Author: haley montgomery

November 19, 2013 go, my South

go . Main Street Trolley

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I’m excited to share the first post of photos and images from our recent Fall Break trip to Memphis. We’ve visited Memphis several times, mainly to enjoy the zoo and Mud Island, but we’ve always stayed on the outskirts. This year, I decided I wanted to give the kids a little more of an urban downtown experience. So, I booked our rooms at the Marriott Spring Hill Suites right on Main Street at Court Square (I definitely recommend it). One of the big draws for me in choosing that hotel was the back door access to the Downtown Trolley. The backyard of the hotel is the Court Square park space — another plus, but I’ll share more evidence of that later.

The Memphis light-rail Downtown trolley system has operated since the 1993. The system runs as the last line of Memphis’ original streetcar system, which closed in 1947. The vintage trolleys are from around the world and are each over 40 years old, but have each been restored with brass seats, transom windows, antique fixtures and hardware. The restoration makes for a sufficiently rickety and ambient-filled ride through the Downtown area. We spent our trolley rides on the Main Street line moving up and down the thoroughfare with the sound of bells, wheel lurches and cranking metal. Dark wood, rotating seats, brass window latches and watching for our stop, it was enough like an old-fashioned train ride to intrigue the kids. When we chose to walk instead of ride, the fun came in watching for the trolley and trying to gain the driver’s attention to elicit a beep of the horn. We all cheered when several drivers obliged.

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November 19, 2013 twelve days

Day Three: When We Need It Most

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12 Days of Thanksgiving

Today marks the 150th anniversary of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. This short speech delivered in 1863 at the dedication of a cemetery is one of the most remembered orations in American history. I imagine every person reading this can quote at least a portion of the speech. The words have endured as a profoundly succinct and moving account of our country’s ideals. But, the words were also delivered as a comfort.

The wounds were fresh. Thousands gathered at the dedication to honor their sons and fathers and husbands who were buried just a few months earlier. Over 50,000 men died in the Battle of Gettysburg in July 1863. The battle was one of the largest and bloodiest of the Civil War. The community of Gettysburg was, no doubt, in devastation even four months later.

Facing the forever-changed outlook of that community, the President stood and asked the people to live. To live out the core of what they believed, of what was right. Beyond their devastation and the impact of such loss.

It’s interesting to me that some six weeks earlier, Abraham Lincoln had given another speech. It is less recognized, but we celebrate its impact every year — on Thanksgiving Day. On October 3, 1863 Lincoln delivered the first national proclamation of Thanksgiving, establishing the national holiday…

“The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God…

They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens…”

~ Abraham Lincoln, October 3, 1863

Somewhere centered between some of the bloodiest and conflicting times in our history and the need to commemorate the loss resulting from those conflicts, Lincoln was compelled to proclaim a day of thanksgiving. In the midst of sorrow and struggle and conflict, whether inward or outward, Lincoln seemed to see the value of shifting our gaze upward. The value of offering thanks. The value of doing it together. The value of laying bare a grateful heart, taking inventory of the bounty that remains. When we need it most.

As my children and I continue to walk through the stages of our own grief, I’m continually reminded of what a comfort thanksgiving can be. On days when loss or sorrow or hopelessness seem to take hold, the impact of recognizing just one blessing can be so powerful. But, gratitude has just as much of an impact on the normal days that are becoming more and more consistent for us. On days when I look at my children flourishing and vibrant with life, thanksgiving helps me hold those moments closer and extend the hope and joy to the next moment. Thanksgiving helps us string the moments together. Thanksgiving helps me know we are moving on. It helps me acknowledge that we are alive. And growing. And we can say with confidence that we a blessed. We have lost. But, we are blessed. There is no greater shift in perspective than that.

November 18, 2013 twelve days

Day Two: Time

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12 Days of Thanksgiving

I didn’t really intend for my 12-day writing experiment to be a chronicle of grief. As I think through the theme of “perspective” and the ways mine has changed over the last year, I know it’s inevitable that grief will be a part of the story. The process of moving through this change has been my life. In hyper realism. I that process has helped me recognize the shifts in view. The catalyst. The recognition of loss and coping with it seems on the surface to be opposed to gratitude. After all, gratitude is so often about recognizing bounty. Not loss. And yet, it is in the presence of loss that bounty can be revealed all the more clearly.

