Change Your Heart. Pet a Cat.

I don’t know what I expected, walking into a room full of cats—

But I can’t stop smiling every time I think about that day!

I visited an animal shelter last week, bent on doing a little research. Armed with pen and paper, my purse, I walked into the kitty room and dropped quickly to my knees, my heart melting in seconds.

Black kitties, gray kitties, orange and striped—just about any sort of combination played in that room, basked in the sun, meowing: play with me, love me, I love you already!

Their giant eyes drew me in, their bodies wrapped around my legs wanting to be touched, hugging me in their own way, loving me back just as much.

Suddenly I heard this loud meow right next to my face. I looked over and an orange kitty leaped from his climbing tower, fell in my lap and ran right up my chest with his face in my face, paws on my shoulders and licked my chin!

If I had an ounce of sadness in my soul that morning, I think it was squished the moment I stepped in that room—especially looking crossed eyed into the goldest eyes I’d ever seen, inches from mine.

I had to share this moment with you because that day I was consumed with my thoughts about writing, researching and what questions I should ask the director. But the cats hijacked me. My plan for the day vanished and I had no idea I’d been feeling a little heavy inside. Some days, if you’re like me, the steam just isn’t there.

You can let it bring you down. Sometimes you can’t help it. But what I learned from one morning playing with kitties is how trying something different can pick you up when you most need the lift. And if you can’t think of a way to branch out from your day to day stuff, maybe visit a kitty room in a shelter, and spend twenty minutes petting the cats like I did.

I’ve been around my share of different animals, and yes, I’ve always considered myself more of a dog person than a cat person. But it was a beautiful moment. Inspiring. And I’ll never forget it.

Favorite Quote of the Week: 

A time to be Thankful—and yes, I did it!

Cricut ideas on pinterest
Yesterday was my first time ever to be in charge of the Thanksgiving day feast for my family. Yes, I experienced first hand, the stress over the perfect turkey and the timing of everything in and out of the oven, the grumbling voices of, I’m hungry, because I’d stretched the time just a wee bit long from 12:30 to 1:00 p.m, and laying it all in a decent presentation so the dinner felt–well, really special. ;0)
So what went well?
I was only 30 minutes late! Yeah, go me.  I managed the turkey, mashed potatoes, some sort of different brown rice, apricot with pecan stuffing,  and of course, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole with my own little touch, and some sort of pumpkin pie dessert.
What was a bit of a challenge?
The turkey. I baked it perfectly—only I set the darn thing in the pan, upside- down. So when I opened the oven wondering why the popper didn’t shoot sky high, I was sweating a little. It wasn’t until my husband was carving the turkey and wondered where the meat was. He flipped it over and we had a really great laugh at that. Go figure. I guess I’ll chalk it up to just me being me–a little backwards myself at times. LOL
What do I love about yesterday?
I have to say, I loved seeing the boys downstairs, sprawled across the couches snoring away. It wasn’t the food necessarily, but definitely the company. The feeling of everyone fully satisfied, relaxed and at least in the moment, totally worry free. It made me happy. It made me tear up just a little at how much I love my family. 
Family is a perfect dream come true.

Who Made You, You?

from mary Keller on pinterest.com

I’m feeling very thankful.

I’m excited I’ve had people in my life who believe in me.

I love the fact that I have others in my life who love my dream as much as I do, for me.

So today, I’m writing about that moment. Not the birds and the bees; but the second my life changed, where  my one big dream shaped into a seed. The moment in my life someone took that seed and helped me plant it in the ground right under my feet. I’m talking about my first grade teacher, Mrs. Heinz.

And the story goes something like this…

Once upon a time—okay, thirty years ago—I’m sitting on the floor in pigtails, rainbow sparkle shoes and jeans. I’m squeezed in with 18 other classmates on a pink carpet, legs criss crossed and eyes glued to my teacher at the front of the room. It was story time and it didn’t matter what our teacher read out-loud—Mrs. Heinz had a voice that could silence the room—in a good way.

Finally, she closes the book. She sends us back to our seats and we scuttle off like mice frantic to be the first one to our desks.

“Erika, stay with me for a second.”

