There's a story.

I've waited all day to give life to these words.  Physically, my fingers spent most of my early morning alone with the weight of this image in their possession. Before the rest of my house awoke from their slumber, I spent my minutes magically staring into the end result of Mom behind the lens.  There's not one corner of this photograph that my eyes have not poured over.  Invested in the outcome of then, I have taken such delight in this captured treasure.

Time and schedules have a way of moving.  Don't they though?  And, by mid-morning, my physical presence was procured away in proximity from this image focused onto film.  But, my mind held a steadfast clamp on this scene above.  Today I searched all about him.  Today I remembered and reminded myself of the he who he is.  I settled into my Dad and stayed right by him all day.

There's a story.  And, I want to tell it.  For this story is everything the man my Dad is to me.  This story sits inside this photograph rich and content as if it has no desire to leave this hallowed space & time.  But, telling it is where the beauty of my Dad begins.  

The setting was around Thanksgiving as I am wearing my Indian headdress freshly fashioned from Mrs. Carlton's 1980 Kindergarten class.  {a special thank you to Jason Lemming who secretly cut for me during craft time as I was left handed before the world of Crayola thought of inventing left handed scissors}  My brother and I are standing in chairs.  We always stood in chairs when Dad was in the kitchen cooking.  The brown bucket is the same bucket we used to wash our dogs, Pete and Muffin.  The fresh flowers in the vase were a normalcy in our home.  Dad made sure that Mom had fresh flowers in her kitchen.  They were never the custom ordered flower shop variety, but more the ones found in the local grocery store.  He would arrange them always just for her.  The kitchen.  It used to be  the carport.  My Dad's 2 hands alone transformed it into a more useful space for our family.  He worked tirelessly after long hours at work and school to make this dream a reality for us.  The curtains were sewn by Mom.  They were the same curtains that hung in the Volkswagon bus that brought me home from a Colorado hospital 5 years prior.   His watch.  It hangs on the knob of the cabinet.  Free from pumpkin guts and water spills and cleverly placed for viewing sake; my Dad is adeptly skilled in resourceful maneuvers of the simplest things. 

My brother is to my left.  He's the one manning the wooden spoon with the big metal pot {insert loud banging here}.  I have no doubt music surrounds us in addition to the ad hoc orchestra-of-one to my left.  Possibly Jim Croce or Gordon Lightfoot.  Dan Folgeberg or John Prine.  

Then there's him.  A picture of absolute happiness.  You can feel it before you see it when your eyes take gaze.  He knows it too.  Suited in his white t-shirt and worn Levi jeans sans one pocket, peace & joy radiate from his face.  Pumpkin gutting and with us.  His face sends out signals as if to say everything in the world I need is right here.  In this kitchen.  

This image is so much a part of his DNA to me.  It is work and joy and love and doing and together.  It is cleverness and romance, resourcefulness and simplicity too.  It is laughter and living.  He embodies all that this reflection of light can withstand to hold.  The story of this image has seeped out of this hallowed one dimensional space and run rampant through me all day.  

Today I searched him. Even though physically we were not together on this 24 hour vigil set aside for Fathers, I settled into my Dad and stayed right beside him all day. He is light.  He is hope.  He is stronger than he realizes in the story of me.  

Thank you for your kindness and for making my socks feel just right on my little girl feet.  Thank you for my "apple or orange?" in the morning and for falling asleep on the floor by my bed reading me Cinderella. Thank you for telling me I would die if I ate the center of a donut and for showing me the power of a smile.  

Today I settled into you and stayed right beside you all day.

I love you, 

.mac 

I made cake.

Ineptness frequents me this time of year.  I find myself clinging to the intangible.  I struggle with the ordinary.  I whither within myself, too. Truth sneers into my heart leaving it ramshackled & rummaged to a state entirely out of proportion.  There are years I allow this incessant ineptness to completely break me.   Like a poor choice of a plastic spoon for ice cream thick & dense, I snap.  Popping off right at the base, I leave behind only the rigid white plastic shaft of myself as a reminder I was there.  Last year was one of those years.   Then there are years when the numbness includes me.  Gosh, I love the invite, too.  The numb years may be the best ones of the lot.  No huge shockwaves of memory.  No jigsaw puzzles valiantly assembled only to realize that out of 1,000 pieces, you only have 999.

