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Easter in Europe

April 1, 2015May 6, 2018Cindy McCain

It’s good to be back on the blog and away in Spain. I’m writing again, finally, from my balcony in Tarifa in another Cádiz– not the one beside Kentucky lake where I grew up, but in a province of Andalusia. From here Santiago, seeker in The Alchemist, set out on his adventure. Here I’m taking a much needed break from mine.

As the fog lifts and I listen to waves roll in, I can see Morocco just across the sea. Tarifa to Tangier is a 35-minute ferry ride but tired from travel, I’m ready to finish my spring break relaxing. In the last 13 days I’ve tasted 9 cities (all but one new to me) in 7 countries…posts of all of them to come.

Today I’m simply sharing Easter in Europe…eggs, lambs, baby chicks, churches…symbols of spring and new life.

When I was a child, Easter was boiling, then painting eggs with Mama Lou. Each one became a fancy ladies’ face with tulip lips, rouged cheeks, bright eyes, and long lashes. We’d top each girl with a tiny, pink hat, place her in a wicker basket on faux grass, then pose with our pretties by Forsythia bushes, buttercups, and purple hyacinths. Easter was new dresses and patent leather shoes from J. C. Penney where Mama Sargeant worked. It was an orchid or gardenia corsage for church from Daddy. One year it was capes Mommy had tailored for my sister and me. It was always sunrise service, breakfast, then back for Sunday school and church.

With my kids in Tennessee, Easter was a visit from the bunny, egg hunts, church, and a big lunch–glazed ham with all the fixins’. We posed for pictures seated on the wicker lounger on the porch or hugged under the dogwoods and beside the snowball bush.

I miss my family this week, but I’m so thankful neither they nor I am ever alone. Easter to me isn’t just personal. It’s a person. The ultimate demonstration and celebration of love.

Mahatma Gandhi said, “A man who was completely innocent, offered himself as a sacrifice for the good of others, including his enemies, and became the ransom of the world. It was a perfect act.”

Whatever your beliefs, I wish you a week blossoming with peace, happiness, and love. And I hope you find Easter eggs–precious surprises of hope–all year long.

Pretties in Prague…

Saint Basil’s Cathedral, now a museum/UNESCO World Heritage Site, in Moscow…

Palatial palace cathedrals in St. Petersburg and Pushkin…

and buds bursting everywhere…

Sunny smiles in Vilnius, Lithuania…

And bagels with eggs and lambkin in Bratislava…

PInks and purples in Paris…

yellows and greens in Italy.

Now off to the beach to hunt seashells…and Easter eggs… in the sand.

To Moms from Marrakech to Music City Post-Holiday

January 10, 2015May 15, 2019Cindy McCain

Thank you to Kate, an Australian expat mom I met through InterNations who moved to Marrakech last fall, too. Her son visited and returned home before my children came, and she set up lunch for last Sunday before I left for London knowing I’d need a friend after the holidays who understands the joy of sharing this life with family, then sadly saying goodbye again. To all moms who spent quality time during the holidays with your children–adult ones who live elsewhere and little ones you could stay in pjs with you till noon, is there any gift greater?

January 1 as my daughter and son disappeared through Heathrow’s security gate I felt the ground I’d gained shake.

Before meeting them in London, I’d left school for winter break thrilled that I was almost there…Christmas Eve…when I’d hug Taylor and Cole at the airport. I also felt peace because I was there–my first big marker since moving– as students hugged bye and called across campus, “Have a nice holiday, Miss!” A coworker reminded me that our dance class would resume in January, and I looked forward to working with Model UN students in the spring, then traveling with them to St. Petersburg, Russia. I was excited for a colleague who had been hired by a school in Brazil next fall and wondered if I’d apply for South America or Europe one day. I’d met her and two other new friends for lunch at our favorite restaurant, and we all celebrated soon seeing family and friends in Italy, Austria, the US, and England.

