Gratitude

I have been challenged to acknowledge the reality of the various situations that compose my life, and to be thankful for them. Even the ones that seem small, even the ones that are difficult, even--especially--those that are less than perfect.

I am working on this as a discipline and this week I am thankful for many things. This will be the first of my Thankful Thursdays. I am collecting the list throughout the week, but will post some of it on Thursdays alone.

This week I am thankful for

-The staff I supervise, and how working with them challenges me, strengthens me, teaches me about them and about me. I love that they laugh a lot, and help me to learn to laugh at myself. Tomorrow we are getting together, and I am really looking forward to it!



-My Christmas tree decorated with ornaments designed by many people over the years who have sat in my various living rooms and colored on a plastic ball.

-My Christmas tree angel and my black fleece cape, both gifts from my sister that are perfect for me. They remind me that in spite of myself, I am known by at least one person. Thanks, Libby.

-My hairless dog Lincoln who spent the early evening puking all over the house. He brings me great joy, and caring for him is a gift.

-My mismatched furniture that was all someone else's first. I have been blessed by generous family & friends and each piece fits together to make my home.

-My success in actually reading an issue of Sojourners when it arrived yesterday.

-My messy kitchen that tonight afforded an opportunity to spend a great time with a good friend.

-I am thankful too for my story of y2k that I shared with Melissa tonight--it keeps me humble and is a great example of how I am loved even though I am not perfect.

KicKing it, worKing it, parKing it. celebration of K

I have always held a strong affinity for the letter “K.” Obviously, this is due to my first name, Katherine, and the many, many nicknames I have which also begin with “K.”

“K” is a tricky letter. I remember playing name games at camp which consist of rhymes, songs, or chants that include one’s name and a favorite item with the same first initial.

I was generally left to kaleidoscopes and kangaroos, and then--thanks to the rise in availability of international produce throughout the 90’s—kiwi.

Because not that many words begin with the hard “k” sound, it is easy to believe that the letter “k” doesn’t show up that much in daily conversation or writing. That is what I thought, until I lost the use of my “k”

Not long after getting my dog, Lincoln, he jumped onto my keyboard and took my “k”, “0” and “-“ keys. He later took my “u” as well. Because I used “k” so often—far more so than I ever realized—the little rubber stem that remained did not function for long.

So there I was, a girl without a “k.”

In addition to my name, I also used “k” at least 50 other times a day while typing the any or all of following words:

-thank (thanks, thankfully)
-work, working
-know
-like
-keep, kept
-task
-link
-pick
-think, thinking
& several other proper names that begin with or include “k”

I went without a “k” for several months. What was at first another endearing example of my absentmindedness and general dishevelry, became an annoyance to me and my coworkers.
“I’ll take notes, but try not to use too many ‘k’s’” doesn’t play month after month, and the sympathy did not last as long as my negligence.

FINALLY I remembered to put a call into Dell to get a new keyboard. With the old keyboard, I made due by keeping a “k” on the clipboard of my computer, and pressing Ctrl-V every time I needed a k. While typing this post I have hit Ctrl-V as often as I have used the shiny new ‘k.” Muscle memory is a powerful thing.

I am looking for some deeper meaning here. Perhaps...

You don’t know what you have until it is gone, OR

When you allow something unhealthy to go on for too long your habits will adapt and the unhealthy will seem normal. OR

Allowing the urgent to crowd out the important keeps progress at bay

Really, it came down to the fact that last week the “0” / “)” key also stopped working, and I could not longer effectively make smiley face emoticons. Even I have my limits ;)

Way too long, and a bit longer

So I have not updated this blog in many months. This was not my intention when I started the blog and is not my intention into the future. However, after I wrote the last post, I decided I wouldn't update again until I had finished a paper I had due at the time...

that paper is still not done.

I must finish it before next Tuesday because I am beginning another class and will never do it if I get new assignments. So I am up now, finally cranking it out. I am excited and I like where it is going so far.

I am going to finish a draft tonight and revise it tomorrow on my way to a concert. Then I will tie up more loose ends, but by next week blogging will have resumed.