This year I made cake.  I don't know why.  As best as I can see it, my hands are the vocal cords of my heart.  Gravitationally speaking, I had to.  My body pursued a movement busy & task oriented before my mind could offer up any stamp of approval. I operated with a quasi-level of consciousness.  I drifted in only to find myself so far outside the entire production.  Coconut oil replaced vegetable oil because its healthier for you we were out of vegetable oil. I semi-measured.  I didn't time its baking.  I just assembled with the intentions of completion, yet with little conviction of flavor or finished product.  To beat it all, I made coconut cake.  1 out of 4 members in our household like coconut cake.  

I made it the day before.  Anticipation of the dreaded 24 hour reminder always makes me antsy.  I'm never best at facing a train heading straight on.  Particularly, when I am reminded of how many of us stand on these railroad tracks.  This train will pass faster this year; you make cake.  At least my innards thought this to be a truth worth clinging to.  

The icing. I made homemade buttercream.  I felt the anguish welling wildly within me.  I knew all too well that real butter makes the best buttercream.  I used margarine.  The sugar crystalized pudding was a poignant reminder of my state. Runny.  Fragmented.  Grainy.  The color.  I couldn't remember her favorite.  I wanted to say it was green, but then I remember our home having a lot of blues.  Damnit, what was her favorite color?  I swelled ridiculously with mayhem; I had to leave the dripping concentration for reflection.  Moreover, to avoid the inevitable.  Tomorrow was the day.  And, I knew not her favorite color.  

One hour later, with my composure somewhat regained, I worked to create turquoise.  My over mixed human altered fat source margarine could now claim a color.  I sanctified my ineptness with smears of blue-green onto a cake half heartedly created.  Lumps pooled at its base; cracks of cake rejected its covering.  I am those cracks every year.  Every year.

A loss was before me.  The unwanted, unpopular coconut flavor found itself saturated with soups of the equal parts turquoise mixture.  I couldn't remember her favorite color.  Spontaneously charged with emotion, I bounded out to right this wrong. Grasping at whatever it took to visually create an outside unscathed by the damage already done internally, I would save this cake.  I tried to do this exact same thing 17 years ago.

With new bowlfuls of real butter infused frosting made, I moved to mask the disaster.  I smoothed and rounded the sides with purpose.  Placing the knife aptly so, my tears fell.  Alone in my kitchen, I grieved her.  I charged on with even more tenacity to cover and to conceal the cracks.  

I could do this.  

I could do this.  

I could not.

Tomorrow she would be gone 17 years.  Tomorrow I would grieve her all over again.  I would remember her smell.  I would feel through the hours each & every one.  I would wait for the rain, too.  Numbness did not send me an invitation this year.  Half heartedly this cake became.  Cracks, substitutions and corrections are my reminders.

1,000 999 pieces.

I made cake.

.mac 

hit-n-run

Some people freak at surprises. Like the kind of freak where they can't decide whether to be ill as a hornet or just tore-up-from-the-floor-up flabbergasted. And me?  Well, I like'em.  I love to give them and get them.  There's something simple in giving a heartblast.  That's what I call surprises.  And, heartblast is the perfect description too.  It's simply lining up your hands and feet with the impromptu flash of love that God settles into your heart.   

I've made it a point to teach the boys the joy of heartblasting someone.  They have a name for a certain kind of heartblast we love to do.  It's called the hit-n-run.  It doesn't take any special occasion or celebration, just the notion and the energy to act out of love.  With this particular hit-n-run, it was Mom-mom's birthday.  

Coming up with what the surprise should be is so fun.  For this hit-n-run, we decided to amp Mom-Mom up with all her favorites yummies.  Other heartblast surprises aren't always hit-n-runs.  We've just showed up on people's doorsteps we have been missing for a visit, dropped off treats for a short stay and even sent goodies in the mail to someone who's on our mind.  

