goings-on and my yearly autumn revelry.

On any given day in Edinburgh you can have weather from grey with good Scottish rain that falls slightly to the side-like, to bright, shining sun, to blustery wind that eddies and swirls amongst the fallen leaves and back again. This wreaks havoc on a compulsive planner's nerves. Take today for example: While I was quite thankful for my black wellies as I trudged through the rain this morning on my way to class, I felt rather silly walking home three hours later in beautiful, golden sunlight, the traces of the earlier torrent nearly vanished and here I am trudging again because it's actually really difficult to get full range of movement in knee-high rubber boots. Who trudges when it's beautiful and sunny outside? This girl, the planner, the one who coordinates her umbrella and rain boots--they're just both black, so really I'm not that bad. Living in Edinburgh has been teaching me, among many other things, that you've got to roll with the punches; that you can't control everything and sometimes you might wear your rain boots when it's gorgeous outside. Hint, hint, so is everyone else who left their flats at 11AM and saw the downpour in progress before they got dressed--you're not alone.
But then there are other days, like yesterday, when everything about it is perfect. And when I say perfect I mean perfectly autumn, which is what heaven will be like in my opinion. I noticed it as I rushed to class, having dressed for the weather that had encompassed the previous two, i.e. flipping cold, and when I got to class and stripped off my scarf, glovies, coat and sweater I was still steaming up my glasses. After a good hour of Gaelic, however, my internal temperature had balanced itself, and as I stepped out of 19 George Square I couldn't help but to wander into the fenced garden that is in the centre of the square. An escape of nature amid the studious stone Georgian buildings of the square. On a crisp and sun-laden day such as it was yesterday an escape like that is a necessary part of the day. I found a bench in the center of the garden which has a surrounding wall of tree and bush that shields someone within from the constant reminder of the city, and I sat and wrote and reveled. The wind blew through the boughs, sending a flurry of autumnal color  raining down on the solitary benches and winding paths. It was one of those days when you can smell the intoxicating scent of autumn on the breath of the wind, and undeniably feel it in the crisp air. The white wisps of cloud moved swiftly overhead and the sun revealed its face through the veil of autumn cloud. Every once in a while, a fellow reveler would walk by, and the telltale crunch of the fallen leaves beneath their steps was ever-so satisfying to the ear. You know, there's something about the richness of color in the autumn leaves, the golden-brown, tawny-yellow and the occasional flourish of crimson or sugary-orange, it all makes my senses palpitate with joy and fervor for the season. Yet still, even among the richness of the autumn color there was the evergreen of the holly bush--that stalwart plant--which is one of all seasons, yet it invokes the promise of winter and Boreas' arrival, fast and fair, into this ancient stone city. As I sat, the other benches were acquiring occupants, those who, like me, cannot resist a day like yesterday and must revel in its loveliness. I did not linger there too long though, moments such as those are fleeting and someone else surely desired my place there, my reveling bench, before the colors fade and that beauty dies away.

The path I followed to my reveling bench.