Topics will include:

*Laying Maurice to rest and learning to love again
*How often I use the letter "k"
*Abraham & Issac
*Fun times had since May

..and much much more!

So if you read this, or have been wondering where I am--I am here, I'll be back soon.

love, ktt (the original procrasshole)

Lilacs & my dad

Last month I was coveting the firey forsythia that were blooming all over the place everywhere I seemed to go--my neighborhood, all around Wheeling, on every campus I visited, everywhere except my house.

I spent a good bit of daydreaming time wondering where I will plant my future forsythia. Will it look good near to my butter yellow house? Should I plant some along the edge of my yard near the road? What sort of exposure does a forsythia need? What sort of exposure does my yard get? Would I get arrested if I cut other people's forsythia to paste into my yard this year? (Don't worry, this never left the hypothetical)

Then I left my house for nearly a week to work from Morgantown. Lincoln & I stayed with my sister & brother-in-law, their son (The wonderful Andrew) and their TWO dogs. More later on the tales of Lincoln's adventures with Molly & Megan. Anyway, when I got back to my house I opened the back door to let Lincoln out and was delighted to be overwhelmed by the scent of lilacs. I have no Forsythia, but I do have the biggest lilac bush I have ever seen in full bloom in my backyard!

I took this picture to show the scale of this bush, note my neighbor's car

The smell of lilacs immediately takes me back to my years on campus at CMU. There is (or at least was) an entire bank covered with lilacs next to Morewood and I walked by it every day between my dorm and classes. When the lilacs bloomed, spring had arrived. Even with a chill remaining in the air, and gray Pittsburgh skies over head, the lilacs brought hope--the end of the semester was coming soon! Lilacs also bloomed after carnival was over, which meant some time to relax and enjoy friends without rehearsals, production meetings, and stress. I hadn't realized what good feelings lilacs inspire, but this week has reminded me.

The first thing I did was cut a bunch and take them to my next door neighbors, Melinda & Chris. I hadn't met them yet since moving in, and the vase of lilacs was a good introduction I think. The next morning I cut a bunch for my table and put them in my beautful maid of honor gift vase that I (sadly) rarely use, and they fill it perfectly.

I have been sharing my lilacs with everyone. Rachel & Karen came over and took some home with them. I took a bouquet to Abby to mark her going away dinner. I am planning to cut tons for the Wine Gala this weekend. And there are still PLENTY more. If you are reading this and would like some lilacs, let me know because I have plenty.

I really love to give gifts, but can't afford to buy things for everyone I love. [I haven't read the Five Love Languages, but if I did, I imagine gift giving would be my love language.] This lilac bush has been such a blessing because I can give and give from it and still have plenty more to give. This is the first time I have had such abundance to share, and I think for the first time I understand why my dad spends so much time each year planting a huge vegetable garden.

Half of my parent's yard is taken up by my dad's four tiered garden. All my life I remember him spending Saturday after Saturday throughout the spring out there. First tilling the ground, then preparing the plants & seeds, letting Libby & me help him plant the peas, broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower, brussel sprouts, peppers (several kinds), tomatoes (several kinds), cucumbers, eggplants, and zucchini. For a family of four, my dad's garden FAR out produced our vegetable intake potential. Yet he continued to plant the whole thing every year.

I know that for my dad, his time in the garden was therapy. Like me, his work was often made up of abstract, on going processes without clear end points, and he strove to do his work excellently every day of the week. On the weekend though, his concrete mind sought a project that he could control, design, begin, and end. When the entire plot had been turned over with his bright red roto-tiller, it was done. It would not need to be done again for 12 months. *aaahhhhh* Then all the plants were in, and we were giving them their first watering. *aaahhhhh* A week or two later, all the tomato plants had been staked. *aaahhhhh* Each step was hard labor to be sure, but I think the satisfaction of a completed task means a lot to my dad. (ask him about his lists)

Now he's retired and his garden is his work. When I asked him a couple weeks ago if he'd be working on the garden that weekend he told me "absolutely not. The weekends are for spending time with your mom. I do garden work during the week so my weekends are free." That's my dad--Mr. Discipline and Planning, even in retirement.