The boys get so super stoked for hit-n-runs though.  They map out the plan of attack.  Who's going to be the setter-upper of the goods?  Who's gonna ring the doorbell?  Where should Mom park with the car running for a fast getaway?  

I hope the boys remember that these acts are just exactly what makes hearts a little happier, moreover smiles a little wider in between the rough patches.  I hope they remember it doesn't take lots of money.  It just takes that instinctual obedience to scatter joy with a little bit of time & creativity.  I hope they remember to share these heartblasts with their wives when they are grown.  I hope they don't forget that flower lesson of mine too.  

.mac :)

{week 49:  my 2 in 52}

Merry & Magical

Christmas is for our hearts.  It's that joyous hiatus from hurry that settles with us for a time.  The pause is there to remind us of just why we are here.  As I spend my time documenting this day in our family's history, I can't help but look back at the way my very own Christmas has changed from little girl until now.  My steadfast & sturdy memories of 12/25 have weaved a tapestry with many colored threads of different.  And, this variety show of holiday celebration only makes sense.  For time and space change.  People do too.  They come and go from your life right along with the magic & wonder of a child's heart.  Maturity leaves a new kind of Christmas at your doorstep.  Likewise, does marriage.  And, the role of parent places you smack dab in the middle of your makings of what magic looks like for your own.  

If you're not careful you can tinsel out with the traditions of typical just for to-doing's sake.  Traditions are tricky you know.  They are so very sought after yet, if not careful, can be the sponge that soaks the spirit of what makes Christmas so special.  I'm glad that Kenny and I, along with our families, have worked to keep Christmas simple and given our best to honor the sincerity of the season.

Once the boys came along, we made it a point to see both sides of the family {which can be a carnival ride in itself as each of our families are scattered and separated for many different reasons}.  But, Christmas Day was ours.  This day was set aside for jammies and toy untangling.  It was our day to rest in the joy of Jesus and the happiness of each other.  The boys were amped to say the least to put out Santa's key on our front door, don't you think?

Christmas Eve was spent attending our church service and then maxing out in the moments of wide open home. Kenny was deejay.  The boys were off the chain playing and super excited for Santa.  And, I was completely content with reading not one Santa story.  I danced to the tunes that filled our home, drank wine and watched on as the boys made the most out of pretend.  At one point, they were shirtless in "muddy army trenches" fighting the Chinese.  Not kidding.  

Reindeer food, carrots, a sampling of our baked goodies and a good ole mug of cow's best was set out for Mr. Claus.  Eli felt compelled to leave Santa just one more note even though he had already sent him a detailed 2 page letter back in early December.  

Our morning began at 7:30 AM.  The boys' elf, George, had made his trip back to the North Pole with Santa, but was kind enough to leave behind a note.  

Kenny was just as excited as the boys were to see what all Santa had left.  This is one of my favorite images captured from the morning's festivities.  The security and contentment this photograph leaves my heart with is more precious than gold.

It was an artillery kinda Christmas for the boys.  Their number one requests were a SWAT team and Marine Combat dress up kit.  These kits came complete with leg holsters, grenades, knives, goggles, pistols and safety helmets with pseudo radio headsets.  

Eli received his very first "official" gun from Santa as well.  A Marine AirSoft gun to be exact. I love the look on his face as he is showing me just exactly what this is.

A Navy Seal boat and Marine boat were unloaded from Santa's sack as well.  These boats came with all of the cool doo-dad accessories that only heighten real life play.

Cool Dads try out the toys you know.  

Santa did work on the delish plate left for him.  Knocked back a cold one and stuffed his reindeer with the antler goody goodness too.

