Becky, Jeff, and Owen came to town last week to be with us as we heard the results of Dad’s PET scan. We’ve been waiting for this news for more than a month, and I’m happy to report that the cardiac sarcoma hasn’t grown nor spread to other parts of the body. There is still something there in the center of Dad’s heart, but that’s along the lines of what we expected. Dad will start taking a daily chemo pill to delay its regrowth. There are many options when it comes to chemo pills, so he may have to try several to find the one with the fewest side effects.
To say Dad is cancer-free would be untrue, but we’ve bought time, and that is a huge blessing and relief compared to the fear we carried in December, January, and February.
Dad’s daily struggle remains to be the side effects of the stroke (caused by the heart tumor). As much as we know about the human body and the resilience of a determined man, it is a mystery as to why he isn’t walking independently. But, that’s what a brain injury does: it messes with your whole system. Dad manages on his own during the day to a degree, and there is a steady rotation of OT and PT therapists coming to the house. He isn’t a quitter. He won’t give up.
His spirits are steady, too. My cousin Paul and his family joined us on Saturday for dinner on the deck, and he and Dad raised a glass to the positive test results. It was a good time being together.
We’ve taken Dad fishing a second time since our boat day in early May. I remembered there was a handicap-accessible fishing spot on the Little River, so last week we threw a few lines in, even though the water level was low and the chances of catching anything were slim. Any opportunity to get Dad in nature is worthwhile. You just have to STEER CLEAR when he’s casting because those unruly stroke hands are all over the place.
Chuck and I slipped out to fish early Sunday morning and stumbled upon a dock near us that is perfect for Dad. It’s secluded with plenty of room to spread out. Plus, it has little dips in the railing that should work well for him in the wheelchair.
So yes, it’s finally summer, and we’re enjoying every bit of good weather we can. Our magnolia tree has bloomed, and Chuck and I (with Salem) are relishing our low-humidity evenings on the front porch.
Finally, a few words about this week on the national front. If you know me in real life, then you know already know I feel. If we are close, then we likely share similar feelings of despair. George Floyd was murdered, and a longsuffering pot of boiling anger bubbled over (again). Unfortunately, I think the anxiety and the steady undercurrent of stress from months of isolation during COVID have only made us even less capable of managing ourselves in this chaos. As an ally, I am a patient listener and a deep thinker, but I’ve got to stop watching videos of cities, businesses, and people on fire. From now on, I’m censoring the articles I read and focusing on the positive things I can do to promote change. I’m not silent, but I’m not running my mouth either.
I’ll leave you with my favorite line from The Tempest:
I’m wrestling with a lot of conflicting thoughts right now, but, like Shakespeare’s Ferdinand, we have to call out evil when we see it, whether it be a devil’s knee on the neck of a dying man or the convenient delivery of bricks to an angry crowd.
Despite all of the temptation to buy a boat, we’ve decided to spend another summer season renting one. (It is significantly less expensive to rent a boat every few weekends throughout the summer than it is to own a boat year-round.) We live in a spectacular place – where lakes and rivers weave around mountains. The first boat day of 2020 was glorious, and we had the added bonus of having my parents join us during the last couple of hours.
Weather-wise, it was perfectly comfortable. We got on the water by 10 a.m., a smart move considering how busy it was by the end of the day. We fished a little, put our feet up, and enjoyed the breeze.
Jackson is not a fisherman, but he loves a good nap. The rocking of a boat and the sound of water lapping on the shore is the perfect white noise for our boat lounger.
Jackson attempted to swim, and it didn’t matter that we warned him the water would be cold. He jumped in to see for himself and promptly climbed right back out. Jeremy remembered how cold it was swimming in the Mediterranean Sea last May, so he didn’t even risk it.
We picked up my parents a little before 4 p.m., which gave us a couple of hours to ride them around and find a cove where Dad could fish. He’s been itching to fish, and frankly, we weren’t sure how he’d manage to cast a line and reel it in post-stroke. While there is still a cardiac sarcoma to tend to, the stroke is proving to be the daily struggle for him.
With a little help, he managed better than we expected. The secret was to help him keep the lines untangled and then stay out of his way!
The first boat day of the season was successful, and it was a welcome break from the monotony of staying home during our “Safer At Home” orders. Even though restrictions are lifting and the temptation to travel domestically is strong (Destin, we miss you), we’re staying home this summer and renting boats. Our plans to travel internationally were thwarted by COVID-19, so we’re staying home and seeing what transpires next year.
Also, this is our last week of school, praise God. As a rule, I aim to finish the school year by Mother’s Day as a gift to myself. The boys have tests to take, I have dozens of papers and tests to grade, and then I have to turn everything into the co-op and our umbrella school.
But then, as God as my witness, it’s going to be summer, and I’m going to take a long, hard break.
Which means by June I’ll be planning next year’s syllabus because I can’t help myself.
Right now, in between our sluggish attempt to finish the school year and staying up-to-date on COVID-19 news, I’m sourcing most of my inner peace through gardening. I have a few experiments underway regarding placement and planters, but most of what I’m doing I’ve done before. It’s immensely gratifying to raise edible plants, even if I’m the only one doing most of the eating. (I live with a bunch of carnivores.)
Not pictured is the zucchini, yellow squash, two types of tomatoes, cucumbers, and rosemary. There’ve been a couple of frosty nights when I’ve had to cover the baby plants, but we should be past those days now.
I’m also enjoying the flowering plants and trees around our house.
The magnolia won’t bloom until late May and early June, but I can see she’s getting ready!
So far, I’m successfully keeping the birds away with shiny pinwheels around the garden and luring them elsewhere with strategically-placed bird feeders.
I’ve been watching more videos from Gary Pilarchik (The Rusted Garden), who I’ve followed for years and recently grew his garden into a full-on homestead. He gives more information than my brain can retain, but I love seeing what he comes up with.
I’m spending the rest of my time working on the magazine and teaching online classes, running, reading, and staying in touch with my parents and Grandpa Thomas (whom I delivered groceries to yesterday). I miss my girlfriends terribly, but I am grateful for the technology that keeps us connected.
