Author: Katie Huey

Float with the Wind

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Here in this valley we chose to leave my father’s ashes. Today we let him float with the wind, remembering that he no longer needs his body, that the spirit is what remains in our hearts and our memories. The concept of spreading ashes is an uncomfortable one, painful in release and a very permanent concept. And yet, through the tears, we were surrounded by beautiful community. The friends and family who have held our hands and wiped our tears and sent messages of peace and joy and comfort. Today I am thankful for the list of these beautiful people who joined us this afternoon.

The Wylie Family: John, Karen, Lauren, Leah

The Courtway Family: John, Claudia, Katy, Rob, Jenny, Heidi

Shaun Hoag & Dakota Lorenz

Pam Moore

Ron Morgan

For if you can not hold the hands of those you love as you face life’s challenges, it can be difficult to remember the beauty found in moving forward.

Too, I share these beautiful verses as a reminder that our lives are so much bigger than our own bodies can contain. That our purpose will be glorified in heaven. That beauty is to be found in releasing my dad to the wind, to remember that he is now connected in heaven, and we, too, can be free.

New Bodies – 2 Corinthians 5: 1-9

Dropping the Ball

Yup. I know it. Starting a blog post with a definition of a word is unoriginal and cliche. No hook to be found. So here I am, instead starting a blog post with a disclaimer about starting a blog post with a definition of a word. For therein lies the permission giving difference – I know what I am doing tonight here with these words, and I am ok with it.

Miriam Webster defines tonight’s word as such:

Grace 1a :  unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification

And here is my interpretation of the word.

Grace 1a : The idea that we need to access forgiveness and get space from the divine for regeneration and revival.

2a: Room for putting down burdens and picking up rest.

3a: The idea that our efforts matter even when the end destination seems to be lost from sight.

This week I am trying to rest in the beauty of grace – in the unfinished business, our gentle work in-progress selves.

And so, I share with you here, my list of unfinished items and the beauty found in the dropped balls. The projects left unfinished, the things dropped when juggling priorities becomes a little bit overwhelming. Here are a few balls that have been rolling around on my spiritual floor.

  • Laundry – three piles sit on our guest bed waiting to be folded, hung up in closets. Instead I will pick casually out of the piles each morning, until once again, the clothes need to be washed.
  • It’s Tuesday – I usually write on Mondays, I missed last week, and I’m a day late for this week’s post.
  • I still haven’t finished our honeymoon scrapbook – our 2 year anniversary is looming closer.
  • I’ve taken a new job that is in a different industry that is slightly outside of my passion zone. I remind myself that the choice to provide for our family is ok – not all of my work needs to align with a passion. Still, at times, feels like a mysterious detour that doesn’t quite yet make sense.
  • I need a haircut and my eyebrows need waxing. My mother never nags me about anything – never a ‘What are you doing with your life?’ or a ‘Pick up your room.’ Instead, she just reminds me, ‘your eyebrows need waxing’. And right now, they do.
  • I’m out of stamps.
  • Dog toys cover our carpet and the puppy has figured out how to perch upon our hot tub. My arms are covered in claw marks and she needs her toenails cut.

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I list these shortcomings as if to say, “I see you. I accept you. I am working on you. You roll around on the floor there where I can see you – dropped ball of yet to finish tasks.” To remember that despite the unfinished to-do lists, and the feelings of continued uncertainty, things continue to be moving along ok.

There is beauty found when I tap into grace – whether from a divine source or the gentle push away from my perfectionist self that is striving, perhaps too much right now, to get it all right. Help me regenerate and beautifully revive, in the mysterious process of dropping some ‘frickin balls.

Lessons from the Big Apple

I’ve been posting less frequently, and for that I do apologize. However, the energy typically reserved for writing about the process of seeking beauty has been filled with self-care, reminders to practice gentle acceptance, and travel. A little bit of travel.

I’m no expert in grief; yet I’ve heard it said when you experience a loss, people often travel. They want to get away from the place where life was shared with a loved one, where memories and unanticipated triggers lurk around neighborhood corners, seep out from radio speakers in love songs, and smack you overhead as you eat dinner at an old favorite restaurant. I can understand this sentiment and we, too, sought respite from the reminders. Our family has planned some travel this year, and last weekend we ventured to New York City – a place full of wonderful diversity, adventure, and distraction.

