


so i did it. i went to two different grocery stores to get all the items i needed. i scanned the internet for recipes and coupons. i started cooking at four and we ate at six.


here's what our night looked like:

thai chicken wraps with spicy peanut sauce, recipe here . 

**note: for the salad, i skipped the sprouts, scallions, basil, mint, etc. because it was getting to be a bit expensive, plus i couldn't find sprouts or mint. so, i opted for one bag of broccoli slaw. it was perfect. 

asian green beans with water chestnuts and mushrooms, recipe here.

thai sticky rice with mango and coconut milk  for dessert, recipe here

we devoured it, then collapsed on the couch to watch the bachelor. {emily has stolen my heart.}

i cooked, cleaned and did laundry on my day off.

but as i turned off the lights, dragging my sleepy body under a heavy blanket, i snuggled next to the man who made it all

totally, completely.

worth it.

and the songbirds keep singing like they know the score

xxxxxx

this summer, i did not need an early alarm.

every day, at 6:30 in the morning, like clockwork. i was sweetly, softly, pulled awake.


by a singsong. a melody unlike any other. a little falsetto followed by a short lived baritone. a songbird.


our bed is right beside a window. a big, old window that faces a meadow and a clothesline. blueberry bushes and apple trees.


and when the weather was just warm enough, little birds. i kept the blinds closed to keep out the blinding sun, so i never saw firsthand this delightful alternative to my timex, but it knew exactly, precisely, how much time i would need to wake up, prepare myself for the day, and head out in my honda in time for work.


i named him roger. i presumed him to be male, but in reality, it might have been a lovely lady bird.


yesterday morning, with  hours left to sleep before church, my heating pad on a delicious full blast, and pablo curled at my toes, i heard a familiar, albeit all but forgotten chorus.


roger was back. the brief reprieve of warmth that came with the weekend was enough to draw him out of winter hiding and back to my windowsill.


they're calling for more snow in north carolina this weekend, and inevitably, roger will return to where he came from. storing up those sweet vibratos for springtime.


but at 6:30 on a sunday morning, i was reminded.


that every day brings new surprises. new beginnings. new blessings.


and yes, 


new chances to puff up our chests, look toward the heavens, and sing a song of joy toward a Creator who listens, and who always knew we'd come back. no matter how long we've been away.

when you're not strong

one summer in college, i interned as a fact-checker for the in-flight magazines of several major airlines. it was my first real position, and by this i mean the first time i went shopping for "work clothes." for slacks that didn't have zippers up the pant leg. for cardigans. modest necklines. stud earrings. i felt so grown up, and though the job was only temporary, i felt part of a group for once. 


i sauntered into the building, with it's cold tile floors and gray cloth cubicles. with its veteran workers who called each other by their first names and ate out for lunch every friday at their favorite spot. i was, in a word, prepared.


however, my confidence reached a crumbling point with every phone call i had to make. as a stutterer, the phone is the bane of my existence. the bane, i tell you! and i spent all day on it. calling random sources, verifying information. i scoured the Web for all the answers i could find, but more often than not, there was no way around picking up that instrument of doom and speaking into the mouthpiece, waiting for confused silence to come wafting through the earpiece.


one afternoon was particulary hard. i home on the verge of tears. what is it about seeing your mama's face that just sucks the tears right out of whatever strong, pulled together place you were holding them? hoarding them until you were alone? at the very sight of her, i crumbled into a shaking, sobbing mess. then i turned to my sister.