As for the rest of my family, Chuck is loving his new schedule of traveling some but being mostly at home. He hasn’t spent this much time at home in years, so he’s balancing relaxation with home projects. The yard has never looked better! He’s also gone turkey hunting and fishing, and we’re sharing the responsibility of cooking dinner more often (which I personally love). Sitting on the porch with him in the evenings is one of my favorite hobbies.
Jackson keeps in touch with his friends via text and FaceTime, and he’s taking “social distancing” walks with our neighbor, each keeping to opposite sides of the road. He leans toward introversion, so while he’s bored at times, he’s not suffering a slow death like Jeremy is.
Jeremy is marathon texting and gaming with friends and cousins like a champ. He is wholly uninterested in school, but that’s not new considering none of us is interested in school by late-April. We are all unmotivated. He misses soccer and seeing friends the most, but he’s gaining more driving time and getting plenty of rest.
We also celebrated Dad’s 68th birthday with a Zoom party! Sometimes technology is nice.
It looks like several southern states, including Tennessee, will begin reopening this week. I continue to be skeptical of this decision while also feeling badly for small businesses that are suffering. I guess we won’t know what happens until we try, but with Florida beaches reopening, along with salons, bowling alleys, and other places where people gather and touch the same things, I think the experiment will tell us how serious COVID-19 is this month or if we’ve truly flattened the curve enough to start reopening the world in phases.
We’ve been watching BBC News in the evening, and I recommend you all do the same. It’s easy to view the coronavirus through our American lens, but it’s affecting other parts of the world more drastically. It’s important that we all see the big picture.
First of all, Happy Birthday, Dad! It’s a milestone, and I’m so grateful for it 🙂
While most of the country started social distancing in March, I was still spending afternoons with Dad at the cancer institute. We had hours together each day amid other patients and their caregivers. By the end of his treatment, a nurse was assigned to the front door to take temperatures and hand out masks to everyone who came inside.
But now he’s finished! Mom and Dad rang the bell on April 7, and Dad went home from the rehab center that afternoon. We’ve entered another new normal, and when I think about the place from where we’ve come, I nearly get whiplash. First, they were stuck in California, then the rehab center, then the lockdown… It’s a testimony to how capable we really are when we put our heads down and keep moving forward, even when it feels impossible.
Now, he’s home! Medical equipment is set up in the house and my parents are adjusting as best they can. We’re in a holding pattern until the end of April and beginning of May when Dad will undergo scans and tests to determine if the treatment even worked. We have no idea what to expect, so we’re all just trying not to think about it.
Since the number of doctors’ appointments have dropped dramatically, that means I’m just now starting to stay home. I’ve gone to the grocery store, and I went for a run once at the Greenway (there were fewer people there than I expected), but for the most part, we’re staying home. I’m immensely grateful.
We finally got the garden started, so yes – I guess we had to go out and buy plants for it since I didn’t make the time or have the thought to start with seedlings. However, I was happy to see that the local co-op was limiting the number of people entering the store and corralling shoppers through specific doors.
Every time we’ve gone out in public, we’ve taken precautions. And every time we’ve interacted with others in the community, people were respectful and careful. Maybe these are the perks of small-town life. I know COVID-19 is here (to date, we’ve had three recorded deaths in our county), but I don’t think many people are being overtly careless. There will always be outliers, but I think most of us are doing our best.
Just as I’m settling into my Safer-At-Home orders from the governor, Jeremy is struggling to manage the loss of a promising soccer season and the necessary friend time he craves as an extrovert. I’m not even poking fun! I know he’s miserable, and I wish I could fix it. The only high point of the last five weeks is the driving time we’ve afforded him.
Here he is driving me to pick up Mexican for dinner one night (to-go):
Chuck, Jackson, and I are homebodies and tend to prefer a quieter life, but Jeremy is dying a slow death from boredom and disconnection. We’ve involved the kids in all sorts of household projects and chores, but that doesn’t feed Jeremy’s need to be social, nor does it even remotely fix the problem of no soccer. Productivity funnels his energy, but it doesn’t fix the psychological need to feel connected to the world. I hate to think what the summer will be like for him if things don’t change for a while.
I don’t know who to credit for calling this time The Great Pause, but I think it’s spot-on. I know not everyone’s COVID crisis is the same. Mercifully, Chuck’s job is secure even though my freelance work will likely shift or potentially dry up. We are already homeschoolers, so our education plan for the boys is not hugely impacted. (It’s impacted, but not in a way that’s life-altering. Read more about that here.) I’m a decent cook and gardener, and Chuck is a hunter, so even food-wise, we have the means to figure out meals without a ton of outside help. In a nutshell, our COVID experience looks quite different from someone who lives in Midtown Manhattan or even downtown Knoxville. It looks different from households with two parents who work outside the home, or a single parent who works full time, or any other possible scenario in any American home. If boredom is our greatest pain, then we have nothing to complain about.
But I’m still using this time to think carefully about our lives, about how we spend our time, about what we spend our money on. I’ve even walked through each room in the house and considered the things we have – do we need this stuff? Could we downsize our belongings a little more? When this is all over, how do we want our lives to look? Crisis tends to make life come into focus for me, so I’m spending The Great Pause in deep thought.
We have four weeks of school left, but my ambition is thin. I’m already preparing final tests and getting my thoughts together on next year. However, whenever I see articles on the coronavirus, I keep reading words like “if we go back in August” and I cannot wrap my brain around The Great Pause going beyond the summer.
Truly, 2020, you’ve outdone yourself. You can stop now.
Almost daily I feel overwhelming gratitude for where we live. Not just America, not just East Tennessee. I love our little town, our corner of the county, our neighborhood, and our home. I recognize this is a huge blessing, as many people wish they lived elsewhere in the country, elsewhere in their city, elsewhere in their county.
We are doing what we’ve been told to help flatten the curve of COVID-19 transmission: We are keeping to ourselves unless it’s absolutely necessary to go out. Obviously, I’m still accompanying Dad to radiation (today begins Week 4 of 6). We have made quick trips to the store, and we’ve ordered take-out from our favorite Mexican restaurant. Otherwise, we’re laying low.