Our Christmas Day didn't stray too far from what you see in this final image above.  Seventy umpteen bajillion Nerf bullets found their way into any corner or house crevice they could.  Bed blankets were used as barracks for reloading.  I took off for a 3 mile run to break free from the testosterone temple for just a bit.  Kenny implemented his mad culinary skills to produce our Christmas dinner's main dish:  fried chicken. I accompanied him to complete the plate with mashed potatoes, rolls, a colorful salad and corn.  Great friends stopped in that evening for a surprise visit too.  Our merry was most magical.  I am thankful for the slowness of our day celebrating the birth of our Savior and the simplicity of family together.  As time and space will inevitably change for our family of 4, I won't forget the merry & magical of this year's 12/25. Tucked into my heart's treasure trove, it most certainly is.  Seventy umpteen bajillion Nerf bullets & all.

.mac :)

{week 18: my 2 in 52}

{baked}

I find the title of this post funny.  In many ways, I am right real baked once the k.Mac holiday making is complete.  This Christmas season has left me wonderfully blessed with business, but equally blitzed beyond the studio doors.

{my favorite cook books given to me by Kenny and my brother, Adam}

I took a personal timeout the day after the last k.Mac package shipped out.  I did this with intentions of baking with the boys in preparation for Christmas's arrival.  Goodies really are kinda nice to have around when Santa comes, you know?

And, what ended up happening?  I baked.  The boys would mingle in & out of the kitchen for taste tests and a few dough drops on baking stones.  They would roll & coat and then they were off.  Christmas music played all day in our home.  I worked at a happy pace with a sweet peace surrounding me as if my kitchen was anxiously awaiting my arrival home.

{candy cane fudge}

I concocted the above creation.  Candy Cane Fudge we like to call it.  Next year's batch will have a tiny tweaking to ensure a secured & prolonged softness in texture.  Its taste is nothing short of divine if I do say so myself.

Each family member requested a baked goody from Mama's kitchen.  Eli's request:  traditional and rich.  From scratch chocolate chip cookies.  The recipe I use is found in the cook book my brother gave me for Christmas in 2000.  

I made 2 batches as the quantity yielded is not nearly enough when living with 3 boys a tad shy of what one would call adequate.  These morsels are highly coveted in our home.  How about yours?

Next up was one of Kenny's requests.  Crock Pot Candy  Easy as pie too.  I couldn't believe how nice it was just to dump, time, stir and then glop onto wax paper.  

This was the first of our goodies to expire in our home too.  Can you say goner?  I knew that you could.

Kenny's 2nd request was lemon cookies.  Again, these are so simple to make.  I love those go-to recipes that are easy and equally delicious.  This recipe is from the Betty Crocker cook book Kenny gave to me one Christmas before we had kids.  Like, when was that?

Ahh, peanut butter fudge.  Say no more, huh?  I used this recipe only with creamy peanut butter.  Easy. Melt in your mouth yummy.  There ain't much by way of peanut butter that I don't approve of.

My goody of choice was white chocolate pretzel sticks with sprinkles.  I opted to die the almond bark green for more of a festive flair.  You know me and color by now, don't you?

The Face opted for white chocolate covered pretzels straight no chaser.  These are never pretty if I'm making them.  But, they taste glorious regardless of their curb side appeal.

Tradition, in our home, is to use the hand baked goodies to give to our neighbors and loved ones nearby as Christmas gifts.  We did just that.  Brown bags were filled with tiny wrappings of homemade goodness from our home and delivered to theirs.

Twine twirls were the finishing touches to these gifts.  We gave these goodies along with our family Christmas card & letter to our neighbors beside us and across from us.  Eli also gave this gift to his horseback riding teacher, Mrs. Beeler.  Additionally, a hit-n-run drive by drop off was successfully accomplished to Mom-Mom and Larro's house.  Papaw and Nana along with Kevin & Tash as well as Sydnie were also recipients of the brown bagged happiness.  My Dad-daddy and Aunt Sharon were also gifted some goody love on our trip down to see them on the 23rd.  In all, 9 bags were dispersed from the heart of my kitchen.  

I love the simplicity and methodical-ness of making homemade goods.  It's tradition.  It's time invested in creating something from your home, moreover, your heart. It was magic to my soul watching dropfuls of dough fall only to rise and taste tests time & again tried from my little men running amok around me.  The music and the memory of this day was just one of the precious gifts I was given this Christmas.