Besides sitting around, slack-jawed, staring at pretty leaves, I really have been getting an education. My classes are going well and I'm learning a lot. I still feel a bit like I'm in over my head, but I know that will pass and I will conquer my fears of not being good enough or whatever other silly thoughts are forcing their way into my mind. Gaelic, or Gàidhlig, as it is in it's own language is going quite well. It's difficult, but I can feel it getting easier and the words and pronunciations coming into my mind quicker and quicker. I mean how counter-intuitive for an English speaker to pronounce pigheid like "pee-atch"? I mean really. Now that is one of the more difficult ones, and it means parrot (and possibly sometimes magpie as well) but still. It's rough on the brain. Or here's one, more of a crazy Gaelic construction than just a word, but, in Gaelic, there is no verb "to have" (why? I have no idea, we all know the Highlanders knew the idea of possession), so in order to contribute possession they say "at." Here's an example, if I wanted to say 'I have a dog' (I miss you, Cael!), I would say 'Tha cù agam' which literally means 'A dog is at me.' Of course, that sentence also employs the use of a prepositional pronoun, using 'at' and 'me', aig (the word for 'at') + mi (pretty obviously the word for 'me') becomes agam. If I were to say 'Mary has a dog,' it would be Tha cù aig Màiri, 'a dog is at Mary.' Fun, isn't it? And we learned this within the first week, so that just indicates how difficult the actual difficult stuff is. But I am enjoying it, really. It's quite different learning something because you have to, and learning something because you want to. And I want to learn Gaelic, so I have proper motivation to get through the propositional pronouns and lenition (I'm not going into that here, sorry).
My other class, The Supernatural World, is quite interesting. It explores the traditional superstitions and magical thinking that is so latent within Scottish culture, from divination to changelings and the fairies, witchcraft to the second sight among Scottish families. It's really neat to look at the folklore that comes from this area and the Highlands. I'm also doing a Approaches and Methods in Gaidhealtacht Studies which is basically seminars each week on different topics within Highland Studies that I'm interested in given by the expert in that field to give me an idea of what I might be more interested in with relation to my dissertation. I have to write essays for both of those classes then an exam for Gaelic at the end of the semester.
Jeremy is enjoying his Arthurian Scotland class that meets in Edinburgh Castle, and he's job-hunting as well. Were still enjoying being slightly touristy with sight-seeing and exploring this gorgeous city. Tonight we're going to Sandy Bells, a pub that has live traditional music every night and was the hub of the folk music revival here in the 60s, which is pretty brilliant.
Sorry I've written a novel here, I hope to update sooner next time--we'll see how that goes. I hope this post finds all who read it quite well. Until next time.

Slàinte mhath,

Caitlin

accepted.

I thought I would post my entrance essay from my application to the University of Edinburgh for the Master's programme in Highland Studies. I'm rather fond of it. Oh, and the Celtic Festival this past weekend was brilliant, albeit quite hot. But great company all round, fiery fiddlers, and bullfrog bagpipers.

Why Highland Studies?

I was sixteen when I first set foot in the British Isles—in Ireland to be specific. Consequentially, Ireland is and will always be my first love. It was among the colored doors and cobbled streets of Dublin that my love began to grow, and in the rolling, sheep-dotted countryside of that emerald isle that it was solidified. Spending time with the people soon thereafter intensified even more so my belonging to the land, with my sarcasm and dry wit so readily accepted and returned. Soon after realizing that the majority of my family’s heritage came from all corners of both isles, the best-received compliment anyone could pay me, with my dark curls and blue eyes, was, “you look Irish.” Having been keenly interested in all things Irish for quite sometime, I met my now husband my first year in college. Said husband is decidedly Scottish in his own heritage, right down to his flaming red beard and strongly stout Scottish build; not to mention a certain penchant for Glenfiddich, that, and a stubbornness rarely seen this side of a mule. Slowly I began to realize that while Ireland’s hold upon my heart was steadfast, that did not mean there was not room for another passion to stake its own claim there—another passion that seemed so similar to the first that they might just simply stop being first and second and become just one large Celtic entity entwining my heart within its intricate knot work. I now realize that my love and passion for Ireland can be just as easily translated into love and passion for Scotland as well. I can just as effortlessly imagine myself getting lost amidst the culture, music, language, and heritage of Scotland as I have Ireland, in fact all those things seem to become more parallel the further back into history one travels. That being said, the nuances in these cultures also interest me, and I intend on not only studying Highland history and culture, but also later on going to study the Irish equivalent as well. But for now, it is the Scottish call that is stronger, buttressed with the heartrending cries of the pipes, those that stir my very core to its cause. Because, while my soul might be emerald green, my heart is tartan-clad.

But what is it about the Celtic people that draws me so? As I sat, hands poised over the keyboard, thinking about the best and most truthful way to answer this question, I realized that the same thing that kept me from completely putting into words the way I feel about the history of the isles is the answer to the question. It’s the mystery. It’s the stone circles scattered across the land, and the way that I cannot quite disbelieve the mysterious and magical things said to happen there. It’s the way I could never explain to my friends when I came home just how much I was changed by setting foot in Ireland. It’s the way my chest tightens when I see photographs of the land. I want that feeling and change and mystery to be so much more than part of who I am, I want it to be what I do.