"i can't do it, carly. i can't call this man."  i was supposed to contact someone in reference to a story on michael symon, the celebrity chef. and for some reason, on this particular day in july, i had reached my breaking point.


i asked my sister to call him for me. in the background, i heard mama pipe up. "courtney, don't make your sister do that...."


but she did. she didn't say anything to me, just took the paper with the number, went upstairs to the closet we shared, and called him. she ran back downstairs, told me she left him a message, and hugged me.


i had to call him back the next day. but i'll never, ever, in my entire life, not even if i live until i'm 102, forget that afternoon. the slack she picked up. the sacrifice she made so i could be comfortable, saved from my own inflictions of low confidence.
--------------


my favorite character in the Bible is moses, because not only does his stutter endear him to my heart, but because when God asked him to go speak to His people in egypt, moses' reaction, in all its honesty and truth, mimics what my own would be. he begs the Lord to send someone else to do it instead. and who does He send? his brother aaron. he spoke to the people for and through moses, in a manner not unlike carly speaking through me.
---------------


this evening, before eating supper with nanno and before wheel of fortune, i was watching the news. about the flood in queensland, australia. 13-year-old jordan rice, on the hood of his car, waters gathering all around him, told a man grabbing for his hand to "save my brother first." his brother and mama were saved, but he was swept away. sacrifice to the highest degree. but i bet if we could ask him, he'd simply chalk it up to brotherly love.
--------------
and it's not just siblings. best friends. cousins. mamas and daddys. 


sacrifice doesn't always come in the form of a burning bush or a flood.


sometimes, as in my case, it's a simple act of taking upon one's shoulders a load that is simply too.much.to.bear. for someone else.


because in sharing, we lighten. and in lightening, we open up room for loving. and in loving, we start the cycle all over again.

a universal truth

"We may not be able to stop all evil in the world, but I know that how we treat one another is entirely up to us.  I believe that for all our imperfections, we are full of decency and goodness, and that the forces that divide us are not as strong as those that unite us."

there's nothing i can say today, no words i can think up, quotes from favorite books or songs that i can recite, or musings i can drone on about that will match the heart, beauty and truth of last night's presidential speech in tucson. i'll be honest. i don't always watch televised speeches, and when i do, my attention is divided, scattered at best. 


but republican or democrat, regardless of how you feel about his policies, practices or the way he runs our country, last night wasn't about that. it was a tribute. plain and simple. to the lives lost and the people--real, flesh and blood people with histories, presents and futures--that were affected. and that universal truth transcends political boundaries.


i hung to every word. and i'm certain it was one for the history books. it was even worth missing half of modern family for, and i don't say that lightly.


find the full transcript and video here.

maybe i'm crazy

source

there's a man who lives down the road from my grandpa and me. in a clapboard white shack. a few yards back from the rural lane. right in the crook of the turn.

for as long as i can remember, he's rented that little house. long enough to have paid off a real mortgage years ago. but month after month, he shells out the cash. to maintain his little refuge, alone in the country with a few good dogs.

old pickups, at least four of them, decorate the front lawn. there is a metal contraption in the yard upon which at least a dozen randomly shaped birdhouses hang lackadaisically. clothes are hung on the line even when it's raining. the back porch is visible from the road, decorated top to bottom with old license plates, rusty with age and weather. a lifetime bachelor, it's not uncommon to see him sitting shirtless on his deck, surrounded by his few best friends, being a little too loud.

and all around the place, random bits of furniture are scattered. a few worn down barns sit just off to the left, old tobacco sheds rotting away season by season. on halloween, he passes out stale circus peanuts.

from an outside eye, he is a bit eccentric, to say the least. but he's a good man--a harmless outlaw holding on to what he loves.

yesterday we drove by his place, going slow in the snow.

and i saw smoke rising from his deteriorating chimney. heard lynyrd skynyrd blaring from somewhere inside his heap of a home. and imagined him. in his favorite recliner, hands wrapped around his meager cup of weak coffee. not hurting anyone, just being. being himself. alone. comfortable.

and i thought about the line between offbeat and crazy. and i think he has managed to squeeze his ripped up wranglers right in between. sometimes i envy his ability to live so openly, so completely him. without any care of societal norms or what anyone might think. 


because what is normal? maybe, for some people, normal takes on a different appearance. that doesn't mean it's not completely suitable for them.


i don't think my neighbor is crazy. misunderstood, yes. but content, secure and sweet? you betcha. 


look past the chaos littered on the lawn, and inside sits a man who's got a lot of life, at least the part i struggle with, neatly ironed out.