Regardless of WHEN my dad works on his garden, I know WHY he does it--to share. My father has planted a big garden for 30 years so that he has a gift he can give freely and generously to people he cares about--family, friends, neighbors, & co-workers. More than once my dad has come home from his golf league with a few buddies for a cold one on the porch and a trip through the produce department. I remember him coming home at lunchtime in the summers so he could pick veggies for his coworkers' dinners. No one leaves my parent's house in the summer without a bag full of vegetables. Everytime my dad visits me between June and October I get something fresh and delicious. I don't know if he is looking forward to these moments of sharing , or the people he'll share with when he maps out his plan each year and spends days literally bent in half planting and weeding, but I am pretty sure that's why he does it. Well, that and the taste of a homegrown tomato still warm from the sun.

I didn't have to work at all to have all these wonderful lilacs to share, but I am glad to be carrying on some of the generosity I learned from my dad by sharing the abundance I was so freely given.

If you read all the way to here, you deserve a special treat. I have no pics of my dad's garden, so here's a picture of Rachel & I holding Norah & Lincoln. Notice that Norah & Lincoln's outfits are coordinated--pink * brown stripes and spots

I have a dog

Meet Alfred Abraham Lincoln--or just Lincoln.

He is an American Hairless Terrier, and has been my dog for two weeks now. His first family had to move away for work and couldn't take him. My friend, Beth, already knew and loved him, but due to her prior dog commitments (Gracie & the poodle, Sir Chuck) couldn't take him, still she promised to find him a good home.

Meanwhile in my life, I have a reputation (duly earned) as, well, not an animal person. I have always felt that domesticated animals are a bit of an aberration. I struggle with a culture that puts the lives of animals above humans, etc, etc. And yet, in a life that has become more and more about me, I thought having something living that relies on me would be good for my character. Some of this feeling came from a great This I Believe essay I heard last year. You can listen to it here.

So I started thinking seriously about getting a dog, building my character, allowing my priorities to be set by something other than my convenience. Still, my character only stretches so far, and I was still unable to get behind the idea of shedding. I am still deeply in love with my new home and couldn't imagine having dog hair all over the place. Flash forward to about 6 weeks ago.

When Beth mentioned Lincoln (nee Alfred) to our friend Jenny, with whom I had been discussing my dog dreams and limitations, Jenny realized this could be a match!

And so it is! I can't believe how much I am enjoying life with Lincoln. He's got lots of energy, and so we go for walks nearly every day. He's snuggly, but not too needy. He's totally house trained (YAHOO!) and charming. Of course, he's a bit mouthy, but we are working on that. Also, he's, you know, hairless, which makes him a great conversation piece--I've talked with more of my neighbors in the last two weeks than in the last six months.

Finally, due to his hairless nature, he has to wear clothes in the winter to stay warm and in the summer to keep from getting sunburned. I imagine this will be tons of fun as the seasons pass and I decide if I want to be one of those pet owners who makes/buys LOTS of clothes for their dog, or just one who makes due with the outfits he came with. What do you think? Below is Lincoln in his very trendy puffy vest with faux fur collar. Enjoy!

I am trying to catch him on video when he does kooky hairless dog things--check back for updates!

from romance to hope

It has been said by famous historian types that History, like all story, is told in one of four styles--Tragedy, Comedy, Satire, or Romance. I have not read every history book in my life through these lenses and cannot vouch for the sentiment; however, I admit that when I think about American history--it is all romance for me.

Recently I referred to myself as Patriotic, and a good friend was shocked. His confusion was justified, as in the last, let's say 8 years, my deep love for the American past has been overshadowed by my cynicism in reference to the American present. (president?) This contrast has been one of many factors recently that are bringing me back to my own past.

As a little kid, I deeply believed that America was the very best place in the whole world to live--how could anyone want to live anywhere else? I was deeply thankful to have been born here, and deeply saddened for those not fortunate enough to have had immigrants in their families, yet. I assumed that everyone, if given the chance, would move to America, and it was just a matter of time.