A formal education, I feel, would extend my passion into something tangible, something concrete, something more than just an interest or hobby. As a writer, and one highly influenced by Celtic culture, a deep knowledge of the subject would be invaluable. As an eventual mother, I would be able to instill in my children the love and appreciation of their heritage even more so. And as a teacher, either formally or informally, my knowledge would help those searching and yearning, as I am now, finally find something to which to holdfast.

i just want morning light.

Apparently my daylight has been saved or some such nonsense. I would eagerly beg to differ with that alleged salvation, and it's only eagerly because I've been awake for two hours already and am well into a Black Irish Mocha, procured when I dropped Jeremy off for work. Two hours ago I undoubtedly would have held the same sentiments, though less eager, and more incomprehensible listless growling about having to wake up before the sun. I'll be the first to admit loving the idea of daylight savings time in the autumn. I mean, who would say no to an extra hour of sleep? Though the trade off of losing an hour of sleep now seems mightily unworthy of having one measly hour more of sleep four months ago.Why must we wake before even the sun has deemed it necessary to fill our valley with her golden morning light? How much better to wake with her, letting those gilded rays lightly kiss our eyelids, willing us to rise and see the beautiful new day that has come? I know we have responsibilities to think of, but I seriously think it is just wrong to have to wake up to darkness when it feels as if we've just fallen asleep to that same lack of light. That being said, the daylight has come now, and I am enjoying being up early enough to appreciate the nuances that only belong to the morning.
Here's to spring, and the coming fullness of new life. Crocuses have bloomed, and tulips and daffodils are imminent. Come quickly, dear spring, fill this valley with your warm embrace, and raise to life all the verdure that awaits your presence to make themselves known.


Caitlin

20k milestone.

I just reached the 20,000 word milestone in my novel. I started with 10,000, so I've only written about that much, but with Candlelight season upon us at Biltmore and everything else I have going on I'm pretty proud of myself. :)
Here's the cover art I've designed for The Chancellor's Daughter.

Hopefully, I'll be able to update again soon.

i think i'll give it a try.

Wish me luck.

inspired today.

It Comes to a Beginning

As the colors begin to fade

And the last of the warmth seeps away.

One last jaunt into the highlands to

Bid farewell to the glory of autumn.

We wander the hills

Over rocks and roots

Under felled trees not yet prostrate.

Soaking in the verity of the moment.

I shall call upon that memory made

One cold winter’s day, when all I see is frigid blue.

I’ll remember the warm golden sunlight

And the warm golden leaves before they spirited away.

And perhaps for a moment it will warm me again

Before reality lays ahold, and the blue seeps back in.

But these sweet trysts of autumn during winter, spring then summer

Find me back to when the leaves espy their courage.

By Caitlin B. Foreman

tension tamer ginger tea. [an eerie evening]

The trees were unusually vocal, and the night was eerie as I walked Cael in the darkness. The shadows were long and skeletal, and the chill in the air sharper than it has yet been. Sounds came from the woods to my left, and voices not belonging to the trees whispered in the branches above me. We walked on; the voices followed. The wind created a tumult in the canopy above, causing leaves to rain down around me in torrent of cold darkly colorless leaves. The dark is frightening; it pilfers the brilliant color that normally typifies my sleepy valley. Where there is darkness, no color remains. We continued up the road, through the shadows, trying to ignore the voices in the trees. A gravel, tree covered road peels off of the one we tread, and it abruptly ended into a huge mouth of black nothingness. Mysterious noises piqued Cael interest as he strained on his leash toward the ominous blackness, my senses and the hair on the back of my neck held any degree of curiosity I might have a bay, while I attempted to keep my spaniel as such. We turned and headed for home, still being trailed by the voices in the forest, as the occasional leaf, drained of color, ghosted to the ground at my feet. I shivered, pulled my scarf closer to my neck, and tried to think of nothing but the hot tea I would have when I had returned home.

honey vanilla white tea. [autumnal weekend.]