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Being from Northern Colorado, it is not a surprise that diversity, true diversity, is lacking in my home community. One subway ride in New York City, and I was exposed to more types of people than I ever am back at home. I found myself thinking as we rode the train from Uptown to Midtown, how much of a beautiful phenomenon it is that I can come together and share a train ride with people so very different than myself. Yet, for fifteen to twenty minutes, we had something in common – our desire to move from here to there – even if the “there” destination was different. I liked knowing, feeling, this human connection that we all have purpose, if only in the need to get from here to there.

Those subway trains are magic – kinda like a time-traveling tube of metal – it is an amazing system that moves thousands of people every day. Each time we climbed the steps up from underground, into the bright sunlight, I had to take a moment to orient myself to our new location. I found myself getting bumped and prodded as our group would move to the side of the street – trying to navigate where to go next. When you are an individual in a constant flood of people, it is easy to shy away, step back, move to the side.

About half way through our trip, though, I had another realization:

“You know what?” I thought to myself, “I have just as much right to take up space as any other human here.”

And this realization changed my whole approach to the rest of our time in the city. Sure, I can be kind, and polite, and patient – but I, too, deserve a spot on that train. New Yorkers have a bad reputation for being pushy, assertive, and bold to a fault. Yet they fill their space with confidence. I can be brave and bold and share my story without hesitation. If you spend your time waiting for others to let you in, you are going to get left out. Jump in, forge ahead, push to the front of the line.

I realized just how out of character the idea of being first is for me. Both my brother and my husband made fun of me as I anxiously pushed to the front of the line at NBC Studios.

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We entered the lottery to see Jimmy Fallon and for months I looked forward to the event. So when I dragged my family to the sign-in location twenty minutes early, and pushed to the front of the doors of the studio with herds of other people, my brother yelled, “Katie, you are going to have to sit without us!” I kept charging ahead, looking back and responding “Come on! We are going to make this happen!” Yes, we all did get to sit together, and no, I wasn’t in the front row. But I carved out my space for myself in a famous location, with laughter in my heart and confidence in my step.

There is beauty in changing up the scenery of your life. Beauty in traveling, in pondering in different spaces, and in coming to the realization that yes, in a city of over eight million people, you matter too.

Sippin’ On the Porch

It’s hot. While the official start of summer is still a few days away, the temperatures here are creeping incredibly close to 100 degrees. The itchy, sticky kind of heat that causes your legs to stick to your seat, and your sheets to remain pulled back when you sleep. I suppose I don’t have much to whine about – we do not live in Arizona, and Colorado’s humidity is typically low, but nevertheless, I’m hot.

With this heat comes porch time. Maybe you’ve come home from work, and the summer sun still is flirting with the horizon. You grab a cold beverage, and you sit on the porch. This last week I’ve started to embrace porch time, and with it, the conversations that flow while sharing a beverage. This week, rather than delving into the deeper side of human searching, I’m going to share a few recipes and recommendations for things to sip on in the summer.

May your porch time be beautiful.

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White Wine Sangria

I enjoyed two glasses of this concoction at a gathering this weekend. I am sneaking this family recipe and sharing with the world wide web. I will not disclose my source – but seriously delicious. Note – btl = bottle. Hope you have friends to share with.

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Watermelon Agua Fresca

A refreshing break from soda and sugar, this drink is made with only five ingredients. My mother-in-law made this for us this weekend, and I quickly slurped it up. You can find the recipe from Dr. Axe here. No alcohol needed.

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New Belgium’s Heavy Melon

At first I was hesitant to try the newest seasonal release from Fort Collins’ favorite, New Belgium Brewing. Watermelon? In beer? However, I quickly became a convert to this sweet and tart beer. Perfect for sitting in the sun and chatting with friends. Can be purchased wherever New Belgium beers are sold.