Yesterday we had a break in the rain, so we took the opportunity to surgically remove the boys from electronics and go for a hike. Jeremy drove us!
This was my first time riding with him other than a quick spin around the mall parking lot months ago. Chuck has been handling all the instruction, and I’m happy to report that I felt safe and secure in the back seat with my seatbelt on. It helped that the roads were mostly empty.
The trail we walked is a 13-mile drive from our house.
When Major was younger, we’d let him run off the leash and wear out his energy on trails like these. He’d never go too far ahead of us or stay too far behind, but with his nose to the ground, he’d enjoy the adventure. Now, at almost seven and a half, Major’s energy wanes more quickly. Yet, he’s still an explorer and always plays around in the water if he can get to it.
Thankfully, the boys didn’t resist the hike. They didn’t even complain. Perhaps they too realized the air in our house had become stale and a walk in the fresh air would do them some good.
It still looks like winter in places where we live, but spring is poking through. There were little tufts of green scattered throughout the forest. In a matter of weeks, green will replace all the brown and create a canopy of shade over the trails.
I thought this felled tree looked like a dragon’s head.
A quick song for the forest animals:
We went roughly three miles, and honestly, we could’ve stayed out longer. We have all kinds of time on the weekends since we can’t visit my dad and everything is closed (rightfully so).
Today we get back to homeschooling, working from home, and taking almost-daily trips to the UT Cancer Institute. I have no idea how long this quarantine will continue, but I have a sneaking suspicion that our spring semester will end like this – communicating online and participating in virtual classrooms. It’s not a huge adjustment for us since we’ve been homeschooling since 2012, but it’s not what we prefer.
If you’d told me 2020 was going to look like this, I never would’ve believed you. How is it only March?
We are two weeks into Dad’s treatment for cardiac sarcoma, and now the rehab center, where he lives full time, is on lockdown.
Before today, we’ve been able to spend as much time with Dad as we wanted to at the rehab center. In fact, Mom spent most of February sleeping in his room at night so he wouldn’t be alone.
Now, and for good reason, the facility isn’t letting in any visitors, and all employees must get a fever check prior to coming inside.
Today I visited Dad one last time (outside the facility) and reassured him that we’d still have time together during his weekday treatments. Truth be told, I was put off by the idea of DAILY radiation two weeks ago, and now I’m grateful. See how quickly everything can change?
The disconnection we’re all feeling is palpable. Mom and Dad want to be together, and Becky and I want to be there to help them, but we’re all separated by miles, and the coronavirus has thrown us a curveball.
Yet, in an attempt to remain grateful for every possible blessing, I’m reflecting on our ability to be with him during treatment, to help him re-learn to walk when we’re together, and to share stories from years past (nostalgia has always been my favorite drug).
We are still laughing and smiling as much as possible (sometimes too loudly, as seen in this photo – Mom was trying her best to hold it in). 🙂
We have no idea how long the lockdown will be in place. The administrators probably don’t know either. No one knows anything, so we’re all doing what feels best and right. I want to stay well so I can sit with Dad during chemotherapy, so I can be his taxi after radiation, so I can keep doing whatever I need to do to help my mom. If that means shutting the world down for three weeks, then that’s fine with me.
As for Dad, he’s is determined and steadfast. “Just tell me what to do,” he keeps saying. I love it. I see myself in him so frequently these days. Stubborn yet self-critical. If they told him to climb Mount LeConte, he’d grab his walker and give it a go.
Those two things, in theory, should be unrelated, but sometimes things fall together on a calendar for a reason.
For what it’s worth, I have no idea why or how my father’s first chemotherapy appointment and the primary election in Tennessee have aligned this way, but here we are.
It’s been a little more than a month since my parents returned to Tennessee from their two-month stint in California. Dad has made tremendous progress in these last few weeks. His goal is to walk independently (with a walker), and he’s as stubborn as ever, God love him. I spent Sunday afternoon with Mom and Dad at the rehab center, and his resolve is solid. Up and down, left and right, he was practicing. He wants so badly to go home. We all want that.
For now, though, he needs to stay put since he’s in the best possible place. We have no idea what chemotherapy and radiation will do to the tumor or his body. We don’t know what side effects he’ll have, how tired he’ll feel, or whether or not this treatment will have any impact at all. We don’t even have statistics to rely on. That’s how rare this cancer is.
But I digress. We will do what we’ve always done as a family – keep moving forward and laugh as much as possible.
As far as Super Tuesday is concerned, I’ll slip in to vote tomorrow on my way back from the hospital, and then I’ll stay up tomorrow night to watch the returns. It’s been a wild election year already, but I’m feeling the way I always feel – the people I vote for don’t get elected. That’s what it means to be politically homeless.
I don’t know what tomorrow brings for us as a family or us as a country, but faith is good for times like these. I may not know what’s going to happen, but I’m not worried in a philosophical or theological way. Life goes on. The sun sets, and then it comes up again the next morning. God is faithful. He’s near. And, we have each other. These are the things that truly matter.
My father had a stroke on Dec. 8 while on a business trip to California. On Dec. 12, he underwent open-heart surgery to remove the tumor that caused the stroke and also to undergo a double bypass. My mom flew to Santa Clara to be with him, and they ended up staying in California for nearly two full months. While there are plenty of things to be grateful for (financially, medically, and otherwise), it has been a long, hard road since this whole mess first started.
Finally, thankfully, Dad was approved to fly home to East Tennessee in the last week of January. Unable to fly commercial, they were afforded a leer jet for medical transport, followed by an ambulance ride from the airport to the rehab center where he’s been since. My sister booked a flight from Chicago, and we were all together in one room – finally – by the beginning of February.
It is unreal, honestly. The stroke is making everything difficult, as one would imagine. How does one focus on treating cancer when basic activities, such as walking, are so hard to accomplish?
Again, we are grateful for small yet significant mercies – Dad’s swift progress, his stubborn resolve, personable and knowledgeable healthcare providers. He is a determined man, and we’ve been placed in good hands. Still, we are anxious to move even more quickly, eager to get started on treating this damn tumor that no one saw coming.
