Sincerely, C Bass

Back in the spring, we decided we would try our hands at gardening again. We had successfully grown tomatoes and herbs in the past and we were ready to do it again. We decided to add some new veggies to the list, too. We did our research, bought all the supplies, and set out on this gardening adventure. After a few days, our seeds that were resting in the window sill started to sprout and we were so excited. Over the next couple of months, we patiently waited as our zucchini, tomatoes, summer squash, cucumbers, and peppers grew and produced bloom after bloom. I couldn’t wait to eat fresh veggies out of our very own garden. Conor diligently watered the plants and we counted new blooms every day. Then, finally, we saw cucumbers, tomatoes, and peppers forming on some of the blooms.

Success!

Or so we thought. In the end, the tomato plants got some sort of fungus and died, the couple of cucumbers that grew got eaten by worms, and the pepper plants made only one pepper each. We never had a single zucchini or summer squash. We were sad, but decided that we would certainly try gardening again next year.

A couple of weeks ago, I was standing on our back porch and I noticed green leaves on the end of a seemingly dead cucumber vine. I walked over and found not just leaves, but blooms. In October! This vine that was withered and brown and had not produced anything in months was now blooming. I carefully watched over the next few days and more blooms appeared. And, to my surprise, a cucumber started growing from one of the blooms. Before I knew it, there was another cucumber growing, and then another. What in the world was going on here?

Now, I don’t know if these cucumbers will continue to grow. We’ve had some pretty chilly nights over the last week. Even if they don’t keep growing, I believe their purpose has been fulfilled. They were never meant to be kitchen veggies.

I will be turning 40 in a few months. As that milestone birthday gets closer and closer, I have done some reflecting and have had some doubts. The “I’ll never” and “I’m getting too old” lies started creeping in. The insecurities took center stage. Until I noticed that cucumber growing in our backyard. That cucumber plant doesn’t care that it was supposed to finish its task a while back. It doesn’t care that it is now fall and completely offseason for growing cucumbers. No, it somehow realized it still had potential and didn’t have to be bound by anyone’s expectations. I’m taking my cue from that cucumber plant and sending those lies and insecurities packing.

F. Scott Fitzgerald said all sorts of things about life, but this stuck with me this week. “It’s never too late to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit.” Those are some pretty powerful and encouraging words. Forty is creeping up, but I am so capable of all the things I want to do. And, I intend on doing all the things!

Dear friends who feel defined by a season,
Be a fall cucumber. There's no time limit; start whenever you want. 
Sincerely, 
C Bass

After work today I went to the mall for new shoes. I decided to grab a quick lunch at Chick-fil-A in the food court before shopping. I mean, who can resist those delicious nuggets?! As I ate my lunch, I watched kiddos of all ages smiling and giggling, riding up and down and round and round on the carousel. Parents and grandparents stood watching, waving, and taking pictures.

My mind drifted to Conor’s first carousel ride, which happened on this exact carousel when he was about 9 months old. That day, I had driven to Dothan for a job interview, but did not have a babysitter for Conor, so my Daddy took off work early to keep him while I went for the interview. He told me that they were going to stay around Dothan since my interview wouldn’t take too long, but he didn’t have any exact plans for them. I finished up the interview and checked my phone as I got in the car. I had a text from Daddy, a man who almost never texted. I quickly opened the text to see this:

• 

My sweet baby, holding on with his hands and bare feet, while riding a lion.

Daddy had taken Conor to the mall to ride the carousel while I was in the interview. Emma loved the carousel and wanted to ride it every chance she had, so Daddy just knew Conor would love it, too. He was right! Conor loved the carousel! He even had his first birthday party at the mall carousel; Conor and Papa took many rides on the carousel during that birthday party. If I had known that a short six months later Daddy would go to his heavenly home, I would’ve taken a gazillion pictures that day. I wouldn’t have been so worried about getting every detail of the party right. I would’ve been soaking up every single second of Conor with his Papa – riding the carousel over and over, both of them laughing and having the best time.