Despite fall’s challenges, fears, tears, I’d made new relationships on amazing adventures, discovering beauty without and strength within. I realized I’d survived my first continent teaching/living on a new continent, and In 2015, I thought, I will thrive.

Spending Christmas and New Year’s Eve with Taylor and Cole in London and bringing them to Marrakesh were some of the happiest days of my life. Taylor said it was her favorite vacation we three have spent together. Cole loved his first trip abroad, and we all said we could not have had more fun.

On the plane to meet them I’d read a travel article called “How to Escape Your Family for the Holidays.” I was so glad I’d be traveling with mine. Seeing the two loves of my life–who are my home–and spending nine days with them was an even bigger blessing than I anticipated while planning our reunion for months. Knowing how short this life is, I am forever grateful for that time.

Even if the low that followed when they left was hard, the high of being together again was worth it. Even more… the bond that remains.

January 1st–too soon– we again hugged at the airport. I didn’t think I’d be able to let go. I ached and tears flowed as I boarded a bus for Gatwick, waited there till my flight, then prayed I’d sleep on the plane so I wouldn’t feel the physical pain.

When I’d moved to Morocco I used all the packing and planning to postpone the full impact of saying goodbye to them–the hardest part of this decision. My daughter, unable to handle an airport farewell, hugged and kissed me on a hot, August night in my sister’s driveway the night before my flight. As she drove away crying, I walked behind the house and fell on my knees from the hurt. My son, who tried to keep things light, hugged me and smiled the next morning at the airport. I cried but wouldn’t allow myself to feel the full impact. I was determined to grieve later– away. And I did. The sadness at times in early fall was so terrible only God, who I knew had brought me here and Skype calls from my mom; sister, Penny; and best friend, Kim, kept me from depression. I thought I’d paid the pain price for this life change then in full. I was wrong.

But this time my recovery came faster. Penny reminded me that when we all live under the same roof we don’t always make or value the quality time. She said this move has been life changing. Our time together now is more intentional, and we recognize it as precious. She reminded me the holidays always have to end, when we all return to school and work. My mom, like Penny and her family who I missed seeing at Christmas for the first time in our lives but who has always wanted to see me happy, reminded me that I have a “traveling soul” and this opportunity is who I am and what I’ve wanted for a long time. January 2nd I began work on a project that kept me busy till I returned to school January 6. Seeing students and colleagues was nice.

Again I remember that even if I still lived in Nashville, Taylor and Cole would not be living with me on Jenry Court. As families do after Christmas together, we go back to the “real world” to begin a new year. But what we experienced was REAL. The sweetest thing in life is relationship. Being together body and soul 24/7–no phones and computers (other than to check in briefly with family and friends in the US) — for over a week made us even closer.

First day in the Medina and rooftop sunset

Thankfully the Taj Palace reopened; it is now the Sahara Palace.

After initial culture shock, Taylor wrote this: “Marrakech has brought so much peace to my life. This has truly been a life changing experience! Today we heard the call to prayer for the first time. I saw the oldest mosque in the city with snow capped mountains in the distance. Now I know why my mom fell in love with this place. This adventure has been my favorite one yet! Marrakech has captured my heart!” Last night on Skype she said she feels so much better about my safety. That everyone she met here was so nice to us. That Morocco was not what she expected.

After the cold of London, both of them loved the warm weather and snow-capped mountains in the distance. Cole said when he first stepped out on my balcony the city looked and felt like Florida.

Though we’ve always been together in spirit, having them physically here has meant more than I expected. I can share stories now they better understand. Now when I go to the souks or grocery, I remember them there. When I eat at our Indian restaurant, on Chez Joel’s rooftop, or hear Casanova’s piano man, I remember them there.

When I watch a movie or see Queen Elizabeth dance in my apartment, I remember them here–and Cole hiding his Bluetooth speaker and Dancing Queen with a note for me to find when they were gone. A surprise gift that made me laugh and cry.

We laughed a lot. We appreciate each other more. For the privilege of being the mother of two amazing human beings, I am forever grateful.