.mac :)

Our Christmas Story

Christmas is a story book to me.  This book is bulky thick like the kind you see in museums.  You know the ones with the crinkled creamy linen-like pages all nestled & pressed together?  Its spine is deep red in hue with gold horizontal stripes trimmed acutely in an ole world black but just in the middle.  The cover is completely saturated in that same rich mahogany red but without a trace of title or author.  Its details are on the inside. Opening the story to reveal its magical wonderment is a treat.  The beauty of this tale is in us all as we take the time to collect just the proper components to compile our own family's Christmas story.  Perhaps what I love best about this ole storybook is that it's continually re-written from generation to generation.  Each new family takes a little of the past to add to the newness of the next chapter inscribed.

I wanted to be sure to document evidence of our Christmas story here in this place.  So much of writing for me is remembering, reminding and recollecting for myself and the ones I hold so very dear. And, although I don't have a place where my little girl Christmas story was documented in words, it is a memory well preserved in my adult mind.  I remember smells and just where every little thing was placed.  I remember my Mom's hand painted ornaments with little tiny bows atop each one.  I remember my porcelain ballerina in the deep wine tutu from Niederhousers.  I remember the candle sticks on the mantle and the garland on the bannister too.  Mom and Dad's stockings Mom made from Dad's old blue jeans.  I remember them.  I can even remember the way Mom looked as she wrapped gifts on the floor.  She taped every box whether it needed it or not.  These are just small excerpts from my growing up Christmas story.  It is my hope that this collection of images with words helps the boys to remember their story a little more.

This image above is one of my favorite images from this Christmas.  It is a collection of so many good things.  The "C" is the first item I purchased when we moved into the first home Kenny and I bought together.  The picture framed of the boys is the day we closed on our current home.  The church artwork is by our Eli when he was just 3 years old.  I wrote about here.  The hand painted daisy glass was done by my Mom-mommie at Girl Scouts camp when she was 11 years old.  The green sandwich glass jars were my Mom's.  She and my Mom-mommie were avid seekers of depression glass.  And, the beginning of our Christmas story is found in the lighted church.  It was given to me from Kenny's step-mom, Candy.  More lovingly known as Nana.  I love this collection together.  It resides in our kitchen. I am gifted goodness, simplicity and warmth every single time my eyes cast a gaze in this direction.  

This is the entry way into the boys' bedroom wing of our home.  The antique RCA record player was Kenny's great grandmother's.  The silver plate on its surface is the plate that Kenny's dad used as pretend steering wheel when he was a little boy.  The rocks placed in the plate are the boys' rock collection.  They love finding rocks that have cool characteristics about them.  We started a rock collection when they were just toddlers because they loved them so.  If you'll look closely you can find a rock there on the edge that looks just like an Oreo cookie.  Casey face found the turkey feather when he was 2 years old.  It sits with the rocks because they say it should.  The artwork of the boys on the wall was Kenny's Father's Day gift in 2011.  It was done drawn by Fany, a sweet 18 year old girl who we went to church with in Chattanooga.  She has never had any formal art lessons in her life.  The hand blown glass pumpkin was bought this year at a local craft festival.  I love attending this with Kenny's mom and spending time with her.  I bought it the day our nephew, Colton Scott, was born.  I love this memory so much that the pumpkin has plans to stay out all year round.  The Santa is the beginning of my Jim Shore collection.  I adore the detail in his work.  And, well, there's George, Eli and Casey's elf! He is the descendant of their Dad's elf who was also named George.  Kenny's George first lived at his Mamaw & Papaw's house.  Then moved to his Mom and Larro's house where he resides to this day.  

This is our foyer entry way.  The lighted church and home were Nana's.  She gave them to me last Christmas.  The "Cobble" cross stitch art work was the only Christmas gift I ever gave Kenny's Mamaw.  When she passed away, his Papaw gave it back to me and said he wanted me to have it.  I love looking at it and remembering how proud I was to have made something from my hands for the Mamaw Kenny loved more than anything.  It's placement in our home is very special to me.