I am a perfectionist by nature. Sometimes, to a fault. I need things to be as perfect as I can make them and sometimes (most times, if I’m being honest) I let myself get so engrossed in the details that I miss the big picture. I miss out on conversations because I’m busy with making the kitchen perfect. I forget to enjoy preparing a meal for friends/family because I pick out recipes that have 27 ingredients and take 12 years to perfect and I put expectations on myself that it should turn out exactly like the chef’s online picture. I miss out on appreciating the party and the fun because I’m too busy criticizing my every move and wondering if my effort was enough. I sweat the small stuff even though I’ve heard my entire life to not do that. And, it’s supposedly all small stuff, right?

Today as I was watching the carousel, I realized how much I miss out on simply because of my perfectionist approach to most events. Having things in order is important to me, but people and experiences are much more important. So, I am gonna work on relaxing and enjoying people and adventures again, instead of stressing about all the little details. I’m gonna make memories and take pictures and have conversations.

If Daddy were still here on this earth, he would have turned 64 this week. The time around his birthday is always tough for me. I like to think he helped jog those memories in me today. He was a man who laughed and took pictures and was present in the moment. He paid attention to the details but didn’t let himself get consumed by them. He was a wise man. We are approaching the seventh anniversary of his death; this song by Westlife always helps me when I’m missing him so much. I’ll see you again, Daddy.

Dear friends who are perfectionists,
Don’t drown in the details. Make the memories, take the pictures, enjoy the moments.
Sincerely,
C Bass

A few weeks ago, I was offered an amazing job opportunity. Accepting that job meant I would have to attend a conference in Denver for several days and, logistically, we could not arrange it for the family to come along with me. This job opportunity was an answered prayer and I was honored to accept it. But, that meant I had to go to Denver – by myself. No worries, though. I’m a big girl who can totally travel alone. Denver, here I come!

As I was adding the trip to our family calendar, I realized Conor’s opening day game for baseball season would happen while I was in Denver. And, my heart sank.

A couple days before my trip, I was getting everything ready. I packed my suitcase, finalized my travel plans, and thought I was gonna have a nervous breakdown. The guilt of going on this trip was setting in hard. The guilt of leaving my husband and son behind at home, the guilt of missing the first baseball game of the season, the guilt of expecting someone else to fill my shoes for 4 whole days. This guilt was almost paralyzing. It weighed so heavy on me. I take my job as a wife and mom so very seriously and this felt like I was failing at my most important job.

The day I flew to Denver, I dropped Conor off at school. Instead of going through carline, I parked and walked him in to school, giving him extra hugs and saying “I love you, buddy” more than usual. He looked at me with his big green eyes and said “I really want to go with you” and my heart broke. I assured him that he was going to be fine and that I would hurry back as quick as I could. I made it back to the car before the tears started flowing. Mom guilt attack #1.

I made it to Denver and started the conference. I talked to Wade and Conor as often as I could. They were, of course, doing fine. Saturday rolled around and Wade, my mom, my sister, and my niece all attended Conor’s baseball game. His team won! I was able to facetime for a couple minutes during a break to see Conor playing catcher. Melanie sent me some pictures and videos and while all that was awesome, I allowed the mom guilt to take over again (attack #2).

Attack #3 happened on Sunday. My boys got dressed in their green shirts for St. Patrick’s Day and headed to church. Then, they went to a family-favorite restaurant for lunch. Mom guilt was telling me that a good mom would’ve been there with her family, a good mom wouldn’t have gone out of town for work, a good mom would have her priorities straight.

Why did I feel so awful about attending a conference that would allow me to be a better nurse practitioner? Who decided what a “good mom” could do and not do? Who am I comparing myself to and why the heck am I doing it?

One of my favorite verses, Psalm 61:2, says, “when my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the rock that is higher than I.” I didn’t know the answers to the questions I was asking myself, but I knew seeking guidance from my Heavenly Father would be helpful. I took a deep breath and prayed. I immediately felt better. I opened my Bible app and found these two verses that I’ve read over and over today and have truly found peace in them.

Matthew 11:28 – “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

2 Corinthians 12:9 – “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”

I’m headed home tomorrow morning and it can’t get here soon enough! I have missed Wade and Conor more than I ever imagined I would. But, this trip was awesome – I learned some fantastic new skills that will allow me to be better at my career, I got to visit a new city, I met some amazing people, and I realized how much I let mom guilt control me. Without this trip, none of that would have happened. I’m going to work on tackling this mom guilt thing – once and for all. But, first, I’m gonna hug my boys until they make me let go.