Before I left Nashville and told Kim how hard it was to leave, she reminded me of a quote by Winnie the Pooh, a favorite friend who lived stuffed in my son’s room when he was little. It’s true. I am.

Christmas Day in London

December 29, 2014January 3, 2015Cindy McCain

Christmas Day we attended the service at Westminster Abbey, another gift. Seats had been reserved months in advance but days before our trip someone returned three. The sermon referenced the truce on December 25, 1914 between English and German soldiers. More on the story here. As we sang hymns and heard the children’s choir in a cathedral built in 1066 where William the Conqueror was crowned on Christmas Day, I thought of my city, Marrakech, built in 1062, and of my new friends who live there. I thought of all the unrest in 2014 in my home country and abroad. And, as I try to do every day, I thanked God for His power which is greater than the world’s problems. With hope I prayed for peace.

After church we boarded a cruiser on the Thames and sailed to the Tower of London and back. Then we caught a black cab to The Castle in Notting Hill where we joined the locals in eating turkey and roast beef, popping Christmas crackers, and wearing paper crowns.

After walking back to the hotel and Skyping with family, as if on cue BBC provided a tradition usually done after Taylor and I decorated our tree on Jenry Court. We watched White Christmas. So many Christmas miracles. My cup runneth over.

Here’s to light, love, and life in 2015.

On a boat before us someone released pumpkin-sized bubbles into the air

Christmas Eve in London

December 28, 2014November 23, 2019Cindy McCain

Seems like old times. My children are asleep in the next room and I’m up early writing. The Three Musketeers are together again.

We spent a Happy Christmas in Merry Ole England, my first love as an English lit teacher when I began traveling abroad. My son wanted to see London, and my daughter has loved it since she, my niece, and I toured when they were in high school. I know the Brits know how to do the holidays. In fact, last week my English department coworkers and their wives got the festivities started. Nick, Anna and their gorgeous girls dressed in holiday frocks rang doorbells to surprise neighbors with plates of cookies and candies. Richard and Louise (below), hosted a Christmas party at their apartment, where I bought handmade gifts Louise makes for her business, Bodkin and Binca.

I couldn’t wait to smell and taste mulled wine at Christmas markets from Covent Garden to Camden. For weeks colleagues talked of seeing our families again and of eating our ways through our destinations. Whether spending Christmas in the US, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Switzerland, Singapore, Austria, or India all dreamed like Clare of sugarplum fairies and other creature comforts we don’t find in Africa.

My mission was to bring back vanilla, nutmeg, and other spices for baking and to stock up on snuggle wear for the winter. Thanks to a colleague who turned me onto Primark, I was able to fill a carryon of plush sweaters, a scarf and a robe for 5 GBPs each.

Here’s how our holiday began…

In order to meet Taylor and Cole at Heathrow on Christmas Eve, I had to take a flight on December 23. The Colonnade, my first “sight unseen” purchase from Priceline was amazing. For $95 USD I booked this 4-star Victorian gem. The doorman led me to a room where classical music was playing softly and fruit, coffees and teas, and cookies were spread. After dinner next door at the Prince Alfred, I enjoyed my two favorite guilty pleasures for the first time since August–sliding into a bubble bath (I have only a shower in Morocco), then slipping under a down comforter.

Waiting for the loves of my life was very Love Actually. Family members stood, as I did, flowers in hand, staring at the door. I had to keep dabbing tears when I saw others hug, afraid I’d miss my two walk through the gate.

Since watching my fall addiction, BBC’s The Paradise, I’ve wanted to see Selfridges lit up for the holidays.

Taylor excited to be back on Oxford Street

Christmas Eve at Hyde Park’s Winter Wonderland

Love the little legs waiting patiently for a spin

A child inspired Christmas. They say Christmas is for kids. My gift this year was kissing my children–now grown– again. We missed celebrating with the rest of the family but knew–even before we Skyped–that we are always together in spirit. Watching The Holiday, the movie that made me want to do this trip years ago, we waited for Father Christmas. For the first time ever, there would be no tangible gifts under the tree, but we’d awaken as we went to sleep–with joy, thanksgiving, and love.