The above tree is what I like to call our welcoming committee.  It lives in our kitchen and changes in theme from month to month.  This tree always has a Santa Claus hat for a topper.  It's ornaments are Santa enjoying all sorts of transportation from motorcycle riding to sailing a boat.  The ornaments are wooded and with a frosty gloss to them.  I also love the yarn candy canes and Christmas trees. Lastly, the silver ornaments are simple and basic symbolizing all the key elements to the Christmas season.  

Our family's Christmas story begins together.  The four of us spend the day making our home a celebration of joy in honor of Christ's birth.  We all look forward to this day with great anticipation.  There are so many special ornaments to go on our family's tree.  For example, the sparkly Santa in the center.  He was given to me by one of my students my 2nd year of teaching.  He is always the first to go on the tree.  It's tradition.  And, the boys have slowly begun their own traditions of just which ornament goes where.  Kenny and I watch on with such happiness.

So much can be said about a Christmas tree.  It's materialism is there if you let it be.  But, we don't.  Instead, our family looks at the memories collected as a reminder of our Christmas story.  Kenny has given me an ornament every year since our first year of dating in 1997.  All of these ornaments are on our family Christmas tree.  I love hanging each one and thinking about that year of us.  There is an ornament from my childhood too.  Just one.  It was given to me by my Dad-daddy.  It is one of my Mom's hand painted ornaments of a Christmas tree.  On the back, she hand painted in cursive "Estill Springs, TN"  She used to make these every year for her class, basketball players and our family.  This ornament is priceless to me.  I also have my Barbie ornament collection that my Mom-mommie started for me when I was in high school.  Ever since then, I have gotten a Barbie ornament every year to continue this tradition.  Living in a house with 3 boys, I find it only fitting that Barbie keep me company even if it is just on the tree and at Christmas time.  The Santa star has meaning to Kenny.  This star was the star that adorned the top of his Mom's Christmas tree every year when she was a little girl.  As she started a family, this same star topped her Christmas tree.  Kenny grew up with this Christmas Santa star.  In 2007, Kenny's Mom gifted him this star for his family's tree.  This meant the world to him.  Every year, Kenny takes great pride in placing the star on top of our tree.  The boys' handmade ornaments from church hang on this tree too.  These are so wonderful to pull out and put on every single year.  Hand prints and heart shaped pictures conjure up such precious little boy memories.

Hanging of the greens is a tradition in our family of 4 too.  My job is to doctor and de-tangle any bow in need from last year as well as fan out & fluff the greenery.  

I hang the lower ones and Kenny with disgruntled contorted Gumby-like capabilities great joy hangs the upstair's wreath.  This year he coerced our eldest into helping.  This is one of my favorite captured memories from this season thus far.  Eli is beginning to look more and more like his Dad.  These two are so much alike in personality.

Our Christmas story begins with a new tradition this year.  In lieu of the boys having single trees in their bedrooms, we opted to combine their ornaments and put them on one Christmas tree in their upstair's playroom.  Nana and Papaw were so kind to give us one of their trees they were not using.  When each boy was born,  Kenny and I began an ornament series collection beginning the year of their birth.  Each year Kenny and I gift them the new year's ornament.  Nana and Papaw also give them a grouping of ornaments every year as part of their Christmas gifts from them.  There are ornament gifts from Mom-mom and Larro, Tee-Tee and Tone-Tone, Ma and Pa and Mi-Mi and Jonathan too on this tree.  I cannot tell you the joy the boys have in decorating with their ornaments.  Stories are shared of which ornament they love most as well as when they remember getting that ornament.

Eli is getting so tall.  He has always loved Christmas so much.  Holidays mean something extra special to his heart in general.  This has been the case ever since he was a tee tiny little guy.  

Our Casey face is candid about Christmas.  His eyes sparkle when he talks about his ornaments.  He gets giddy with the countdown for Christmas and wants the trees lit at all times.  