Part of the loss I’ve felt so acutely is time. The time Mike would have had on this earth. The time my children would have had with their father. The time to heal wounds and restore. The time to see hope realized. The time to laugh and rejoice in living, something that seemed to be so completely swallowed up by tragedy.

Time is a funny thing. Sometimes we dread it. Sometimes we look forward to it. Sometimes we’re happy to have it behind us. Sometimes we scramble to catch it as it whizzes by.

Sometimes it’s excruciating.

This Thanksgiving season, I find myself so thankful for time. And the distance that makes time feel normal again. Just the fact that time keeps moving helps us recognize normalcy. It helps us re-create normalcy. Time can, indeed, be a great healer, as the adages say.

Time has given me two simple gifts this year.

Clarity.
In the great loss death produces, time — as it incessantly and consistently moves forward — becomes more treasured. I can’t help but treasure it more. I can’t help but want to make it count more. To want to spend it doing more that is worthwhile and meaningful to me. Faced with those choices, time (and the new awareness of its scarcity) becomes the great clarifying factor. It helps to single out what is important in that hodgepodge of needs I mentioned yesterday. The understanding in the most basic way that time is fleeting has helped me make some tough choices this year about what matters and what doesn’t. And, it’s helped me make some more joyful and hopeful shifts in how I choose to spend my time — even when it seems a little outside of typical.

Memory.
Time does give us distance. And sometimes it’s the only thing that does. In the months leading up to Mike’s death, the frustration level of dealing with the symptoms of depression and the decisions it caused him to make became almost overwhelming. It eclipsed almost everything I knew and loved about Mike. Our whole history seemed to be tightly wound into that blinding ball of illogical thinking. In the months after Mike’s death, the whole of my thinking about him was wrapped up and lost in those few moments in which he chose to die. I couldn’t reach past it or beyond it. That was all there was.

And then — over time — that door cracked. It just began to crack. I found myself being able to bring up Mike’s name in conversation without feeling the steel ball of frustration rising in my throat. When the children asked a question about this or that, I noticed his name roll off my tongue more easily. Daddy would have done this or Daddy could have told us this. I watched their eyes light up as they were able to soak up a new memory of him — even in his absence. Then, as if by some miracle, I found myself laughing about something I remembered Mike doing. Just every now and then.

The gift of time was the gift of good memories. Of remembering good things. Of talking about good things. Even of crying out loud about those things that were lost — but seeing and knowing and remembering that those good things existed. The gift of sharing those things with my babies. Letting them soak up and confirm the good things in their own minds. Being able to remember that Mike loved us. In spite of his illness and his choices. And that we loved him. The gift of time was being able to treasure those memories again. To put them in their rightful place of joy — even a joy deepened by the sorrow that colors them.

I’m thankful for time.

November 18, 2013 free art + printables

Today I am Thankful For… A Thanksgiving Printable

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Good morning! It’s just a week or so until Thanksgiving Day, and I thought I would post a little printable I shared in the November issue of AQUA, the creative journal I launched this Fall. There is always such a rush toward Christmas this time of year, and sometimes that makes it hard to focus on Thanksgiving.

Several years ago, we started a Thanksgiving tradition at our house — a Thanksgiving Tree. It was a quirky little idea designed to help us all cultivate gratitude during the season. The kids went in search of an interesting branch at our farm, and we braced it with a bunch of rocks in a pot on our dining table. Every day at dinner time during the week or so prior to Thanksgiving, we each shared one thing we were grateful for. The kids were young and couldn’t write, so I recorded their little moments of gratitude on cut pieces of colored paper and hung them on the “tree.” During that year, they were thankful for things like the color red and chicken nuggets and various Disney movies. And Mommy and Daddy. We didn’t end up doing our Thanksgiving Tree tradition last year in all the craziness, but I’m determined we’ll do it this year again.

Although those little slips of paper and metal ring-tags are precious to me, I decided I would make some printable tags this year — ones decorated with Fall leaves, the date and a place to write our grateful praise. The leaves are some I found in my drawing archive from various past projects. I’ve shared them here in case they can make your family’s version of a thanksgiving tradition more special. Just click the image below to download. May your table be bountiful and your hearts be filled with gratitude this Thanksgiving season!

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November 17, 2013 on faith

Day One: Perspective

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12 Days of Thanksgiving

I’m starting my annual thanksgiving writing tradition today — 12 Days of Thanksgiving. I started it several years ago as a way to cultivate a more grateful heart during this busy time of year and hopefully to gain a deeper understanding of how the act of giving thanks can impact more of life than just a day in November.

