Falling For It

I love this quote:

Delicious
autumn!  My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly
about the earth seeking the successive autumns.  ~George Eliot

It's exactly how I feel about the temps dipping, colors turning, breath puffing, sweater wearing change that comes every October.

It's when I can take photos of this from my backyard patio...





and decorate the house and front porch



in the oranges, reds, and golds of an autumn sunset.

It's the time when I bake pumpkin everything.

And herald the months of comfort food and friends.

It is, undoubtedly, delicious.

I Let It Go

I'm task oriented. Goal-driven. This is an excellent trait when taking exams, completing errands, or running multiple miles. This is not an excellent trait when attempting to balance the moments of relationship with the press of an agenda.

Craig knows this about me. Accepts it. Challenges it. Tailors it. And why not? Heaven knows I need the help from those I actually value more than any task anywhere, anytime! If not for them (and, I hope, my own decidedly necessary attempts at self-control), I'd bury my life under relentless lists never seeing the bold lights of relationship's day.

Our anniversary getaway brought just such an occasion, and I can honestly say, "I let it go."

In honor of the impending recollection of our nuptials, we decided to run far, far away, boldly going to unexplored lands of culture, sophistication, superior intellect, and refined society....

Okay, not really.
We actually went to Denver and had a burger.

But it was a REALLY good burger (and we also made an overnighter/next-dayer out of it). Knowing our date was approaching and having volunteered to handle all our planning this year, I was a bit at a loss for a restaurant idea. We've done the high-heels and suit reservation - a few times, in fact - but we just end up wondering why we did it: me with my sore feet and Craig with his belly still empty (sprigs of parsley and one potato just don't seem to cut it with him...go figure!)

Then, on the Thursday before we left, we caught an episode of Man v Food on the Travel Channel where Denver was the featured city - and included a ditty on Duffy's Cherry Crickert.

Located in Cherry Creek, we surmised locals generally refer to it as "The Cherry Cricket" or its even more affectionate surname, "Cricket." The premise is simple: pick your base of one of three types of burgers (1/2 lb. beef, 1/4 lb. beef, or turkey). Then choose from an array of toppings, individually priced, to satiate your salivating palate. Options range from peanut butter, to egg (fixed any way you like it), to avocado, and BBQ sauce. You can split a traditional basket of fries or go the "Frings" avenue - a happy combo of their famous onion rings and fries. They also boast 22 beers on tap and over 82 brands bottled.

I actually heard a choir of angels for, as I recently read on the label of Steve's latest beer offering: "Good people drink good beer." Thanks for the insight, Hunter S. Thompson.

By the way, the Sam Adams Cherry Wheat on draught came highly recommended. After partaking, I give it another happy "Yea".

We sat outside beneath the falling golden leaves of a corner tree as the sun sank and foot traffic grew. It was, in a word, lovely.

Then I remembered I left my camera in the car.

"How long do you think it'd take me to jog back and get it?" I asked my sweet.

The "Aha!", though slow in coming, wasn't gentle in its arrival, either. It rather pelted me up side the head with a pointy toe to remind me this:

Forget about documenting the moment if it means you're not actually living in it.

Or put another way...

Let the task go.
Just be with the one you love.

After informing Craig of my mental epiphany, he chuckled and quipped, "You're just gonna' let it go, eh?"

And let it go I did - though I confess I expressed to Craig that failing to have my own shot of the famous spinning sign was irksome, at best.

So we enjoyed our vittles and brew and walked hand-in-hand down through the quaint university district and on to our car only to find our course brought us back.

To the restaurant.
To it storefront, to be exact.
Where we were summarily stuck in a short traffic pause.
Right in front of the famous spinning sign.
Which was - oh, joy!!! - just long enough for me to get my coveted shot....

...and to savor how He cares about the "Big Littles" of everyday life -
like letting it go to see what He gives.

5113 Days

Yesterday, Craig and I marked 14 years of marriage.

(Yes, our marriage's birthday is also Halloween and, no, that was not happenstance. Really, is anything with the Covaks happenstance?)

This morning, without any real forethought, I suddenly wondered, "How many days have Craig and I been joined?" Thanks to Calendar.com, I now know the answer: 5113 (as of yesterday). Now, 14 years is cause to shake a tail feather, but 5113 days - that's a journey!

And I wouldn't change a single one. In fact, despite those that have bent us to the ground, I celebrate every one for, truly - beyond ridiculous romantic ramblings or syrupy sentimentalizing - they are a brilliant story filled with chapters on grief, joy, bliss, wisdom, and love. Lots of love. No, I wouldn't change a single one.

Not.
One.

We see our marriage as a testament to who we were, who we are, and who we are yet to be: not merely as two people living as one, but as one marriage representing God, Who is surely the Savior of who we were, the Maker of who we are, and the Planner of who we are yet to be.

Each year, I reflect on our wedding vows, remembering sweetly the miracle of that day.
We wrote those lines together - the best gift we've ever given one to the other because, every day, we recall
how we choose our promises.
Together.
And how we're giving them life.
Together.

And we remember,
most assuredly and truly,
that we have been blessed.

For 5113 days.

Wine!

It's a grading week.
The stack is staring at me.
Staring, I say!
But I don't wanna do it.
Don't wanna do it.
Don't wanna do it.
Whine, whine...WINE!

Now I think I'll do it.
I think I can give 'em a grade.

It's a grading week.
The stack is staring at me.
I have to do it.
Have to do it.
Have to do it...
now no more whine.
WINE!

In the Land Of Judd...

there lives a toddler boy with honeyed hair and blue eyes, lashes so long they're hypnotic. Where he dwells, the word "No-ah" means all forms of the negative from "I just don't care" to "Ain't no way I'm gonna' do that, I don't care WHAT you say!" The view of his world boasts Scooby-Doo anything with little toy cars Vrrrooom!-ing over everything. Every item there is colored "ba-lue", and only that which tickles the most giggles is honored.