Past, Present, Future Dickens of a Christmas

December 23, 2013August 16, 2017Cindy McCain

He went to the church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and for, and patted the children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of homes, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed of any walk, that anything, could give him so much happiness.

I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. —A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens

A highlight of celebrating this Yuletide Season was Franklin’s “Dickens of a Christmas.” Until last week, my sister, brother-in-law, and I had not done the annual event since first moving to Nashville. Walking Main Street took me back to many-an-afternoon on Hoptown sidewalks spent window-shopping with Mama Lou–a time before Internet Wish Lists and a place when it was ok to spend a day “just looking.” We’d stop in to see Mama Sargeant, Bookkeeper at J. C. Penney, have a banana split at the soda counter, and then head home to launch other adventures by way of Christmas classics.

Both grandmothers loved books, so I met Mr. Dickens early in life. I loved Mama Lou’s Christmas Ideals (the book and her lifelong wonder found in simple things). Brimming like a stuffed stocking, its pictures fed my imagination with conversations between Santa and Mrs. Claus; carolers in velvet, hooded capes; and children and dogs dallying in the snow.

On December 15, as cold as the Decembers of our childhoods, Penny, Jeff, and I met Kim and Andy, Franklin residents and newlyweds, in the Franklin Square. On our Sunday stroll I felt fully alive, proven by our breath misting in the streets. Inside stores twinkled with lights and all-things-pretty–cozy bedding and tulle gowns worthy of wearing by the Sugar Plum Fairy and waiting for Santa himself. Though we bought only kettle corn and sugared pecans, we savored sweet Christmas past and present. I don’t know what Christmas Future holds, but I am confident in the One who holds it. All is calm, all is bright because as Dickens said:

“For it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child Himself.” —A Christmas Carol

Merry Christmas and “God Bless Us, Everyone!”

Happy Thanksgiving

November 28, 2013October 25, 2016Cindy McCain

Thanksgiving, made a US federal holiday by Abraham Lincoln in the midst of the Civil War, is still a day set aside to stop the striving, shopping, doing (unless volunteering to feed the hungry and shelter the cold) in order to JUST BE…with family, with friends, with our Creator from whom all blessings flow. The older I get the more I am determined to gush with gratitude—the reason I started this “Rich Life” blog—because being thankful in the moment, for the moment is one of life’s greatest blessings.

I’m watching The Macy’s Thanksgiving parade where I just saw a Broadway performance of ” Sixteen Going on Seventeen” from The Sound of Music. At sixteen I was performing there with my school as my Mama Sargeant and Granddaddy watched from Hoptown, Kentucky. Earlier I was also thinking of all the years my mom, dad and sister ate Thanksgiving dinner at Mama Lou and Grandaddy’s, then watched The Sound of Music, an annual tradition. My favorite song was “My Favorite Things,” and while I’m no Julie Andrews, I’m about to sing praises for the past year…

Kids, Chaos, and Puppy Love

February 5, 2013May 6, 2017Cindy McCain

No joke. I truly thought when my children left the nest I’d fly away, too. If I didn’t make it as far as Italy or Ecuador, I’d migrate south to Seagrove or west to Big Sur. I’d park my vintage camper (circa 1959) and chase seagulls, collect shells, and make a mermaid my muse. I’d bake pies like Sylvia Plath and burn rubber if I met a Ted Hughes. I’d brunch with friends every Sunday, do book tours, and sell shirts at book fests from Austin to Boston.

My baby moved to college last August. I’m still on Jenry Court. It seems that while the gypsy- in- me has fantasized for years about holding up a sign on the Church Street bridge that reads, “WILL WORK FOR TRAVEL,” the mommy- in- me isn’t going anywhere. Not for now anyway. Maybe when my kids are out of college and in careers they love. Maybe when I’m over teaching. Maybe not.

