by Cathy Baker | Faith |
Garden City, SC has been the vacation destination for my family since I was a little girl. Back then, we stayed in beach houses only steps away from the ocean. The family favorite, Whirlwind, lived up to its name in 1989 when Hurricane Hugo whirled it across the street immediately changing its rental status from oceanfront to second row.
Since that time, we’ve stayed in condos for the most part. I hope to one day rent another house on the beach with all the g-babies in tow. Until then, I have much to look forward to as we plan this year’s family beach trip:
- spending quality time with our kids
- trying out the anti-glare screen on my Kindle
- burning 2.5 calories while chasing down a 250 calorie frozen lemonade
- Sarah J’s seafood
- Yum-Yum ice cream shoppe
- cards and board games at night
- searching for seashells – pure inspiration!
- salty sea breezes
- sitting on the beach with melodic tunes playing in my ears
- car conversations with Brian
Needless to say, our family beach trip can’t come soon enough!
by Cathy Baker | Faith |
Brian knew it was true love the moment I started spotting vintage cars stowed away under tarps on our Sunday afternoon drives through the country.
Fast forward twenty-one years, and you’ll still find us getting a kick out of discovering the classics. Recently, on a whim we decided to trek over to the car retirement home for a fun photo op.
Enjoy.
(My favorite – Pontiac Safari station wagon- minus the drape!)
The older I get, the more thankful I become of Brian’s appreciation for the classics.
by Cathy Baker | Faith |
Where do you most enjoy writing, journaling, or sitting quietly with the Lord?
Below are a few pearls from the sea of Eric Maisel, PH.D. in his book “A Writer’s Space…Make Room to Dream, to Work, to Write”, which I’m currently reading:
- “Once you internally agree to get your work done you can write almost anywhere, but that doesn’t mean that you can vanish into your writing as easily in one environment as in another. Find your best spot; or create it, if it doesn’t exist, by pushing furniture around, by reclaiming the junk room, by doing whatever is necessary.”
- Protect your writing space: lock the door, skip emails, move to an area where you don’t normally write. You are the only one who can protect your writing space.
- Honor your space. Just sitting in your space isn’t enough; it matters what you do there. Do what needs to be done so that you can enter your space clear-headed and unencumbered.
I thought I had my space all figured out (as shared in a previous post)… until summer approached. Trust me, 95 dripping degrees and an air conditioner that refuses to climb to the top of our stairs doesn’t make for an honorable space.
So, until autumn breezes begin a-flowing, this writer is in search of a cooler, kinder, and more conducive writer’s space. I’m certain that by the time I finish reading this book, I’ll know exactly where that space is…
And then, of course, it will be October.
by Cathy Baker | Faith |
On this Father’s Day it seems only appropriate to turn down one more childhood corridor to recall some favorite memories of my dad, who:
- taught me how to ride my purple banana seat, high-handled, flowered white “wicker” basket bicycle. At least twice.
- taught me how to drive—allowing me to practice in the pine-tree-filled lot next to our house while blaring “The Carpenters” on their 8 track tape player. (Hey, it was either that or the Statler Bros. Need I say more?)
- taught me how to quietly serve others. Many times he would take me with him to deliver little goodies or ready-to-use kindling on cold winter mornings to nearby elderly neighbors.
- taught me silly alternative lyrics to favorite Christmas songs just to annoy (and amuse) his mother, MaMa.
- taught me how to fish…and bait a hook. eek.
- provided a lot of fun: built a tree house (seriously) on nearby mountain property we enjoyed every other weekend, constructed a raft Tom Sawyer would’ve envied to row across the little lake that sat on the property, played hide-n’-seek, swatted at ping-pong balls (in our dining room), and churned homemade ice cream while pitching softballs out back on hot summer afternoons.
- took us on family beach trips to Garden City, SC every year, building memories that our children still enjoy to this day (especially the Yum-yum shoppe!)
- woke me up at the crack of dawn to go in search of shark’s teeth scattered in the sand.
- taught by example how to respect one’s mother and father. He served and loved both, especially in their latter years.
Because of these reasons—and so many more—I find myself especially thankful to my heavenly Father for giving me such a wonderful earthly one.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
by Cathy Baker | Faith |
For my Friday Fave, I’m closing out my trip down memory lane with one of my favorite subjects…candy.
When I spotted the fake-o cigarettes and Mallo Cups in Saluda’s old-timey general store I knew this posting was a must. My grandmother (Mom’s mother) once found me “puffing” a candy cigarette. Let’s just say I kicked the habit that day. The candy weakness that she and I did share, however, was that of a marshmallow-filled chocolate cup known as a Mallo Cup. The candy was yummy (I think I’m still working off the calories forty years later) but what drove us to buy multiple packs was the prize inside—fake money. After saving up a certain dollar amount, it would be mailed to the manufacturer for coupons.
The wooden lollipop candy holder hung just inside MaMa’s (Dad’s mother) walk-in pantry my entire childhood. Inside, were Jolly Ranchers and of course, lollipops. After finishing my homework or something else impressive (ha!) Mama would give me permission to reach up and stick my hand in the candy box. Talk about being reward driven! MaMa gave me the candy box several years ago and now I look forward to sharing the “rewards” with my own grandchildren.
Our past may not dictate our future, but it certainly can sweeten it—especially with memories such as these.
Thanks for sharing the journey through the corridors of my childhood memories this week.
by Cathy Baker | Faith |
A little girl attends Vacation Bible School at Fairforest Baptist Church in Fairforest, SC, her grandparent’s church. Years later, after a painful divorce, she was determined to give church another try, both for herself and especially for her two young sons, so she loaded up the boys one Sunday morning and returned to the only church she ever really knew, not sure of what to expect. It was a very traditional Baptist church that her grandparents had helped to build decades ago. Divorce was obviously frowned upon, especially in situations like hers.
Her grandmother had suggested she try the “New Beginnings” class. She assumed it would be a room full of people much like herself, in their 20’s, and perhaps still feeling the sting of divorce in their own lives.
When she walked through the doors, however, the group that greeted her looked nothing like her. They were much older, except for a a few. Most were senior citizens who’d been widowed. For a moment she wondered if she was in the wrong class—but God had her exactly where He wanted her. Over the months, they surrounded her with unconditional love, fellowship, and much laughter. They never condemned her for the poor choices she’d obviously made, but loved her due to the choice Christ had made so many years ago.
That woman was me and I will always look back with much gratitude, and especially love, for this group of men and women who didn’t just tell me about the love of Christ, but showed me.
An eternal difference.