Though I realize now that the arrogance of that belief may be unfounded, I am remembering again why America is so great. I have always been intrigued by the history of the USA--the great ideas, dreams, hopes, our victories and failures, our ideals and the infrastructure to maintain them. Checks and Balances, for example, so elegant, so logical, so beautiful to me.

And yet, perhaps inevitably, the very things that made America so great in some ways, have also been our greatest downfalls. And the great myths of American individualism and self-reliance have gone too far. The "rugged individualism" necessary to settle the entire frontier was a misnomer--NO ONE made it very far all by themselves. The entire idea of a republic is intradependence (or interdependence? either way, not INdependence) Our Independence--so radical and necessary--from England was not a call to disconnection from one another. And yet that is where we seem to have landed these 200-some years later.

I am entirely guilty of buying into this myth, by the way. I love that I have my own car and never need public transportation. I love that I have a house of my own that I don't have to share with anyone...and isn't it even more impressive b/c I am a single woman under 30! I take great pride in my independent lifestyle--I can do what I want, when I want. I am living an American Dream!

Shockingly, in my efforts to gain independence, I haven't found what I thought would be there right next to it--happiness. Instead, I feel disconnected, uninspired, and lonesome. Independence does not bring fulfillment. I shouldn't be surprised--I know that I am made to bear the image of the Lord--who is in his-own-mysterious-triune-self INTERdependent. Jesus called us to love one another, to be connected--not to look out for number one. And the great ideals of America--while NOT synonymous with the Gospel of Jesus--also depend on people in community working together, protecting one another, together sending representatives to lead, relying on each other for their livelihoods, etc, etc, etc. Neither Christianity or Republicanism (the form of gov't, not the GOP) allows for lone rangers--it just don't work.

What is my point? My romance with America has been largely equivalent to all other romances in my life--I care deeply, really, I do, and together, in my mind, we (Fake husband & I /America & I) accomplish great things, but when it comes down to it, I am not willing to take risks or make any real sacrifices for the object of my affection.

I think love is about stepping up and making sacrifices, I believe this because there are people who I love in this world, they are the people who I consider my family--people to whom I am related by blood or by circumstance. I will make sacrifices for these people because I love them. I will do more than what is comfortable for me, because I love them. And because they love me, they ask me to do this for them. This is where my relationship with America breaks down.

In my entire life, I have never been asked to do more for America than go shopping, wear a flag pin, or put a ribbon magnet on my car. I grew up hearing stories of my grandparents' lives during WWII, and understanding about sacrifice from a distance, and I have been waiting to be asked to do something similar. I realize that my view of such things is also romantic and perhaps not realistic. I also know that left to my own devices I will do little that lies beyond my comfort, yet I also believe that my life is about more than that. I have been waiting to be asked to do more, waiting to be inspired. This week I heard a speech that calls all of us to remember how we are connected, to realize that our actions matter, and that to be an American means to take seriously the promise our forefathers made for us to--the people of the United States--to keep--the promise to endeavor to form a more perfect union.

America will never be perfect. A government made up of broken people, no matter how noble the vision will never be able to become perfect or fully restored--only the Master of the Universe can make anything "perfect," but we can each do our part toward the common goal--not to form a more perfect life for myself and my plot of land, but a more perfect UNION, for ALL of us.

I have been waiting to be asked to take part in this noble cause, and I will be voting for Barack Obama because rather than assuming I prefer a "political machine" to take care of such things for me, rather than assuming my personal vision is more important to me than that of my nation, rather than assuming that I don't have anything to offer, Senator Obama has called ALL of us to remember, to take responsibility, to connect.

If you have not yet read or heard the speech given by Senator Obama on Tuesday of this week, please take a few minutes to listen to/read it here. I welcome your comments.

Today has been wonderful in so many ways!

I was having lunch with my friend Sheree to make plans for the upcoming wine gala I am coordinating (lunch was delicious and delightful all by itself, but read on...) when Jenny called to say that WE ARE GOING TO ETHIOPIA IN TWO WEEKS!