We moved to this old house when Cole was three months old, and he’ll be twenty March 8th. Outside my bedroom window, the magnolia tree, leathery leaves rustling, recollects when my boy fell from a high limb, chipping the growth plate in his ankle. The dogwood creaks in the winter wind, bare arms spread protectively over the resting place of Annie, our golden girl three years gone. The swing that held Taylor and Precious, her Persian, sways silently, patiently waiting for the little girl to return.

And she does. Running ahead of her to my front door are Lindsey and Laila, the four and seven year-olds she loves like her own, my precious “grandgirls.” They can’t wait to climb all over Cole, a 6’4” Gentle Giant come home from college, and love on Ella, my late-in-life child.

I had been on dog rescue lists for about a year, and my friends, Emily and Kim, had Facebooked me pictures of dogs in need of homes, but I wasn’t sure I could handle loving and losing again. Likewise, since my niece, Abby, started volunteering at the Bowling Green Humane Society, she’d texted photos of puppies. I wasn’t sure if this time I’d go for a petite poofy pooch—a cuddly couch cohort–or another Golden Retriever—a hiking companion with a watchdog bark. As a Romantic, I just knew I’d know it’s time when I saw The One.

When Abby sent a picture of a beautiful 4- month- old yellow lab with the softest fur, velvet ears, soulful eyes, and sweet face, I knew she was my baby. The nesting I did last year– the unexplainable energy to grow a garden, paint walls, and make cupcakes pretty- as- Pinterest–all makes sense now. I knew I was cooking like Paula Deen to lure my kids home, but I didn’t realize I was feathering my nest for new chicks. The angst I felt a year ago, the need to make a move since Taylor and Cole were moving on, settled down and not because I settled. Though I planned to heed the lead of my globe-trotting friend, Rawsam, and downsize to a single box of possessions, freeing me to fly, I found myself filling a sole box…for Goodwill. Becoming a mom again didn’t ground me. It was grounding.

Like a decade ago when I stockpiled frozen casseroles and decorated nurseries with Beatrix Potter and Winnie the Pooh, I’m now filling Hello Kitty totes with crayons and coloring books and a dress-up trunk with feathered boas, head pieces, and old evening gowns. I’d worn those formals out-on-the-town, then Taylor wore them trick or treating, and last New Year’s Eve, Lindsey and Laila wore them too.

Bringing in 2013 was wild. Cole, Taylor, Chris, the girls, the pets and I gathered at my house for a sleepover. We popped popcorn, ate candy, and watched television till midnight—just like I’d done with my grandparents, sister, and cousins. The girls had never stayed up so late. Laila lined up Taylor’s dolls as we watched Marley and Me (sans the sad part). We laughed at how much Baby Marley looked like Baby Ella. Then I didn’t laugh at how much they are alike.

As the ball dropped on Times Square, Lindsey twirled around the room in my satin formal, saying she was at a “beautiful ball.” Then she squealed—not because she had lost her glass slipper, but because Ella had pooped on her dance floor. Since some parts of 2012 had been poopy, we said all the more reason to look forward to an even better 2013. I insist the poop fell before the ball, and I’m sticking to it.

As for Ella, the adventure continues. She licks me awake every morning and still tries to jump like a jackrabbit to my chest, on the couch and sometimes on the cat despite doctor’s orders and my commands not to. While I was at work, Houdini bent the kennel with her nose, escaped, and chewed my favorite shoes. Pulling fast ones, she switched toys and rawhides to chew her leash and the foot of my antique sofa. Though I puppy-proofed the bathroom, she apparently climbed on the toilet seat, yanked the Venetian blinds from the top of the window to the window seal, and chewed them like bubble gum. When I came home, she limped to see me as Cole did when he fell from the tree. Ella fractured her tibia crest near her growth plate, scaring me to death and sending the vet on a vacation. I wasn’t invited. But as a friend with four golden retrievers said, I’ve invested in a companion and Europe will be there. My mom, sis and daughter rallied around the patient, offering to sit with her if needed. She’s family, and I couldn’t love her more.