This image was captured by Kenny. It simply brings tears to my eyes. Eli loves to smell his little brother's hair.  He always has.  Here, Eli is showing Casey one of his ornaments.  As Casey leans in for a closer look, Eli reaches down to sniff Casey's locks.  This memory captured with the Christmas tree as a back drop is a huge helping of our Christmas story.  It is over time that Kenny and I have combined our story books of Christmas memories past.  We don't forget the details of just who we came from during this holiday season.  Better yet, we have added in new chapters to our story book collective.  The deep red spine crackles with age as the book opens each and every year for more edits, add-ons and revisions.  

And, the story book of our Christmas grows with love as we happy our home for the celebration of our Savior's birth.  It is my hope that the boys nestle these memories inside and always look forward to taking the time to tell our their story just right.

.mac :)

{week 19: my 2 in 52}

{thankful}

Tradition is a tricky thing.  Its intentions of forever derive from an overwhelming feeling of fortunate if you ask me.  The commitment to carry out the hopeful dream of annual is not as simple as one may think. The hosts as well as the guests possess some what of an unuttered responsibility to one another and to the goodness that comes from being together.   On November 17, 2012 our family celebrated 10 years of tricky in mighty fine form.

When Kenny and I married, we wanted a tradition to reside, build and grow from our home.  We looked at what mattered most to our hearts.  From there, we brainstormed events that would help foster our heartstrings of family, togetherness and simplicity. We were certain we did not want this event to interfere with staple holidays ink-marked on the calendar.  We both agreed that the season of Thanksgiving is the nucleus of family.  It requires no gift giving other than your time and presence.  It didn't take us long to confirm the Saturday before Thanksgiving as the tradition we hoped would grow from our home.  Hence, our Cobble Gobble was born.

Ten years is a long time.  And, our Gobble has remained traditional to its roots.  Each year I put up our Thanksgiving tree.  And, on the eve of the Cobble Gobble, you will find our gift to each guest packaged and tagged underneath.

These construction paper leaf name tags have not changed in 10 years.  As each guest comes to our home, they simply unwrap their gift and place their name tag onto our Thanksgiving tree.  Our family of 4 begins this simple tradition.

It brings me great joy to see these 2 additional leaves where once was just mine and Kenny's.

And, by the Gobble's end, you will find a house full of guests all adorning our annual tee shirt gift with bellies full and stories and sharing in full swing.  The evening glow from our Thanksgiving tree reflects this goodness too.

Tom Turkey has been present for the past 7 years now.  He is the official mascot of the day's festivities.  Tom has successfully turned Kenny's opinion of yard art in a 180 degree direction.

So have these 2 you see below.  They've changed all of us really.  As a family collective, the Cobble Gobble has become a staple in Eli and Casey's existence.  They know nothing other than the importance, priority and presence of family at their home the Saturday before every Thanksgiving.

And, this does something magnificent to a little one's heart.  Continuity and collective nestle in only to take up a residency inside just who these two little men are.  Pride swells and plans made for the ones you love is staple in their boyhood.  This tradition means enough to them that they leaped at beginning the traditions for our first time family members present.  Below is our family's newest leaf on the tree.  Colton Scott made his first attendance to the Gobble this year.  Casey made sure he had a leaf and was quick to place it right next to Colton's Daddy's Grand Gobbler picture.

This day has made its mark on each of us for 10 consecutive November Saturdays with every calendar turn.  I have watched as family members have found new ways of connecting, and while at it,  recollect on the ways of old in which their puzzle pieces seem to fit too. 

 The loitering of love runs amok all over our property line.  

 Smiles are frequent and laughter is loud.  And, I think it's because we all have our home on this particular November Saturday.  Pretension was never invited. The bags of life were all somehow checked at the door.  People come to experience a memory and to be reminded of the simplicity of together.

Gifts like GINORMOUS bottles of wine are gladly accepted too.  

There's something for all of us here each time we gather.  Connections made that cannot be replaced with shiny silver or gold.  It's called touch. Presence.  A big sister feeding her new little brother for a family to see.  The pride of "He's mine." was 10 feet tall in her heart.