Dear friends who suffer from mom guilt,

I feel you. I am praying for you. You are enough!

Sincerely,
C Bass

A few days ago, my sister and I were standing in my dining room talking about some old vinyl records she had recently been given. We both love listening to good music on vinyl. I remembered I had a collection of vinyl records that were Mama and Daddy’s sitting in an old milk crate in the garage. So, we headed out to the garage to plunder through them. This small collection consisted mostly of country music gold – Hank Williams Sr., The Statler Brothers, Crystal Gayle to name a few. Then we spotted Elvis. The worn record jacket didn’t list the songs, so I pulled out the records to discover what musical masterpieces awaited us and a piece of paper fell out.

We picked it up and looked at it. It was a citizens radio station license from 1976 and it belonged to our Daddy. I was intrigued. After a few minutes of research, I learned it was likely related to the use of a CB radio. I remembered an old CB radio that lived on a shelf in a closet at my parent’s house my whole life, but that was really all I could associate this piece of paper with. I knew I needed to learn more.

Finding things like this mysterious radio station license with my Daddy’s name on it make me smile so much, but they also open up that heart wound that still hasn’t quite healed…I’m pretty certain it isn’t ever going to heal.

Today, I was able to talk to Mama about the license. She sat in my living room recounting the story of her and Daddy joining a CB radio club with some of his high school friends. Daddy’s CB handle was Golden Ram. I asked why, but Mama didn’t know. Some speculation from Melanie was that one of Daddy’s friends (a man with the nickname Little Fat Buddy) gave him that handle; I hope to find out soon how Daddy became Golden Ram. Mama talked about using the CB radio much like we use our cell phones. She said on Saturday nights the CB club would gather in a vacant lot near a truck stop and pass out coffee and doughnuts to truckers passing through. They even had a club member who sounded just like an actor from the Andy Griffith Show. She said they would sometimes stay out until the wee hours of the morning sharing tales and coffee. By the end of her story, Mama had tears in her eyes. It was clear that her heart wound had opened up a little more, too. But, she smiled through the tears and shared the beautiful memories with us.

Losing my Daddy is the hardest thing I have ever gone through. We are nearing the seventh anniversary of his death. Most days I feel like I have successfully completed all the stages of grief, but some days are like it just happened yesterday. He went so fast. He was so young. We weren’t ready. I’m still not ready. I wanted Conor to have more time with his Papa. I wanted more time with my Daddy. I have questions, so many questions, but when I think about my Daddy, I don’t want to focus my thoughts on his death. I want to remember how well he lived. I want to keep learning about the amazing man my Daddy was. I want to keep finding random pieces of paper with Lanny Long’s name on them so that I can hear my Mama share more memories that have been tucked away for too many years.

I’ll keep carrying this heart wound around with me. I’m certain it will never heal this side of heaven. But, I find comfort in knowing that my Daddy loved Jesus and because of that I’ll get to see him again one day. Until then, I’ll keep looking for hidden treasures and listening to Elvis in Hollywood on vinyl.

Dear friends who have lost loved ones,
I pray you find comfort in the memories.
Sincerely,
C Bass

Conor had been asking for a pet for years. Last March we finally decided we were ready for that responsibility. The Saturday of the city-sponsored Easter egg hunt rolled around and we found ourselves and eight freshly-hunted plastic eggs walking from the egg hunt toward the animal shelter.

Oh my goodness!

The puppies – big ones, small ones, loud ones, fluffy ones – were all energetic, wagging their tails and checking us out like we were checking them out. Then we went into the cat room where we found two kitties – one that wanted to be held and petted, one that wanted to be left alone. The friendly animal shelter worker answered our questions about the dogs and cats and then asked if we wanted to see the new kittens. Conor’s face lit up like Christmas morning!

She took us through the office to a small room with a cat kennel which held several tiny balls of fur and a big mama cat. We learned that this litter of kittens had been left outside the animal shelter when they were only a few days old. The mama cat that was nursing them was not their mama, but was fulfilling the role of surrogate mama beautifully. We also learned that these babies would be ready for adoption in a few short weeks and plans were made.