I freeze. A giant ear-to ear stretching smile lifts my face as I turn around. I loved Mrs. Heinz. She helped me make sense out of a bunch of scratches on a page and to see the letters out of all those scratches—eventually turning those letters into words.

Mrs. Heinz hands me a white card. I recognize it. An assignment, a story from a dream we could remember. Little unicorns decorated the top of the stationary drawn with my own two hands. Beneath those unicorns, I’d written my first story ever—a girl who could call the unicorns—a girl who could ride them anytime she was sad.

Mrs. Heinz bent down to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Erika, you’re going to be a writer someday. I loved your story.”

I’ll never forget the picture of her face. I’ll never forget the way I felt when she said it. I was good at something. I was good at something I loved to do. So I wrote. I wrote my way through middle school and high school and then something terrible happened when I started college—I stopped.

I’ve often wondered why—why did it take me 30 years to cycle back to my one greatest dream?

To be honest, I think I forgot how to sit still with my thoughts. Life became so busy with college and work and of course friends and fun.

So now I leave you with my favorite thought of the week because it’s never too late.

Chase what you want. Run as fast as you can to catch it. Sooner or later it will happen. I just know it.

Thought of the Week:
“It is never too late to be what you might have been.” – George Eliot
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“Santa’s not real, but the Easter bunny is!”

I remember these words flying out of my mouth and crushing a little girl’s hopes right in front of my face. She was six. I was six, and to this day, I feel awful about it.

Being the youngest in the house isn’t always the easiest. Not when you have a big brother and all of his friends are also your big brothers. Which means, what they learn much quicker being the ornery stinkers they are; running wild through the neighborhood, painting car dashboards with bright orange street paint, stealing dads keys and driving the old farm truck into the ditch, and bribing a younger sister to mow the lawn with promises that yeah, you can hang out with me tonight, but you have to do my chores (and then when you’re done, he’s pulled a Houdini), is exactly what you learn and strive to be like—only much sooner.

Don’t get me wrong. I have awesome memories of my brother. He also taught me a lot of great things too. And now that I’m older and I have two kids of my own, I appreciate him more than ever. It’s part of why I’m writing today—the reason I feel so inspired.

My point is this: nature sort of bares all this time of year and maybe there’s a reason. Maybe it’s time I reflect on my memories and what matters most to me—my family, both blood and extended—and what it means when we’re together.

Halloween is behind us now, and this year my family went trick-or-treating for the first time with one of our closest friend’s family—I love this family. Not just because they are awesome hard working people. I love this family because they’ve struggled together—they’ve made themselves, and they don’t take a moment for granted. Yes, Angie, I’m talking about you. ;0) We went from house to house and my kiddos said trick or treat. I thought about the candy, the decorated porches, and the time people take to keep the tradition of Halloween alive—the importance of Halloween for communities. I thought, as a parent, I want my kids to feel safe, to be able to talk kindly to others they don’t know, and certainly to respond with a thank you after they’ve had a treasure dropped in their bags. I watched the faces of people light up the moment my two-year-old said in her tiny sweet voice, “thank you.” And that’s what matters—not the candy, but the feeling of safety, kindness and gratitude for others because of what they do to share in traditions.

And what about Thanksgiving? It’s a week away, and I think this will be the first year I set the stage for my family. We’re not traveling to grandmas. We’re here—and I don’t want the holiday to JUST be about the food. I want to teach something, say something, and even though my kids are 4 and 2, there has to be something I can already show them that will say, hey, let’s be thankful for what we have—we’re lucky.

So back to my story about Santa and the Easter bunny. At six my brother showed me where mom stashed our gifts, how to peek without hurting the tape, and revealed the truth behind Santa—but the Easter bunny, well—real bunnies are everywhere, so why couldn’t there be a giant one out there—somewhere?

I think the holidays are a time to put some faith in the magic of possibility. Believing in our dreams and hopes and that what we really want has a chance to become real. Believing traditions will always live and someone will care—they’ll listen to our dreams. And of course, I want to teach my kids the importance of caring, magic, and family—ultimately, how the world is bigger than me. We are a community—no way could we exist without ever communicating with someone else in some form. Community pulls together in good and in bad. That’s what this time of year is about—sharing, believing and giving something of yourself back to someone else.