Guess I’ve come full circle. With a twist. Keeping with tradition, I might take Ella to Florida this spring since Cole went there after his foot fracture—his cast covered in plastic. Maybe the whole gang will go. Or one day we may pull that camper to Cali, Ella riding shotgun, my kids and their families following behind. Home is where the heart is. I hope mine always beats with kids, chaos, and puppy love.

Laila and Lindsey at the New Year’s Eve Ball

make a gif at gickr.com

True Blue

November 24, 2012October 25, 2016Cindy McCain

I’ll have a blue Christmas. But not the kind Elvis sang about.

I had those blues all spring as I fretted over fall when my nest would empty. I’d always said that when my chicks left, I’d fly away, too, preferably to anywhere under the Tuscan sun. Or, if I stayed in town, to a bungalow in East Nashville. But when the whole Metamorphosis- thing finally came, it left me feeling more like Kafka’s Beetle-Boy than Skynyrd’s Freebird. Rather than soaring on wings I felt upside down, feet flailing. After living with parents, a college roommate, then a family of my own, I’d never flown solo. Existential choices over where to go and what to do made my Hamlet head spin. Wings felt…well, weird. Trying another metaphor, I repeated the mantra: “Leap, and the net will appear.” I asked Joanne Harris, author of Chocolat, her thoughts on the matter. After all, she created my gypsy girl, Vianne, and lived the true artist’s life. Harris’ advice: “Try it over water.”

As with every summer, I found peace. I spent days on the deck–writing, reading, praying, swinging. I decided I would stay on Jenry Court. Like Amanda Wingfield, I made “plans and provisions” but not for a gentleman caller. In this old house I’d hosted daily, though often unaware, what Williams called that “long-delayed but always expected something that we live for.” As Cole reminded me, I’d raised him (and his sister) to adulthood and as he put it, “It has been a fun ride.” So happily I painted outdoor furniture for a family sendoff for him and my niece, Abby. The night after I took him to college, I cooked an Italian dinner for friends. We gathered in a celebration of change.

Inside I colored my world with what makes me happy–Tiffany blue–alongside my ubiquitous rich reds and punchy pinks. What a difference a can of paint can make.

I vowed to stay true to what I love–entertaining and writing–and claimed a room with a view. My dining area doubles as my writing space and from behind my computer I see pictures of good times with friends and family. My easel waits patiently in one corner while the grandfather clock I bought with money my dad left me ticks off time in another. Engraved inside the glass door is Psalm 90:12: “Teach us to number our days, so we may present to thee a heart of wisdom.”

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Nick, our neighbor, came home from his college on Thanksgiving break and played Xbox with Cole. Last night Taylor, Mom and I saw the final movie in the Twilight series. Tay and I thought it was the best of the bunch. We finished leftovers today, and Cole and Mom are watching Home Alone–the original–downstairs. Thankfully, some things don’t change.

There Is a Season

November 4, 2012October 25, 2016Cindy McCain

They say they built the train tracks over the Alps before there was a train that could make the trip. They built it anyway. They knew one day the train would come. Any arbitrary turning along the way,and I would be elsewhere. I would be different. What are four walls, anyway? They are what they contain.The house protects the dreamer. Unthinkably good things can happen, even late in the game. —Under the Tuscan Sun

Last spring among my lilies and lilacs, heirlooms from Mama Lou’s garden in Kentucky, I planted lettuce, cilantro, basil, rosemary, lavender, blackberries, and tomatoes. There were no visible weeds, but I knew nothing short of exorcism could free the bed from the dormant Bermuda grass that lay beneath. Cole helped me buy and spread mulch but went on record saying he thought it silly planting a garden since he’d be leaving for college in August and I’d just have more upkeep.

He pointed to the branches of the twenty-year old English rose that looked like legs of a giant spider spread across the ground. A storm had snapped my antique trellis in half, so making do, I moved another into its place and tied the climber across it. Though iron, it leaned back from weight and skepticism. The eternal optimist, I smiled at the neatly planted herbs, fruits, and vegetables against the black canvas. Staking my claim to the sunny season ahead, I stuck my new, shiny red cage over the tiny tomato plant, anticipating the day it would be needed to hold up the fruit of my labor. That was April.