And, that same pride was just that tall as I wrapped my arms around my grandfather who made the trip up to be a part and see our new home.  

It's that something that keeps us all coming back.  Returning again to be reminded of the warmth that no movie, nor gift, nor vacation could ever give one's heart.

It's that something that leaves you knowing goodness is in the making.

For goodness really is.  Kenny has masterfully perfected the art of turkey frying.  And, like vultures circling their prey, so are the attendees of the Gobble.  Shreds upon shreds of ambrosia salted crispness is consumed by any and all takers.

Everyone brings a dish to contribute.  In this buffet you will find favorites requested year in and year out. Mamaw Hook rolls, Nana's Cornflake bars, Kristi's mac-n-cheese, Melissa and Jonathan's honey baked ham.

And, this feasting will wear you slap out I tell you.  Naps are taken unabashedly and in broad day light.

When turkey hits, there's nothing you can do, but sit back and enjoy the slumber.

Or, find random wigs to put on.

Yes, this happens.

Have I mentioned we laugh a lot at the Gobble?

Wig wearing is all fun and games until time for the annual Corn hole championship. Then seriousness sidles in for a backyard stay. Teams are drawn out of names placed in a wooden box made by Kenny's great grandfather, Papaw McGill, for his daughter, Ruby.  Her name is written atop the box.  This Ruby is the Mamaw Cobble treasured by so very many present on this day.

My time with Mamaw was short, but it was enough to know that she loved.  She loved big and all the time.  She was a vibrant soul and wherever the festivities were, she most definitely wanted to be.  I know she's here every year in so many of the smiles and hugs shared on this day.

All you have to do is look around to find her.

Corn hole commences and victors are determined.  Winners' names are inscribed on a plaque to designate their place in Gobble history.  Sara, Roy's wife, has her name on this plaque not once but FOUR times.  She runs shop and we all take notes each and every year. Not.even.kidding. She and Kenny battled to defeat the husband-wife duo of Delaware, Jason and Joanna.

The night ends with the crowning of the Grand Gobbler.  It's the trophy given to the best of the best from our day together.  The ceremony precedes with a speech from the previous year's Grand Gobbler to the crowd.

Then Kenny takes center stage to announce the winner chosen by Kenny, myself and the previous year's champion.

Jonathan Holcomb was our winner this year.  His presence in this family is so nice.  He is obtusely prepared for any obstacle or task, kind and loving and consistently ready to be part of family.  

Kenny and Papaw just happened to pull one over on me which was completely against the rule book, but I smiled, cried and co-accepted.

You know, I think legacy could quite possibly be a hidden secret to the success of family.  In each of us there is a golden opportunity to live out and leave behind.  What will it be?  The choice is ours really. Legacy is the simple reminder of who you were, what mattered to you and most importantly, how you chose to love.  Mistakes are inevitable, just be sure they don't become inheritable.  Being the legacy little ones long to emulate brings forth a light that this world needs so much more of.  

With that being said, there are so many faces who mean a great deal to this family.  Their copyrighted insignia on the ones who gather here leaves shoes so big to fill.  Their legacy is one of letting go and holding on.  It's no-not-never giving up and doing the most to be just a bit better than they were from the day before.  These faces have acted behind the scenes for so many of us over the years.  From helping hands, to hey I'll be there, to just listening & loving.  Simplicity that costs not a penny, but worth millions to the investment of family.

To say we are blessed would be an outright understatement.  Kenny and I are beyond honored and humbled that our hearts' hope has turned into time together x 10.

First Annual Cobble Gobble 2003

Cobble Gobble 2004

Cobble Gobble 2005

Cobble Gobble 2006

Cobble Gobble 2007

Cobble Gobble 2008

Cobble Gobble 2009

Cobble Gobble 2010

Cobble Gobble 2011

TEN YEARS-  Cobble Gobble 2012

Each year that passes leaves us lucky and reminded that love grows just where you plant it.  And, on the same Saturday every November, you'll find this very love running amok all over our property line.  Thank you, tradition.

.mac :)