 

Streams with a Pulse

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Every summer my family drives south on Highway 285 towards Creede, Colorado. Each time we drive past the majestic Great Sand Dunes and glance out in the distance someone suggests, “Hey, we really should stop by and see the Dunes.”

“Next year,” someone replies, “we will make it a point to go.”

Well this year, when life drastically changed, my family made it a point to go. Rather than combining our always postponed adventure with our annual trip to Creede, my mom, brother, husband and I went down to Salida and spent Memorial Weekend resting in the beauty of Southern Colorado. While the Dunes were not our primary destination, the Park did become a highlight of our trip.

When you arrive at the Dunes, you have to cross over the Medano Creek before you can explore the sand itself. There is a phenomenon that occurs in this natural space. They call it Surge Flow – Streams with a Pulse, and describe it like this,”Three elements are needed to produce the phenomenon: a relatively steep gradient to give the stream a high velocity; a smooth, mobile creekbed with little resistance; and sufficient water to create surges. In spring and early summer, these elements combine to make waves at Great Sand Dunes. As water flows across sand, sand dams or antidunes form on the creekbed, gathering water. When the water pressure is too great, the dams break, sending down a wave about every 20 seconds.”

As my mom and I sat on the banks of the creek, taking off our shoes and socks in preparation for our crossing, we shed tears in remembrance of my dad. This was our first family vacation without him, and his absence was tangible in our aching hearts and our photos. Mom and I held hands as we ventured into the shallow water together, and made it half way across. I looked up, into the valley, and the moment my eyes moved away from where my feet were headed, the sand beneath my toes shifted. A giant surge flow was gushing water towards us, sifting the foundation beneath our feet. The pressure was too great on the creekbed, a small dam had broken.

I found this moment to be incredibly spiritual. The pressure of loss, of grief, of previously held stability had built up in my life, and has continually caused my feet to shift in incredibly confusing ways. Standing in the water I was experiencing the physical manifestation of high velocity and little resistance. Spiritually though, I was tugged to ask, ‘what am I resisting?’

The answer included the resistance of the change that comes with loss, the reinvention that comes when family dynamics morph without a figure head. Huge questions of direction and purpose and the point of ‘all of this’ when things you had built crumbled to pieces. Standing in that shifting sand made me remember that I need to allow the dams to break, and the waves to flow – to let my foundation rearrange itself to make the beautiful mountains next to me.

As the water flowed past, and the speed of the water slowed, I could again look up. I remembered I have loving hands to hold, and my own ability to lift my eyes to the mountains. I realize I am still standing and that is a beautiful thing.

Psalm 121:1 – “I lift up my eyes towards the mountains – from where does my help come from?”

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Let the surge flows break you, let them change you and shift you, and mold you into the beautiful person you are meant to be. Natures healing powers are beautiful things.

 

 

A Brief Split Second

A cocktail with cucumber and ginger beer. A shot of tequila. A beer from Odell Brewing Company. Sunday afternoon drinks are beautiful things.

Those were the beverages I consumed as as we sat on the patio at The Farmhouse at Jessup Farms on Sunday afternoon. This quaint little restaurant (which I previously wrote about here ) knocked it out of the park again, delighting my heart and the senses.  I love community fundraisers, fried chicken, and live music, and this restaurant fantastically combined the three to raise money for Habitat for Humanity. Vibrant sunflower arrangements danced in the sunlight. We sat at long, wooden picnic tables while a blue grass band played on in the background.

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What was more beautiful was how this experience was grounding and helped me return to feeling like myself, even if just for a few hours. How healing it can be to sit in the sun, watch the rays of light streak through the clouds, and remember that we are a part of our community.

This week I also came across Sheryl Sandberg’s brilliant commencement speech that she gave at UC Berkeley this year. She bravely shared her lessons learned from the loss of her own husband,  and I found myself weeping as I read. I was struck by many of her comments and thought her poignant description at an attempt to return to routine was spot on.

Sandberg said, “So ten days after Dave died, they went back to school and I went back to work. I remember sitting in my first Facebook meeting in a deep, deep haze. All I could think was, “What is everyone talking about and how could this possibly matter?” But then I got drawn into the discussion and for a second—a brief split second—I forgot about death. That brief second helped me see that there were other things in my life that were not awful. My children and I were healthy. My friends and family were so loving and they carried us— quite literally at times.”