I am traveling with Matt & Jenny & Eliana to pick up their new daughters/sisters, respectively in Ethiopia. Mostly I'll be helping wrangle kids on the plane ride back and hanging out with E while Matt & Jenny do red tape-y things. I've never really traveled at all and this is a heck of a way to start! Please pray for us.

Then I got a call from Joshua that he was accepted into his dream grad program at U Chicago. Even though I'll be sad to see the Eleks leave Wheeling, I am so glad for him. We knew he would get in, but it took actually getting in for him to believe it--not a bad strategy I guess.
The rest of the day was spent getting things taken care of for work--lots of emails and phone calls--all of which were full of great news and new opportunities.

Then this evening I went to a wine tasting at GMW which was nice on its own of course, but there was a moment during Dominick's ramblings about Pinot Noir that I had such a vivid flashback to evenings spent on the Veranda when I lived there. The Veranda was this wonderful little urban secret garden/patio that was the site of so many wonderful summer evenings spent with friends, a record player, and wine and cheese. I'm feeling nostalgic--indulge me:

All these pictures are from my 27th Birthday Party--sadly, we didn't often have a camera with us on the Veranda. We really did spend time out there on other occasions!

This is the first time I have been sad not to live there anymore. Since I moved into my little yellow house, I often forget I haven't always lived here. This winter provided many wonderful memories already, but none took place outside, under the stars, warm summer evenings flying by. I have a deck and I look forward to creating new memories there, but so few of my friends from the original Veranda are around--that's a place and time that I'll never have back.

I am not sure when I'll get around to understanding that time really passes, the world keeps turning, people move on, and all this without my having any say whatsoever. Maybe tomorrow.

Aslan's on the move

I am sitting in my living room shivering. The thermostat says it is 65 degrees in here. The old thermometer outside my kitchen window says it is 95 degrees out there...this seems wrong...wait a minute...Okay, the old thermometer may be broken, but still, weather.com says 39 degrees, and now my thermostat says 66... yet I shiver.

Yesterday I went to visit some old Wheeling friends who gave up the dream and moved away (something about needing jobs to feed their children.) Anyway, It was then 65 degrees outside so I sat on their front porch doing a bit of work while I waited for their son's bus to drop him off. Beautiful day, wireless internet, what more could this old fashioned girl ask for?

When David got off the bus, he ran to the porch, hugged me mercilessly, and said "LET'S GO TO THE SWING, KATIE!" (trust me, he said it in all caps)

"The swing" is one of those great backyard swings from dreams, movies, and hallmark cards. A really long thick rope with a plank tied on for a seat. The swing is my favorite thing about this home, and I like this place a lot, so that is saying something. It hangs on the branch of a huge tree in the rear wooded part of my friends' 7 acre yard. David got there way before me and was swinging in a winter wonderland. The snow persisted on the ground all around him, but where I was walking near the house the grass had gotten the better of the snow. It was like David was in Winter and I was in Spring.

All this reminded me of the part in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardobe, when Aslan is on the move and the White Witch's power over Narnia begins to weaken and the winter that has lasted so long and never brought Christmas is finally ending.

When I pointed out the resemblance of David's yard to Narnia, his dad reminded me that the snow melting wasn't the end. There was still a battle to be fought. Aslan was killed and the Narnian's had to fight for his land, even as it seemed he was no longer with them.

There are ways that my heart, my life, is like Narnia these days, but Aslan is on the move. The cold is melting, and while the Spring will bring challenges, pain, and even death--the victory is won.

I have felt apart from God, alone, disconnected and disillusioned--but as the snow around my little house melts, and I sit inside shivering, I feel Him. He's on the move, my story isn't over.

Lately, for the first time, I am thankful that I am not meant to be the hero of this story--I am freed to follow the one who is able to bring to life dead things--the real hero of every story, Jesus.

As I type these words the thermostat says 70 and I am no longer shivering--not with the cold, at least... amid the noise of my chattering teeth I hear the heavy, deliberate steps of a lion--and the powerful breath that gives life to stone.