By August, Cole had gone to college. I’d thought for years that when my children left the nest I’d fly away, too. I’d watched Under the Tuscan Sun so many times and dreamed of starting a new life in Italy. But last spring, I found myself, of all things, nesting. I painted my living room, dining room and front hall. I redid my deck. I cooked, cleaned, mothered more than ever…perhaps as an attempt to deny the inevitable. My children were moving on and as thoughts of an empty house stalked me all spring, my roots reached deeper. Rather than packing up for an adventure abroad, I settled in. Strangely, it felt like I wasn’t settling.

Last week, two days before Halloween, as I went to the mailbox I noticed something in the garden.

By May the rabbits had eaten all my lettuce. By June the Bermuda and spider grass had chased my herbs back to pots on the porch. All that spring-green optimism had been burnt by fall. Cole had gone to school and so had my niece, Abby. Her sister and my daughter, now all grown up and working in the “real world,” had been under my roof at school since the four were in kindergarten. They’d lived one street apart since they were babies. They were our babies no more.

I’d spent months in refinance purgatory and had my car worked on twice–oil, then steering fluid bleeding out– bleeding me dry. My Classic Coup shirts had done well again at the Southern Festival of Books…but a wind storm took out five booths, closing them down on the last day. One was mine. I’d planned to take a group to Ecuador in May to continue work started there last summer. It had been postponed. In August I’d met someone who I thought could be The One. Our first date was the week after Cole moved to college, so the timing seemed perfect and meant-to-be. Turned out again that things are not always what they seem.

I’d turned to a new season–like it or not. Like always, fall brought fun with friends and family–at Italian Lights, Celebrate Nashville, The Italian Market. Peace prevailed in being grateful for simple things–closing on the mortgage, finding no more leaks on the garage floor, riding on new tires. Texts from Cole, picture texts from Taylor. Quick visits on weekends. Cole staying late enough to watch The Walking Dead, Taylor dropping by during the week.

All fall I’d spent grading essays like a fiend but also genuinely enjoying my students. Still I wasn’t excited about facing Halloween alone. Laughing kids running through leaves to my door would sound too much like four little goblins who my sister, brother-in-law, and I had walked through the neighborhood for years. Abby as Austin Power, Emily as Superstar, Taylor as Marilyn Monroe, Cole as Darth Vadar.

What I saw last Tuesday wasn’t the Great Pumpkin. It was something red. All summer I’d picked only two tiny tomatoes–rejected by the birds who had pecked holes in them, then flown away. It was apple season, not tomato time. Yet on the ground I found twenty ripe tomatoes. I laughed aloud, went inside, and made myself an almost- November BLT. Three days later, our first frost came.

Fruit on the vine rewards sowing in faith, but more than that, if affirms that even when I’ve given up on the season, God is still at work. It reminds me that things aren’t always what they seem, that my timing is not God’s timing, and that for everything there is a season.

Happy Birthday to Me…Thanks for the Memories

March 19, 2012June 22, 2019Cindy McCain

After all these years, I am still involved in the process of self-discovery. It’s better to explore life and make mistakes than to play it safe. Mistakes are part of the dues one pays for a full life…There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age.

–Sophia Loren, named “The World’s Most Naturally Beautiful Person”one month before she turned 72

On the eve of another one, here’s to friends who taught me over the past few years to celebrate every birthday in a big way. Thanks to pals and family for making rich memories in my 52nd year. You danced, laughed and cried with me through the good stuff and the growing pains. Thanks to you and my God for loving me–especially those times when I didn’t love myself.

My son became a senior, my daughter an adult. I’m not excited about an empty nest, but I’m working on it. That and a lot of things. But for now, what is is enough. I have plenty of candles to light the way. Happy Birthday to Me.