Every year I’ve learned something through this writing experiment. Something about myself. Something about God. Something about discipline. And, yes, something about Thanksgiving. But, it is sometimes hard work. To figure out ways to delve into my soul every day during this harried time of year.

This year seems more harried. I think I probably say that every year, of course, but it seems that lately I’m spending a few more moments at the point of frustration or desperation than normal. I’m a year into adjusting to life as a single mother now. The sole provider, the chief taxi service for our schedules, the lone educator and encourager — spiritually, emotionally, physically and mentally for my three little ones. I tell myself that I was really all these things already through the last few years of Mike’s illness, but it’s not much consolation. Some days, the simple fact that I’m the only adult in my home is my single biggest barrier to peace. For, it leaves the responsibility for all our well-being squarely and completely on my shoulders. I suppose the difference is in the expectations. Something I expected and imagined from childhood to be a life shouldered and experienced by two, is now mine alone.

There’s never been a time in my mothering when I felt the weight of my own limitations more. And there’s never been a time when I felt as dumb-struck by the level of distraction in need of weeding through. This, paired with the conviction that I simply CAN’T get this wrong has me wide-eyed most days. It is admittedly stretching and confusing and overwhelming to find the most important need to address at any given moment — for a client, for a child, for myself. Sounds like a pretty good time to consider gratitude, huh?

To be honest, I almost didn’t take on the 12 Days for 2013. After all, I’ve barely written anything this year. I’ve even considered letting EyeJunkie go (a post for another day), but I just wasn’t ready yet to give it up and it’s connection to my soul. “Tradition” was pretty much the only thing that tethered my heart to this process this year. But, really, any motivation will do. I predict that the outcome for my emotional adjustment will be no less a change of course.

Clutch. Shift.

Earlier this Fall, my parents and I took the kids to Memphis for our school’s Fall Break. I booked our stay in a Downtown hotel this time because I wanted to give the children some more urban scenery. Some new experience. A new perspective.

I spent some time on our walks encouraging them to look up. After all, we rarely see buildings much taller than a couple of stories. I challenged them to think about how walking on Main Street in Memphis with it’s canopy of buildings and bricked walks and bustling traffic — the lights and sounds and movement of a big city — was different from walking on Main Street in Starkville. Their response was an alternating combination of that just barely perceptible rolling of the eyes, looks of confusion and exuberance of un-contained wonder. From riding on trolleys and in horse-drawn carriages to street tumblers on Beale and people pushing their belongings in shopping carts, the experience was quite a change from what they know of a “town.” A shift in perspective.

Of course I took my camera. I was very excited to capture the “space” and details in Downtown Memphis. Some of my encouragement to the kids to “look up” was spent in trying to capture building details, painted murals and roof ornament. I used my Canon Powershot, which has a pretty nice on-board zoom feature. Invariably, after I shifted the zoom lever, watching the details get closer, and used my arms somehow to steady my hands on the camera, I had to look away or bring the camera down to answer a question or make sure no one had moved too far out of my reach. To bring the camera back to my eye was completely disorienting. I knew where I should be looking, but I couldn’t find any reference points in that altered micro-cosmic view. Every time I had to zoom back out, find my bearings and re-focus on the detail of interest. Perspective.

I’m approaching the 12 Days a little differently this year. I’ve decided to write each day contributing to an overall theme. That theme is PERSPECTIVE. It’s the thing I think I’m most thankful for this year.

Perspective is filled with irony, to me. I’ve gained a lot of it in the process of grief. In the realities of losing a husband to suicide. In the process of trying to live prior to that. And after. Dear friends told me that although a one year anniversary isn’t magic in the grieving process, it IS significant. It allows clearer perspective, and I’ve seen that. The time helps to organize the life-and-death with the simply and lovingly mundane. And yet, as much as I know I’ve gained, perspective remains the thing that seems most easily and quickly lost. The more I feel I have a handle on, the easier it seems to see what still needs to be handled better or even handled at all.

I don’t know yet where my thinking on perspective will lead. I guess we’ll see over these twelve days. I know that God has gently moved the lever on the zoom feature of my life, shifting the view in and back out again in profound ways over the last fourteen months. I know each new phase in our process is one of seeing some things more clearly and accepting some things for their inherent blurry-ness. I know we have been in this process together. And with Him. I know I’m grateful to see in ever clearer ways how this process is bringing us back to life.