As one does, I’ve spent a lot of time remembering fun memories from my childhood and looking at photos of my parents when they were first sweethearts. I have pictures taped to the lamp on my desk so I can easily be reminded of how good things have been.
In between the moments of frustration and desperation, we’ve been able to laugh and enjoy being together. It’s so easy to get stuck in sadness! It’s too easy to slip into a dark place and dwell on the things that scare me. So, when the laughter comes, it feels like a release. Plus, everything is funnier in sleep-deprived delirium.
It’s been especially nice to have more Treadways around to share stories, laugh, and help carry the weight of our burdens and decisions.
In between these moments and trips to the rehab center, our life is trudging along at a steady pace. The boys are keeping up with school, I’m teaching at the co-op and putting out a monthly magazine, and Chuck’s work schedule is as steady as usual.
Fortunately, I was afforded a surprise Girls Weekend prior to my parents flying home. Oh, how I needed those two days! We stayed in a cabin in Townsend and did precious little, only getting out of our pajamas exactly one time to grab a quick meal.
In the quieter moments of my day, I retreat to the bedroom. More now than ever I need to cut out the extra noise and distraction (in true INFJ fashion). Salem, per usual, is my constant companion. I don’t know how you non-animal people cope. If I could slap a therapy vest on this cat and carry him around with me, I totally would.
By now most of you know my parents are in California on account of a medical emergency with my dad. They’ve been there for nearly a month, but we’re hopeful they’ll come home soon. In their absence, we did our best with Christmas. My sister and her family still came down, and we used technology to stay connected to Mom and Dad. It was a weird holiday, but we embraced the time we had together.
As the boys have gotten older, we’ve shifted the way we do Christmas. Across the board, everyone remembers our Christmas in Hilton Head to be the best ever. No big gifts, no big dinner. Just time together and the ocean.
Long gone are the days of mounds of gifts. We were never really those people anyway, but they definitely receive fewer gifts as they get older. Instead, we buy with intention. I did the Four Gift Rule for years, and now I focus on the one or two things they really want.
For Jeremy, that meant getting an AI chessboard. He was totally shocked.
For Jackson, he received his first digital filming camera. Again, totally shocked.
He also got a Rose Bowl t-shirt since two of his teams were playing each other.
Both boys received enough pairs of socks to last a full year.
More than the gifts, we were all so grateful to be together. We watched movies and went hiking. We slept in and stayed in our pajamas when we could. Becky and I drove up to Mom and Dad’s house one afternoon so I could check on their cats and grab the mail, but that afternoon had us looking at old photos and reminiscing about our childhood. It was a precious time.
We adults took the opportunity to grab dinner one night at a local place I’d been wanting to try. It’s expensive, but it’s also an experience. With kids old enough to stay home (or in our case, run around town together without us), we gussied up and enjoyed the kind of food you only eat once or twice a year.
I also took some quick photos… because time flies.
I mean… Look at my boys!
Christmas would’ve been perfect if my parents were home, but that’s just how life is sometimes. We can’t map out every day the way we want it to be. We can only do our best with what we have and look forward to what we hope for.
This post would be insufficient if I didn’t mention my gratitude for the hubs, who in fact just celebrated a birthday. He’s been a place of comfort and sanity for me. We’re lucky to have him.
Libby Jones is a young London woman who knows she’s adopted. She’s fine with this, though she’s always been curious about her origins and biological family. When an inheritance for a large home in Chelsea falls in her lap upon her 25th birthday, the details of her birth family begin to unfurl. She has no idea what to do with the things she learns.
The story is told from three perspectives, the first and most obvious being Libby’s. The two other voices are a homeless street performer (with her two children) who plays the fiddle for coins on the Côte d’Azur, and a man who tells his story in the first person as if he’s writing a letter.
We knew these three people are connected, but we need to reach the length of the book to put all the pieces together.
And wow. What a story – suspense at every turn, an ever-growing list of nagging questions, and the sort of chapter endings that do not allow you to stop reading, or in my case, stop listening. I finished it in three days because I had to know who Libby really was and how this man and woman were connected to her.
The Family Upstairs is as much of a family saga as it is a mystery. There is death and intrigue, lost love and relational turmoil. The story is full of twists and turns, and even when the three main characters finally collide, there are still truths to unearth.
This was my first introduction to Lisa Jewell’s work, and I’m already into Then She Was Gone. I listened to The Family Upstairs on Audible, and I’m glad I did because I’ll surely listen to it again.
Teaching English at our co-op has reignited my interest in the classics, and one glaring void on my shelf was Rebecca. The 1938 Gothic novel was written by Daphne de Maurier, and since its first publication, Rebecca has never gone out of publication.
The only thing I knew about Rebecca prior to reading it was that Rebecca is the deceased wife and the narrator is the new wife. I also knew it was set in England, but beyond that, it was a classic mystery I knew little about.
To my utter delight, the opening scenes occur in Monte Carlo, Monaco, and I had no problem visualizing it. The unnamed narrator is a lady’s helper on vacation when she meets Maxim de Winter, a recent rich widower. After only two weeks of courtship, Maxim asks the young woman to marry him, and she agrees. Readers quickly jump from the Mediterranean to Cornwall – specifically, Manderley, de Winter’s magnificent estate.
Our young bride struggles to settle into her new life as Lady of the House. She’s intimidated by Ms. Danvers, the sharp, cross housekeeper, and she’s reminded almost constantly of her husband’s previous wife, Rebecca. Her presence is still felt in the house, despite the fact that she’s been dead nearly a year. Details of Rebecca’s death are scarcely discussed.
The new Mrs. de Winter tries to make her husband happy, but after a massive failure on her part to surprise him (and guests) with her costume for a “Fancy Dress Ball” at Manderley, secrets quickly unravel and the young bride realizes that she knows very little about Maxim, and even much less about Rebecca.
When a sunken boat is discovered in the bay and subsequently raised, the new Mrs. de Winter must decide what to do about all the other surprises that come up with the boat – including a body.