For a second… a brief split second… This is where my heart landed. We are in the process of recovery, and with that comes the ever present dance between hurting and healing. Sunday night, and our time at Jessup Farm, was my brief interlude this week where I could forget about death. I laughed, I ate chicken, I drank, and I began to feel alive again.

There have been, of course, other moments of life over the last nine weeks, but this one felt significant. We were out in the sun, basking in the good. I agree with Sheryl and have to seek the other things in my life that are not awful. Things like our dog, and my in-laws, and foot-long hotdogs at Rockies games. Things like boxed brownie mix, planning vacations, and handwritten letters, and phone calls from friends. Like shorts weather and gardens sprouting, and friends who send you pictures of puppies in pajamas.

These are the moments that breathe in life. What are your moments?

Every. Single. Day.

 

Do you believe it? In a silver lining? In the truth that beauty, goodness, and joy can be found in the every day?

I am resting in this truth as the building blocks of our lives continue to rearrange themselves. I am saying to myself, “There is good to be found in every single day of my life.”

Every. Single. Day.

Here is my experience with the search for the beautiful this week.

  1. We had dinner with friends and used a great new kitchen accessory. Have you heardIMG_3777 of a raclette grill? Much like a fondue experience, except when using this one you put meat and vegetables on top of a grill surface and watch your food cook. Slow food, conversation, shared laughter and wine. Good. Lots of good.
  2. Lilac bushes are blooming all over our neighborhood. I took some scissors and snipped a few, bringing the bountiful blossoms into our house. Tie some ribbon around a stemless wine glass and you have a beautiful arrangement of fragrant flowers for free. I love lilacs.
  3. Even though Saturday was full of rain and thunderstorms, we drove down to Aurora to spend time at a friends house for a BBQ. You never know what you are going to get with Spring in Colorado. I enjoyed laughing and telling stories as we all sat inside on the living room floor, paper plates with burgers and chips resting on our laps, as the sleet and rain came down outside. Another example that life doesn’t have to be perfect to enjoy what you’ve been presented.
  4. Olive. This little dog continues to warm my heart and to give me plenty of snuggles as we teach her not to chew on shoes and how to ask to go outside on her own. It is increasingly obvious that I am not yet ready for a full blown child, but it is nice to have a living creature to take care of. Beauty in puppy breath, in puppy toes, in puppy chews.
  5. Pulling a recipe together out of the random ingredients in your fridge. This one felt like a challenge, much like that t.v. show Chopped. So on Friday night when I was able to prepare linguine with crab and white wine sauce…boom! I was pretty proud of myself.

Keep looking friends. There is beauty to be found. Every. Single. Day.

Olive

We got a dog! We jumped in and rescued this lovely little creature, and my heart is swooning. At least until she eats my shoes, which hasn’t yet happened.

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It is my hope that training this new member of our family will be an exercise in healing, in patience, in learning to extend love into other areas of our lives.

I’ve heard people who love rescue animals ask the question, “Who rescued who?” and I’m starting to feel this way about Olive. She seems to see my ache, and her little paws provide soothing balm to my soul.

It was wonderful waking up this morning knowing we had a tiny creature who was depending on us. And during this time of change and the continued processing of grief, as we depend heavily on our supports, this little nugget is filling my heart. Beauty in the acquisition of a new family member, beauty in puppy breath, beauty in the process of jumping right in.

Welcome home.

I’m Adopting the Term ‘Brutiful’

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“There’s going to be a blizzard,” they said.

Well, maybe not so much. This past weekend all of the Front Range hunkered down and expected to receive anywhere from 10 – 24 inches of snow. I took the picture above on Sunday afternoon at about 2 pm. While snow may have fallen from the sky for most of the last three days, anything that actually accumulated and stuck to the ground melted quickly. My tulips survived under buckets, and we didn’t even have to shovel.

And that, my friends, is why we live in Colorado. Spring snow continues to be a Colorado phenomenon, but we bask in the promise of returning sunshine when the storm passes.