Two weeks later we became the proud “fur”ever family to two precious kittens – Rocket and Jet. We quickly learned that we knew very little about cats. Did you know that cats sleep 16 to 18 hours a day and exactly zero hours at night? Did you know that cats can love a flavor of food one day and literally sniff it and walk away in disgust the next day? Did you know that cats (at least our cats) don’t like closed doors?

We thought we were getting precious kittens that would lie in our laps and sleep and let us love on them. I think we got barn cats instead. Rambunctious, lizard-hunting, frog-killing, wall-climbing, scratch-up-everything, stay-out-til-3am kittens. But, the look on Conor’s face when he hugs them tight and tells them how much he loves them and means it, makes it all worth it. Those kitties love Conor. They follow him around and watch him play video games (and watch him watch other kids play video games on YouTube). He throws them over his shoulder and totes them around and they are just fine with it. They look at me and Wade like they might claw our eyes out even though we are the ones who feed them. And, we are okay with those looks because Rocket and Jet make Conor so happy. That’s really all it has ever been about anyway. Now, let me see if I can find the right tuna to feed these animals.

Dear friends who are considering adopting a pet,
Do It!!

Sincerely,
C Bass

I typed “2018 was a great year” five or six times and kept deleting it. Those words just didn’t feel right. Most of 2018 was absolutely great, better than great! The other part? Well, it wasn’t. In 2018, we bought a new house, Conor made A honor roll and his basketball team won the city championship, Wade was promoted at his job, I finished grad school and passed my nurse practitioner boards on the first try, I got a wonderful job with some awesome people, we went on a family vacation to Disney World, Wade got his real estate license. We didn’t waste 2018 – we accomplished a lot!

Then, in October, things changed. While we were vacationing at the Happiest Place on Earth, our town was being devastated by a category 4.999 hurricane. So many people lost so much. We kept telling people that we were some of the fortunate ones because we didn’t lose our house. We felt guilty because we still had a roof over our heads and clothes to wear. A few weeks later, we both lost our jobs. Lots of folks in healthcare lost their jobs. We lost normalcy. We lost our tempers a few times. We lost lots of tears. We lost sleep at night. We lost happy.

Since that dreadful day in October, we allowed those losses to overshadow the rest of 2018. In the wake of that hurricane, we forgot about all the amazing parts of 2018. It was as if October 10, 2018 had become a solid wall that we couldn’t see beyond.

Until yesterday.

Being a child of the 1980s meant I was exposed to some of the best sitcoms to ever be played on TV – don’t try to debate me on this. From the Cosby kids to Blanche Devereaux, from Uncle Jesse to Louise Jefferson, from “what’chu talkin’ ‘bout Willis” to the Keaton family, the sitcoms of the 80s were magical. As we were packing up our house yesterday, it hit me. The theme song from one of the beloved 80s sitcoms popped into my head.

You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the facts of life.

For the last 79 days, we have been taking the bad and forgetting about the good. We have been focused on the bad of 2018 and overlooking all the good of 2018. We needed Mrs. Garrett to sit us down and give us an uplifting talk about life and lessons learned. <Cue the background music> We needed to see the moral of the 2018 story. We needed to be reminded that we had way more good this year than bad and in dealing with the bad, we learned so much and we are stronger for having faced some difficult months. We needed to be inspired to start 2019 fresh and ready to tackle anything. And, because of a few words from a theme song, we were.

Into 2019 we go. New house, new jobs, new school for Conor, new adventures. We are excited to see what the next 12 months bring.

Dear friends whose 2018 may have felt like ours,
 I hope 2019 is your best year yet! 

 Sincerely,
 C Bass 

I spent lots of time at my Grannie’s house when I was growing up. (Side note: my Grannie has always spelled her “name” with an -ie at the end and I love it! So fancy and always makes me smile.) No matter the day of the week or time of the year, there was usually a homemade treat on the kitchen counter at Grannie’s house. Delicious pound cake made from a recipe memorized years ago. Decadent pecan pie topped with pecans harvested right from the front yard. Desserts so tasty my mouth is watering just thinking about them. I still scan the counter for homemade treats every time I visit Grannie.