I absolutely adored this novel, though I fully recognize that its magic is not just in the plot. The narrative is dreamy and romantic, utterly fluid and delightful. Manderley is its own magical character, as Daphne de Maurier draws the reader to the magnificent property and inside the looming house. (A quick Google search revealed it was based on a real estate – Menabilly.) I was tempted to not like the narrator because there were so many red flags to not marry this man, but considering the time and women’s roles in the 1930s and 40s, perhaps you can’t blame her.
The end of the book brings the story full-circle, a feature I love in a novel because it shows the writer had a plan, a clear direction. When it begins, “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again,” you can’t possibly know how the story will end.
And then when it ends, you can’t help but smile as all the pieces fall into place.
It has been a full week fraught with surprise, worry, and anticipation. We are near the end of our fall semester, which means tests and papers and sorting grades, and then I came down with an upper respiratory infection suddenly. (It’s not the flu, praise God. I got tested.)
And then my father had a medical emergency on the other side of the country, followed by a midnight trip to the emergency vet for Salem just last night.
So much came at us at once, and every day since Saturday has felt too heavy to carry. I’m low on sleep, so I’m pacing myself.
Then I saw the moon, and it was so bright that it lit up the entire neighborhood. For the first time in a long while, I grabbed my camera, full of inspiration. (I’ve missed that feeling, that pull to take photos and capture something in themoment. Honestly, it’s been a long time.)
Photographing the moon is tricky. You cannot rely on auto settings or a tripod. You have to know exactly how to account for distance, darkness, and the high contrast of a bright moon.
Using the Nikkor 55-200 mm lens, I set my Nikon 5300: ISO 100, shutter speed 1/125th, aperture f/8. Then I dug my elbows into my sides and snapped.
It could be clearer, and, truthfully, I wish I’d captured it earlier in the night when it appeared even bigger. But, it is was it is, and I am pleased.
With Advent underway, I can’t help but feel extra pensive. More than usual, even! This is a season of waiting, but after this week, I feel like I’ve waited beyond my portion – waiting for phone calls, waiting for updates, waiting for doctors to finally work their way around to me, to my dad, to Salem.
Mercifully, this moon made me stop and take a breath. It pushed pause on my list of worries. It reminded me that there is much more going on in the world than I am privy to and still, I am not forgotten.
How Christmas is 13 days away, I cannot understand. I swear it was just Halloween. More than ever, I need to unburden our schedule and intentionally slow down. This moon was just what I needed to remind me that time doesn’t have to go by so quickly.
We were happy to host family for Thanksgiving dinner, and it ended up being the first year we mixed both sides of the family. Unfortunately, Hayli couldn’t make it, but we had Tom Jr. here alongside my parents, Grandpa Thomas, and Mamaw. I was happy to cook, happy to serve, and happy to have people in our home. Of course, I was wiped out after the fact, but that’s what comes with the territory.
Mamaw was a surprise late addition to our Thanksgiving dinner, but I’ll always take what I can get when it comes to spending time with her! This photo was the only group photo I took.
The only other photo I captured from Thanksgiving was this one of my and Mamaw’s wedding rings. I never realized how similar our rings are, and in truth, this isn’t Mamaw’s original wedding band. She said they traded in her original bands for this one years ago.
We had two extra visitors for the holiday, though they didn’t join us for dinner. We were pleased to open the Hamster Hotel for our sweet friends who were traveling for a week. Thankfully, Major and Salem are uninterested in the hamsters!
Being nocturnal, they’d sleep all day in their cozy houses and roll around in their balls at night.
They left this morning, and I honestly miss them.
As you can see from the photo, we’ve decorated for Christmas. This is the earliest we’ve ever put up a tree, that I can recall. Again, we’ll host family for Christmas and I couldn’t be more pleased about it. I can’t wait to have my nephews here.
We have a few more weeks of school and then we’re tapping out. We’re all exhausted and ready for a slow-down. I, especially, need to pull back and realign. I did a poor job in 2019 limiting the things I said “yes” to. I broke my own inner vows about being less busy. I got tired of hearing myself tell other people that I was too busy. It’s all so counter-productive. As I plan for the spring semester and map out story ideas for the magazine, I need to work smarter and not harder. I’m pretty sure that will be my New Year’s resolution.
More has gone on here than our trip to England and Wales, so it would be a shame to make it seem like that’s been the entirety of our October and November. It would be terrible if you missed Jackson’s Halloween costume when he dressed up at a retired clown.
He and his friend, Libby, trick-or-treated together again this year, and Jackson received many compliments on his costume!
Jeremy competed in another chess tournament and brought home two more trophies. Between soccer and chess, the shelves in his bedroom are filling up quickly!
In early November, we went to see Ryan Bingham at the Tennessee Theatre, which was a fancy venue for his style of music, I have to say. But that meant Corey came to visit and that’s always worthwhile!
The following weekend we took a quick trip to Chattanooga to celebrate Matt’s 41st birthday, which meant I got some time with Amy!
We became instant friends after Matt started dating her in 2000. So much of my early years of motherhood unfolded alongside Amy’s. Now, whenever we squeeze in a visit, we unload all the toils and joys of raising teenagers, which is a far cry from naptimes, midnight feedings, and what happened on the latest episode of The Backyardigans.
In other news, Jackson wrapped his fall session of equine therapy, and Jeremy finally got a proper haircut. I decided it was time he started seeing my stylist. His hair deserves it, after all.
Peak colors didn’t show up in East Tennessee until early November, but when they finally popped, they were bright and vibrant. I snapped this photo while on a run one foggy morning.
Lastly, we had a brief and glorious snowfall that dropped the same day as Disney+. It was a Tuesday, but it felt just like Christmas morning. Somehow we managed to do some school work.
However, I did notice that this was the first year that the boys didn’t race to play in the snow upon waking up. The last time we had a decent snowfall was January of this year. It was gorgeous, and the boys couldn’t wait to play in it. This time, however, they didn’t mention sledding or a snowball fight. They didn’t even have the curiosity to go outside and touch the flakes. It felt significant, like a piece of their childhood was over.