A friend recently introduced me to author and blogger Glennon Doyle Melton. She has this phrase that I kinda love. She says on her ‘Meet Glennon’ page, ” Life’s brutal and beautiful are woven together so tightly that they can’t be separated. Reject the brutal, reject the beauty. So now I embrace both, and I live well and hard and real.”

This is right where I’m standing. In the beautiful pain and potential of grief. In the letting go of my dad and gaining support. In the looking forward while honoring the past.

So this week, I shift my focus to accept the “Brutiful.” I share in vulnerability some of the ‘brutiful’ things I experienced this week.

I found the hand-written toast my dad gave on my wedding day. I want to treasure this piece of his handwriting on folded notebook paper. As I sat down to read his words I sobbed, real loud ones, and Dylan had to come and give me a hug as I let the ache move through. It is brutal to know that this piece of paper will be the last handwritten note my dad ever gave to me. Beautiful to have his words, his heart, his wisdom, maintained on paper.

I had ten wonderful women over for dinner, wine, and coloring on Saturday night. Magic exists when women gather together and share their experiences over food and drink. We laughed, ate chocolate, and several of the wiser women scared me into postponing parenthood even further than my “five year plan.” Beautiful to be surrounded by friends and support, brutal to know that despite best efforts to socialize, the ache still exists in my heart. Hello heartache, I see you.

As I move forward in this dance, I am thankful for the balance of acknowledging both places, and realizing that I can exist in the middle. Thankful for the beauty of Sunday night dinners as my brother’s friends helped set the table. Thankful for the ‘brutiful’ ceremonial recognition my mom gave at that dinner as she invited my brother, my husband and me to share in the sitting at the head of the table. My dad may be gone, but patriarchy be damned, we are feminists in the house I grew up in. We will now take turns sitting at the head of that table.

I read two beautiful books this weekend, and took comfort in the words written by Clara Bensen in her book “No Baggage: A Minimalist Tale of Love and Wandering.” This exchange of dialogue was particularly comforting:

“She paused, measuring her words, and then said, “I wonder what would happen if you quit trying to be normal and just let yourself be exactly where you are?”

“What, just let all this happen?”

“You might be surprised,” she laughed. “Maybe life as you know it has shifted. But just because you are lost doesn’t mean you can’t explore.”

 

Keep searching for the beautiful. Keep exploring. Keep honoring your heart. Keep waiting for the spring snow to pass. Beautiful summer is coming.

One Word

One word. Babies.

When my world fogs with confusion, and moving forward feels difficult, I rest in the hope that babies provide.

Now, now, hold your horses. I am not talking about my own future offspring, and I am not expecting a bundle of my own joy. Talk to my mother about her disappointment in my perpetual five year plan. You know the one – when you get married you say you will be expecting kids in five years. I’ve got a year and a half of marriage on the record, but still we say, ‘Oh, we will have kids in five years.’  That calendar is still moving itself a ways out, into the future.

In the meantime, I get to experience so much joy and wonder when spending time with friends who have committed to parenthood before me. There is something beautiful about watching your friends morph into their new role as parents. It is humorous and wonderful to see how they juggle new strollers, baby wipes, formula, and taking turns changing diapers.

Having only babysat for little ones, I caught myself thinking, “they actually know what to do with all of those plastic bottles and lids. They’ve got themselves together! They can take their kid out in public, and are making such a fantastic team!” My heart filled with pride as we got to spend time with one of Dylan’s best friends and his wife, and yes, their baby. A six month old, bubbling burst of joy. This little nugget was the happiest baby I have spent time with.

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Holding his little fingers as they wrapped around my thumb, watching his eyes follow a stuffed monkey as his dad danced it across the table, those experiences are balm for the soul. And as I still find myself weeping in the afternoon, or aching to call my dad to discuss the Rockies opening game, I return to the hope that Jackson provides. This little guy has so much to see, to experience, to embark upon. Let’s continue to make the world a beautiful place. For him, and for me, and for you, because as we move forward, the world needs more beautiful things.

Thanks to Mike & Josie for making such a beautiful little baby.