There was a special kind of magic that began each December in Grannie’s kitchen. Treats that were reserved for Christmastime started appearing. At any given time, the dining room table would be covered in wax paper and these once-a-year confections as they cooled. Martha Washington candy, Buckeyes, Rocky Mountain Snow Drops, chocolate-covered peanuts just to name a few. Then, the day would come, a day I had looked forward to since the year before. All the delicious candies would disappear off the dining room table and these large Christmas bags would appear.

Grannie always put the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. Multi-colored lights and ornaments older than me covered the tree and an angel dressed in white stood her post on top. And the large Christmas bags, too tall to fit under the tree, were placed perfectly around the tree where they waited patiently to be opened. Patience was not to be had on my end. I knew what was in those bags and I knew one was for Buck’s family (Buck’s family = my parents, me and my sister) and I couldn’t wait!

Usually one night close to Christmas we would go to Grannie’s house for a visit and, if we were lucky, she would ask if we wanted to take our bag home. Yes! Please! We want to take it home! We would quickly read the tags to find the one that belonged to us. The bag felt like it weighed at least 15 pounds. We could smell the sweet goodness before we even opened it. I imagine that’s what heaven smells like. Inside were bags of all the yummy treats Grannie had made that year. Waiting until we got home to open the big bag and then the smaller bags was not even an option. We usually couldn’t even wait until we got to the truck. The first bite of a Rocky Mountain Snow Drop after not having had one for a whole year was indescribable. Those were always my favorite of the treats. Perfect little mounds of white chocolate, marshmallows, peanuts, and love. That last ingredient is the one I noticed the most. My Grannie poured her love into making treats for us each year; I bet she didn’t realize the wonderful memories she was also putting in the Christmas bag.

Dear Friends,
When you are eating your Christmas goodies this year, 
I hope you taste the love.

Merry Christmas,
C Bass

This morning I was sipping coffee and reading my daily devotional. The TV was playing in the background, unwatched, just filling the house with sound. As I was wrapping up my devotional, the voices of Today show hosts announcing Al Roker’s 40^th anniversary with NBC caught my attention. 40 years! Okay, I’m tuned in now. Cue the montage of some of Roker’s most memorable moments on the show followed by his co-hosts sharing their special memories of him. One after another, they shared beautiful words. Many of them talked about how supportive and kind Al is on set. Almost all of them talked about how Al treats everyone like family.

Dylan Dreyer shared how Al was one of the first to visit her after the birth of her son. Katie Couric shared how Al was so supportive and caring after her husband died. Hoda Kotb shared that Al visited her in the hospital the day she had surgery for breast cancer. She talked about how he sat and comforted her. Then she said this, “Al shows up. He shows up for life.”

HE SHOWS UP FOR LIFE.

Those words hit me hard, y’all.

This man, who is known by basically every adult in America, shows up for his friends and his work family. This man, who is a successful celebrity, makes time for his friends and his work family. He shows up for life.

You know why those words hit me so hard? Because I’m certainly not doing the best at showing up for life these days. Am I dependable? Sure. If my family or friends call me for help, will I go to them? Absolutely. But, there is definitely a gap between what I am doing and what I should be doing. Gap is probably underestimating the space there…more like a canyon-sized hole. Let’s just say there’s lots of room for improvement.

How did that canyon get there…because it hasn’t been there forever? I used to be a good friend. I used to send birthday cards and handwritten notes. I used to call people to check on them (for real call – on the phone). I used to stop by friends’ homes when I was in the neighborhood. I used to show up for life. So, what happened? Can I be real here? I just kinda stopped doing it. I allow excuses to pad my feelings. When I feel guilt about missing a birthday or not calling a friend, I remind myself how busy I am and that my friends certainly understand because they are busy too.

You know what I realized this morning? Excuses don’t make me a good friend. Showing up for life makes me a good friend. Hebrews 10:24-25 says, “Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works. And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another. Especially now that the day of his return is drawing near.” There are lots of verses in the Bible about friends, but finding this specific passage is comforting to me. It allows me to see that there have been people in my position for a couple thousand years and it motivates me to be the kind of friend I need to be – the kind of friend that I am going to be again…starting now.

Dear friends who I have been less than a great friend to, 
I’m sorry. Things are changing today. I will be the best me that I can be for you.
Sincerely,
C Bass