Maybe that won’t be the case if we get another big snowfall, something grander and long-lasting. Or maybe it means I need to suit up and go out with them.
Thanksgiving is this week, and we’re going to have a full house of family members on Thursday. For the first time in 20 years, we’re mixing sides. We’ve always taken turns – Thanksgiving with one side, Christmas with the other. We’re on the same rotation as my sister and her family, and doing it this way kept holidays fair and uncomplicated.
But as family members have passed away, and others have moved closer to us, it seems silly to keep things separated. We can all be together. We can all share the table. On Thursday, we’ll have ten people here, and I’m happy to cook for all of them.
Already on a Ruth Ware roll, I decided to finish all five of her books and read The Lying Game. Without a doubt, this one was my favorite.
Isa is on maternity leave with her new daughter, Freya, when she receives an urgent text from one of her best friends from high school: “I need you.”
It’s from Kate, and the other two friends, Fatima and Thea, received the same text. The four were at boarding school together, and their friendship sealed a bond that no one could break. If any of them needed anything, at any time, all she needed to do was say the word. They all replied to Kate’s text with the same: “I’m coming.”
The three women, along with baby Freya, take the train to Salten, the coastal town on the English Channel where they met 15 years prior as schoolgirls. They aren’t sure what Kate needs, but they know fairly well what it may pertain to. The four women share many secrets between them, including one big frightening lie that must be kept hidden at all costs.
The Lying Game is pitch-perfect with its pacing, a steady current of unraveling details that lead to more nail-biting questions. I was utterly captivated by every word, and I even thought I had the mystery worked out a couple of times (but I was wrong on both accounts).
Isa is a delightful narrator, one whose voice is familiar to me as a mother and a deeply loyal friend. To what lengths would I go to help my best girlfriends? How far would I go?
On top of the characters and plot, the setting is a scene-stealer. Having been to the English coast, I can clearly picture this sleepy, seaside down with its menacing tide and salty air. I have always loved mysteries that unfold by the water. The ocean is a mystery all its own.
The Lying Game tops my list of Ware’s books, followed by The Turn of the Key. Midway through I considered that this book would make an outstanding film. I still believe that. Hurry – someone buy the rights and make it!
It was our final full day in the UK, and we wanted to make the most of it. Instead of heading straight back to London, we took a long way and swung south to Bath in Somerset. The architecture in this city is unlike anywhere else I’ve seen in England.
The Roman Baths date back to 60 AD (the Romans hung around for a few hundred years), and the Bath Abbey was built in the 7th Century.
I was instantly smitten with Bath. Every corner turned onto another charming, narrow street.
At first, it looked like our stroll around the Roman Baths was going to take hours. Without a doubt, it’s the most touristy attraction in town. Fortunately, they have the process down to some sort of algorithm that keeps the bodies moving forward.
The Roman Baths and Bath Abbey are right next to each other – convenient!
Normally, I’m not into guided tours and listening to recordings. I *never* pick up a headset in museums. However, at the Roman Baths, they just hand you one and tell you how to work it. Turns out, it was hugely interesting to walk up to a part of the exhibit and be told why it’s important!
I’m so glad Chuck this photo! We aren’t big selfie-takers, but I’m thankful he took this one 🙂
After touring the Baths, we went back into the city to explore a little longer and grab a quick bite to eat.
We ended up circling back to where we began, with a beautiful view of Pulteney Bridge and the River Avon.
We’d booked a hotel room at Heathrow that night so we could get to the airport easily Sunday mid-morning, but we still had plenty of time to spare before it got dark. A quick Google search showed us that we could stop in Lacock in Wiltshire, one of England’s oldest villages. This meant more driving through the countryside!
Lacock Abbey dates back to 900 AD and served as a filming spot for several scenes in the Harry Potter film franchise. Also, more recently, Lacock was a filming spot for Downton Abbey. It was a charming village, only a few streets wide and long. I didn’t take my camera around town since it was a little misty, but we enjoyed the stroll and treated ourselves to coffee, tea, and cake afterward.
I’ll live here, please.
It was finally time to admit the trip was over, so we checked into our hotel, Chuck returned the rental car, and we finished the night with dinner at the Hilton and two bottles of wine. Before the night was over, I made a list on my phone of everything we did over the last eight days – I didn’t want to forget anything!
In the last year, I’ve visited England three times. I never thought that’s something I’d ever be able to say. Believe it or not, I’d go back again tomorrow, next week, next month, next year. It is strange to feel at home in a foreign country, but that’s exactly how I feel.
What a gift.
If you want to watch the slideshow video I made of our trip, click here.
Like I said in the previous post, our AirBNB in Nant-y-Derry was a DELIGHT, even though it didn’t have WiFi. Instead of scrolling on our phones in the evening, we watched whatever British game show was on the TV. It was perfect.
How adorable is the house key?
Like so many AirBNBs in the countryside, this building is a converted barn, and it’s updated and stunning inside.
Our original plan was to drive to Pembrokeshire (along the western coastline), but the weather was so wet and dreary that we didn’t want to trek too far. Instead, we drove south and stopped in Caerphilly, which was halfway between our place on the southern Brecon Beacons National Park and Cardiff, the largest city in Wales.
Caerphilly Castle was originally constructed in the 13th Century as part of the Anglo-Norman movement into Wales. It’s the second-largest castle after Windsor, but no one has lived here for many centuries. In its greatest time, Caerphilly Castle was a magnificent fortress with an impressive moat.
Taking pictures was tricky on account of the rain, but I muscled through.
We got back on the road and headed for the coast, this time landing on Dunraven Bay. It would’ve been lovely to see the coast during better weather, but nothing was going to keep us from the seaside. A beach is restorative no matter the climate.
It’s on this coastline in Southern Wales where we took my favorite photo of us of all time. We are the cutest.
For the second time, Chuck gave Karin a quick UK-driving lesson on the backroads. She did a stellar job!
Before heading back to our AirBNB, we made a quick stop in Cardiff just to poke around. We visited a few tourist shops and got a good view of Cardiff Castle before it closed. We were losing steam, and we were soaking wet, so going back home to our cozy converted barn sounded like a good idea.