Talk Radio via Wheeling's Watchdawg

There is a local Wheeling talk radio station that I have grown to love. Though the hosts of the various shows throughout the week are as likely as not to make me scream at the radio in anger-- I once drove around for five minutes yelling things like "That is TREASON! You should be thrown in jail for treason against the government of the United States of America!"-- I still listen at least for a little while each day. There are many reasons why I do this, like, I love to listen to talking while I drive--I prefer NPR in the morning and evening, but when WV public radio switches to classical music at 9 AM, I switch to 1600. More importantly, though, this is the best way for me to hear about what is happening in the Ohio Valley--culturally, economically, politically, etc.

Also, it is really fun to turn on the radio and hear the voice of someone I actually know. Wheeling is a small place, so I know a few of the city council members who are often interviewed. One day, a friend who publishes InWheeling Magazine was being interviewed, and he mentioned Rachel who works for him. At the time she was like 5-6 months pregnant and Dave referred to her as being "big as a house" and "ready to pop" which was funny to me on many levels. The best though, is when someone I know has called into the station to get involved in the conversation and/or contraversy.

Recently, my friend Melissa called in to defend some disenfranchised people against the blanket statements of the afternoon host--good work, Melissa! Of course, the conversation ended with the host asking her about her drink of choice, and her nobility was lost when she was forced to respond to "You DO drink Miller Lite, though, right?" Still, I KNOW her, and she was on the RADIO!

In the last weeks I have TWICE called into the radio to talk on the air about Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton. I never thought I'd call in. Really. I thought I would listen and occasionally YELL at the radio, but I never thought I'd actually get involved. Both times the hosts have been gracious (even though they are the same people I so often yell at in my car, they didn't hold it against me.) Both times after I hung up, my hands have been shaking and I wish I'd been more articulate. But this is a big deal for me. I've become a person who doesn't take risks, and calling into the radio is a big risk for me. It means risking sounding silly or ignorant or *gasp* inarticulate for even one minute. Putting my thoughts out into public is a big fear for me, and I only write this blog because I believe that only people I know will ever read it, and that makes it safe. (I know I may be delusional, but I'm stickin' with it for now.)

Jenny also loves this station, and we discuss the goings-on with great enthusiasum. Jenny calls in sometimes, too, usually when outraged, though not always. When I was on vacation last year, I called Jenny and we spent a good amount of time discussing the on air conversation and personalities that I had been missing while lying on the beach in NC. Jenny's husband Matt thinks we are ridiculous. He doesn't understand our devotion to "the Valley's watchdawg." I guess, I don't really either, except somehow, I feel connected to these people who I don't know, and through them, to Wheeling.

I like what caring about Wheeling has meant in my life. I like that I've put down roots. I like having a talk radio station that I listen to. I like that this place has become my home in ways that the other places I've lived never were. I like that in a town of about 30,000 people we actually have several radio stations, and at least one that is committed to having local talk about local issues everyday. Thanks, WKKX, for furthering my citizenship here in Wheeling. I want to stay here for a long time, and you're one of the institutions that encourage me to do that.

a blog of my very own!

Several years ago--more than I like to admit--I graduated from a fully accredited university with a Bacculaureate Degree in Professional Writing. Okay, it was Six. Six years ago.

Anyway, these things were just starting then, and I think I had one for like fourteen minutes. It wasn't exciting, plus I didn't have lots of friends who had blogs. But now, now I do have friends with blogs, and to keep up with the Smiths (and Eleks, McFarlands, Cannons, etc) I am starting one as well.

Actually, my reason for entering the blogosphere (other than proving my lame-ness by calling it the blogosphere) is due to my recent realization that I really learn through hearing something and then processing it verbally. And until I get a roommate to talk to, writing will do. This blog shall be my conversation partner.

I have some things that I am already planning to write about, perhaps only for my reading and learning. These things will come from my class studies in higher ed, my work in campus ministry, my life as a homeowner and citizen, and probably other things that arise. But don't worry, I'll also pepper the blog with pictures of cute babies and funny stories.

I look forward to utilizing my mad skills learned at a school founded by a captain of erudition (what's up Thelin?) to write more regularly.