But it is the morning - from wee hours to breakfast - when the land is sometimes hard, when ease requires just two beloved essentials: his blankie and his milk. For in the Land of Judd, mornings are not a friend: they begin with a grunt and low whine, a rub of the eyes (one, then two, then 15 times), and necessitate an immediate demand for toddler coffee - aka warm milk with half a packet of Carnation chocolate mix.

In the Land of Judd, the boy has a minion at court (this land calls her "Mommy") who makes the jugs of milk perfectly and promptly. Then comes the blanket because, of course, sometimes mornings are cold in the Land of Judd.

After becoming cocooned in a manner just-so, here's what the toddler boy looks like...morning "cup of joe" in hand:

Then all is right in the kingdom where the boy's been bathed in the warmth of milk and the hands of love.
Just another grumpy morning passed...
In the Land of Judd.

P!nk?

I like P!nk. Not the color. The singer.
Or at least, I think I like P!nk: I only know what I know, and it's not like we're having lattes in her sunroom Tuesday mornings. (Does she even have a sunroom?!)
I like her complexity: part singer, part songwriter, part skateboarder and gymnast (where she honed a skill for acrobatics).
I like her passion: sometimes coarse, but rarely dishonest, she comes across as legitimately concerned about body consciousness and acceptance in girls - young and old alike.
I like her voice. I like her music.
And I like her artistry.

I also like her song "Glitter in the Air" - my newest listen-to-it-on-repeat title.
Do I have the lyrics?
But of course! (Note that co-writer Alecia Moore is aka P!nk)

Glitter In The Air
Songwriters: Billy Mann & Alecia Moore
Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands?
Close your eyes and trust it, just trust it
Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air?
Have you ever looked fear in the face
And said I just don't care?

It's only half past the point of no return
The tip of the iceberg, the sun before the burn
The thunder before lightning, the breath before the phrase
Have you ever felt this way?

Have you ever hated yourself for staring at the phone?
Your whole life waiting on the ring to prove you're not alone
Have you ever been touched so gently you had to cry?
Have you ever invited a stranger to come inside?

It's only half past the point of oblivion
The hourglass on the table, the walk before the run
The breath before the kiss and the fear before the flames
Have you ever felt this way?

La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

There you are, sitting in the garden
Clutching my coffee, calling me sugar
You called me sugar

Have you ever wished for an endless night?
Lassoed the moon and the stars and pulled that rope tight
Have you ever held your breath and asked yourself
Will it ever get better than tonight? Tonight
© EMI BLACKWOOD MUSIC INC.; PINK INSIDE PUBLISHING

I also like this video: recorded at the 2010 Grammy awards, it's avant garde in classic P!ink fashion and it combines her acrobatic athleticism with a beautiful rendering of how a song makes you feel - not just what it's about.

Have a look-see.

The Great Pumpkin Day

We are a family of traditions: if you read along as I chronicle our adventures, you already know that. While the practice of the traditions is a family operation, their inspiration commonly finds its source at my heart's stoop. I grew up with some traditions but, when Craig and I got married, I wanted our story to be woven by-products of the "Remember that time when..." or "Every year we..." that intentional traditions create. So, we started that rhythmic repeat of memory-makings from day one - and only added more when each child arrived. Some I carried from my childhood, some we continued from Craig's, and still others I "borrowed" from great families all around the country.

But one of my favorite traditions was neither sparked by my hand nor conceived by my head. No, this one is all Craig.

When Grace was in Kindergarten, she came home with her very first permission slip. Tra-la!!! I couldn't believe we were already at this stage of her little life yet, nonetheless, there we were, scanning the various tidbits of time, place, date, and need for chaperones. Over dinner that night, I expressed that shock (and excitement, by the way) to my husband who, in his unique fashion, smiled then nodded then took a bite of food. After a beat or two of silence he added, "You know, I'll chaperone the school trips. Our kids will see me stop life for 'em, and they'll remember how I loved them more than my job. These'll be our special memories."

Yes, I'll pause her while every child of father stops to consider THAT tear-jerking sentiment.

So a tradition was born. One that Craig now carries to Elijah and one that, I've no doubt, will transcend to Judsen. So Craig takes the day off work and, much to every teacher's delight, arrives early to assist with the potty line, name tag stickings, and bus loading. He never seems to mind he's the only father and never has a problem with his assigned group - snicker, snicker. (For those who haven't met Craig, imagine their David to his Goliath and you'll get the general idea).

This month was Craig's first field trip of the school year. He went with Elijah's first grade class to Venetucci Farms to learn about plant life and picking pumpkins. A week before the trip, Elijah reminded daily anyone who'd listen that his daddy was "chappalonein" (chap-pa-lone-in) his outing.

They got to select their fave gourd and, in classic E fashion, he picked a 10-pounder that was less than easy to cart home. But, he said, "It was easier when I crammed it into my backpack."

He sure is proud of that pumpkin, which he affectionately titles, "The Great Pumpkin."

And he's abundantly proud that his hands are "just like my Daddy's."
True that.

Later, Judd and I walked a block to our neighborhood park where we met the class returning for a picnic lunch outside. I packed them some yummy treats, delivered their satchels, and left them to enjoy a perfectly sunny, moderately temped, fulsomely joyous end to a memory-making day of tradition.

And, when I looked back, I saw a tiny boy sitting criss-cross next to his giant Daddy (also sitting criss-cross), and my heart snapped the picture...for one day, I know I'll struggle to recall how small my firstborn son once was and wonder how he ever sat so near his father without consuming all the space.

And I'll think of The Great Pumpkin Day.

And I'll smile.