We had one day left, so in the morning, we headed to Bath.
I was still high as a kite the morning after meeting Philippa Gregory at Sudeley Castle, deliriously happy as we walked around Stratford-Upon-Avon the morning of Day 6. I was also happy to have Chuck with us, my favorite traveling buddy of all time.
Stratford-Upon-Avon is William Shakespeare’s hometown, so it’s a literary mecca for millions of people.
I’m not a huge fan of Shakespeare’s work as a rule, but I respect it. It’s important to know what his contribution has been to language and literature.
The Tudor-style architecture is one of my favorites, so walking around Stratford on such a beautiful morning was a feast for the eyes.
We walked along the River Avon for a bit and enjoyed feeding the swans. We couldn’t believe how many of them there were!
I’ll never pass up an opportunity to feed waterfowl. I’m a sucker!
Ducks are my fave!
We packed up our things and hit the road for Hay-on-Wye, England’s “book town” and gateway to Wales. How absolutely perfect for Karin and me to visit Hay-on-Wye together!
Hay-on-Wye is a charmer! Every time we turned a corner there was something adorable to see.
We ate a delicious warm lunch at The Granary, which was probably one of my favorite meals from the whole trip.
Three years later, I decided to give it all a go, starting with Ware’s fifth novel, The Turn of the Key, which was published this summer. This one does a stellar job of using setting as a character since the story takes place in an old Victorian home that’s been internally updated to be a smart house. You get old haunting vibes with the knowledge that anyone could be watching you via cameras.
Rowan Caine answers an ad for a nanny at Heatherbrae House in the Scottish Highlands, but what she doesn’t realize is that she’s walking straight into a nightmare. A child is going to die (not a spoiler) and she’s going to prison for murder (also not a spoiler).
The story is told in epistolary form (via letters from Rowan to her lawyer), which can get tedious at times, but it’s still a clever way to tell a story when it’s almost entirely in flashbacks. The narrative is highly suspenseful throughout and even creepy at times. It’s definitely my favorite of Ruth Ware’s books.
I was so pleased with The Turn of the Key that I immediately went on to The Death of Mrs. Westaway, Ware’s fourth novel.
Harriet Westaway, “Hal”, lives modestly in Brighton as a tarot reader on a pier. One day she receives a letter informing her that she is the chosen recipient of a substantial inheritance by her grandmother in Cornwall. That would be great news if Hal’s grandparents hadn’t already died years ago.
However, since she’s desperate for money (to pay off loan sharks) and tired of living pound to pound, she decides to attend the funeral to see if she can get away with accepting the inheritance without anyone being wise to her scheme. Of course, it’s not going to be easy.
The Death of Mrs. Westaway is less suspenseful than The Turn of the Key, but it still kept my interest because I wanted to untangle the knot. Each member of the Westaway family had a secret to keep, and it was a fun ride with Hal to see where each puzzle piece fit.
This book was advertised as an “unputdownable thriller,” but I challenge the “thriller” part. I did get through it quickly because I wanted to know how Hal was related to everyone – or if she even was related to them at all.
Since I was on a roll with Ruth Ware books, I finally picked up her second one, The Woman in Cabin 10, which was published in 2016.
The story begins with a burglary. Lo Blacklock is a travel journalist (dream job!) and had the unfortunate experience of a traumatic break-in. To escape the fear she feels at home, Lo leaps at the chance to take part in a luxury press tour on a Scandanavian cruise. One night on the water, she sees what she believes is a woman being tossed overboard to her death. Lo cannot let this go, despite a full search aboard the ship and everyone reassuring her that she didn’t see anything.
A few things: The initial burglary put Lo in a state of constant anxiety, so her narration was irritating to the point that I didn’t want to hear any more in her voice by the middle of the book.
Secondly, the pacing seemed to drag. I understand the need to create claustrophobia on a small cruise liner, to agitate the reader so he/she *feels* the tension, but I became too frustrated with the slow pacing (combined with the tight living quarters and Lo’s anxiety) that I could not finish the book.
That’s right. I didn’t finish it.
Of course, I wanted to know how it ended, so I read a summary online and immediately felt relieved that I didn’t suffer the rest of the book for that storyline. The Woman in Cabin 10 has been my least favorite Ruth Ware book thus far. I don’t recommend it.
I’ll give The Lying Game a go soon. Then, I’ll be up to speed.
Just when I think I’m done running half marathons, I convince myself to run “just one more.” When I learned that the Haunted Half Marathon in Jonesborough, Tennessee, had a black cat as part of its logo and medal, I knew I needed to run it. Lesli and I rode together to the oldest (and most haunted) town in Tennessee to enjoy a perfect autumn weekend right before Halloween.
Jonesborough is the *perfect* little town to visit in autumn. We were there on October 25 and 26.
The start of the race wasn’t until 9:30 a.m., which is the latest I’ve ever started a race. (Normally these things start at 7 or 8 in the morning.) I was plenty ready to get going (and finish) well before it was time to line up.
The race was incredibly difficult, and not just because I wasn’t as well-trained as usual. The Haunted Half was advertised as having a route with “rolling hills,” but I assure you there was nothing rolling about them. There were REGULAR HILLS, not cutesy little rolling hills. Everyone in my pace group complained about the hills because we were all caught off guard and gasping for breath.
I finished with my second slowest time ever, but it wasn’t because I wasn’t in shape or because I didn’t feel like running. I couldn’t run those monsters. It would’ve killed my knees.
It’s all about the medal though. All I have to do is finish.
I was pretty sore afterward and wondered, per usual, if my racing days were over. Naturally, I signed up for another race that week.
On Saturday, I ran the Secret City Half Marathon for the second time. I still wasn’t impressed with the route (not much to look at) or the bathrooms (there were too few of them), but it was a local race that I could drive to, run, and drive home afterward.
Actually, either my MapMyRun app is way off, or the race directors miscalculated. I ran more than 13.1 miles on Saturday morning!
At any rate, it’s about the medals. Cheers to No. 24!
Now that I’m at 24, it seems silly to not run a 25th. Right?
Our fifth day in England was the most special. Not only was it the day that our driver showed up to take us to Wales, but it was also the day that Karin and I were going to meet Philippa Gregory.
On Friday, Sept. 6, I saw an Instastory post from Sudeley Castle that gave my heart a jump. I screenshotted it and sent it to Karin immediately, texting, “RED ALERT.”
We learned that Philippa Gregory would be speaking at a small, intimate event at the castle on the very night we’d be driving westward. Our route needed to shift slightly, and we’d need to rearrange our AirBNB reservation, but this was doable. We could go. We could absolutely positively meet Philippa Gregory on our inaugural trip to England.
It’s important to know that Karin’s and my friendship is partly rooted in Philippa Gregory’s works of historical fiction. She and I swapped these books back and forth for years, both enjoying Gregory’s depictions of the Plantagenet and Tudor eras. To meet this specific writer together AND in England was a gift I couldn’t have planned if I’d tried.
But first, we needed to connect with our driver. He showed up at the hotel on Wednesday morning in need of a shower and spot of breakfast.
Before leaving Kingston, we stopped by a local artist’s house (who I follow on Instagram) because I wanted to buy a print that I’ve been eyeballing since May. Lisa Tolley is based in Thames Ditton, which is across the river and on the opposite side of Hampton Court from Kingston. It was a delight to meet her, to tell her how much I love her illustrations, and to purchase the piece I’ve been wanting for months.
Off we went to the Cotswolds, specifically to Winchcombe, to explore the area and make our way to Sudeley Castle. Our tickets for the event included a tour of the grounds and remains, though photos were limited because Sudeley is still a private home.
Sudeley Castle was Kateryn Parr’s final home and resting place, where she retreated after Henry VIII died and she was free from her duties as his sixth queen. She married her long-time love but only lived a few more years after they finally got together.
What I love so dearly about Kateryn Parr is that she was the first woman in England to publish her own writing in her own name.
Like so many others, the castle fell to ruin as England’s landscape changed. Though some structures date back to the 12th century and much of it was built in the 15th century, the property wasn’t restored until the 19th century.
Of course, the gardens were stunning.
We finished our tour of the castle and gardens and headed to town to find a place to eat. It was a weird time, something like 4 p.m., so we had a bit of trouble finding a pub that served food before 6 p.m. This is typical, particularly in small towns.
We had not eaten since our full breakfast that morning in Kingston, and we weren’t sure what food options we’d have after the Philippa Gregory event since we’d have to head to Stratford-Upon-Avon.
Thankfully, The White Hart Inn served midday soup and sandwiches, and that was better than nothing, so we popped in for “a bite and a pint.”
THEN – in the midst of perusing the menu, IN WALKS PHILIPPA GREGORY.
No lie. She and her assistant walked in casually, no doubt in search of a 4 p.m. meal. I smacked Chuck’s arm (because he was sitting next to me) and said under my breath, “Karin, she’s here. Philippa Gregory just walked in. She’s here. She’s here.”
THEN – she and her assistant joined us at the row of tables next to the windows, with only one empty table between us. How were we not supposed to stare at her? How were we supposed to just SIT THERE like Philippa Gregory wasn’t sitting in our same breathing space?
I froze, so it was Karin who began, “Hi, Ms. Gregory.” We exchanged very short pleasantries, something about how excited we were to hear her speak that evening. I can’t even remember. I was so uncool. It’s no wonder that minutes later THEY MOVED TABLES.
Now, logically, we know they moved tables so they could have a private conversation about whatever was going on in their private and professional worlds. They didn’t need a table of American fans hanging on their every word. Truthfully, I was relieved that they moved tables because I needed my body to RELAX and stop seizing.
Chuck was the sly one who snapped a photo of them while paying for our food at the bar.
Little did we know that wouldn’t be our last personal encounter with Philippa Gregory.
Starstruck, we went back to the castle and left Chuck in the car. (He was less interested in attending the event and more interested in taking a catnap to manage his jetlag.) We arrived in time to get a good place in line and score seats in the third row of the small room. I don’t know how many people attended, but it was somewhere in the 50-75 range.
Philippa Gregory spoke on “the women hidden from history” and how this has been a guiding force in her research and writing. She was just as inspirational as I hoped she’d be. I even felt brave enough to raise my hand and ask a question. After getting our books signed, that could’ve been the end of the evening and I would’ve been fine.
But it wasn’t the end.
As we sipped our wine and stalked Philippa Gregory from across the room, I kept trying to manage the urge to approach her again. I simply couldn’t do it. What would I say? What would she even want to say to me? Why am I so awkward in the moments when I really need not be?
Karin, my seize-the-moment friend, wasted no time waltzing across the room to ask the assistant if we could grab a photo with Ms. Gregory. With a smile on her face, she said we could.
You cannot tell by this photo but I am imploding. The wine must have helped.
It didn’t end there. We talked. We really talked. She started it by saying, “We meet again!” clearly remembering us from the pub a few hours prior. I told her I was a writer – a journalist with a dream of writing fiction – and she said, “I used to be a journalist too.” I swooned.
Bravely, I asked for her advice – what are the steps I should be taking? What should I be doing with my time? How exactly do I make a dream come true?
She said: Hone your craft. Don’t read bad books and don’t write bad books that you know will get published because they’ll still be bad books. Read good books that elevate your writing. Keep working hard. Write consistently. There’s no magic or secret. Don’t quit. KEEP GOING.
Then she said, “What’s your name? So I can keep an eye out for you?”
Shaking utterly and screaming on the inside, I said, “Jennie. It’s Jennie,” followed by silence.
To which Karin added, “…Treadway-Miller.”
I started to cry. Embarrassed, I worked hard to choke back the tears. My inner dialogue screamed GOOD GRIEF, WOMAN, GET AHOLD OF THYSELF. I barely had the presence of mind to speak.
We floated to the car, giggling and asking ourselves if the day really happened. On the way to Stratford-Upon-Avon, I typed everything she said to me in the Notes app on my phone, not that I even needed to. I remember it all. I couldn’t possibly forget a night like that.