This past weekend was full of autumnal occasions. Friday was a day of relaxation for Jeremy and I, I made dinner and we watched Scream 2, (Hocus Pocus is next on my list). It was nice to stay in and just enjoy each others' company. Saturday morning I met with my girls to discuss our brilliant ideas about our brilliant novels, and to laugh and be silly with each other as well. We had to cut our meeting a bit short due to the wedding of friends of Jeremy and I, which we were going to at two. Shelley and Nate married each other on the beautiful, albeit chilly, autumn day that Saturday was. The wedding was held In The Oaks, in Black Mountain, beneath a sunshade of autumn oaks, maples, and birches. It was gorgeous, and Shnate (as they have been dubbed) were blissful in each other's arms. I was able to take many good photos for them as well, just as a gift. The reception was catered by Jeremy's mother, Anne, so needless to say, the food was exquisite. Their dance was romantic, their smiles perpetual, and their escape, fingers entwined, through a throng of people tossing freshly gathered leaves of many hues, was sublime.
After the wedding, I went to catch the last fifteen minutes of the Montreat vs. Covenant soccer game, we won 4-0, very exciting. Jeremy and I celebrated with part of the team that evening.
On Sunday morning, Jeremy and I awoke early with intentions of leaving at the break of dawn and abscond to the parkway for the day to enjoy the beauty of the leaves, and the majesty of the mountains. Though we got up a little later than anticipated, we still made it up to the parkway before the crowds and had a wonderful day. We brought Cael along with us, he was a pain, but we love him were glad we brought him in the end. For some reason part of the parkway was closed and we couldn't go farther than Craggy Gardens, so we pulled in there. We ate our lunch, and then hiked the trail that began on the far side of the picnic area. Jeremy, Cael, and I embarked on the trail leading up to the summit of the small mount we were on. The trail took us twice as long to follow for we tended to venture off the beaten path whene'r something caught our eyes. It was an easy hike, about mile long, though we easily did two. One such venture took us deep into the woods for the better part of a half an hour before we rejoined the trail. The forest was beautiful, the sun danced playfully upon the golden leaves, while igniting the those that were crimson. The trees stood tall and strong, inviting us to caper below their emblazoned canopy. I felt like I was in a different world, the forest made me feel like I belonged there. The trees whispered around us, and the breeze carried their message of peace and tranquility to our ears, tempting us to lose ourselves within their undisturbed embrace of earthy serenity. We came to ourselves before all manner of mind was lost and found our way back to the path. Ambling the rest of the way up the trail did not take long, and the view at the top was magnificent. I spent some time up there, then began our trek back down to reality. The trip back didn;t take half as long as the former, and were within view of the prking lot all too soon. We drove him, still feeling enchanted, though our exhaustive exploits of the day began to take their toll on us the moment we sat down. It was a beautiful day, and I was lucky to be able to spend it with the most amazing husband anyone could ask for.
Later that evening, I made a dinner of avocado burgers with carmelized onions, and honey mustard dressing, and Laura and Chelsea came over to eat and watch North and South which is a charmingly romantic story set in 19th century England. Though a bit long, it was worth investing the time to see the way Mr. Thornton looks at Margaret in the train station.
*Sigh*
As always, Chelsea and Laura's company was amusing and thoroughly enjoyable.

As you can imagine, I'm quite knackered and in dire need of a good long rest which I am hoping to obtain tonight.

Cheerfully exhausted,

Caitlin

hot fresh-pressed apple cider. [mind of Gwen]

I know I'm not drinking tea, but if you knew how glorious this apple cider tasted you wouldn't be questioning me.
Classes are now back in full swing, and I'm just praying that the second half of the semester goes as quickly by as the first half. Overall, my classes are going well and I'm enjoying most of them, most of the time.
Autumn is still working on transforming this valley into a palette of deep, rich colors; the paint brushes of trees still striving towards their brightest, most vivid colors. The leaves have begun to loose themselves from their places on the lofty branches with the aid of the occasional gust of crisp westerly wind. On Cael's walk this morning, up ahead of us a breath of wind liberated some leaves from a yellow birch tree, they looked like gold flakes glittering to the ground in the morning sun.

I have been working on my novel lately and been making some encouraging progress, but I continue running into the same problem. Gwen, my protagonist, is reluctant to allow me full access into her mind--this is a problem because I am writing it in first-person, from her point of view. I feel like I'm forcing ideas into her head, then when I go back and read them, they don't fit into the narrative at all. I've done a character study, but maybe I need one that is more in depth, because Gwen is not one that lets people in easily. Any ideas on how to get Gwen to let me in?

Cider-iffically,

Caitlin

black currant black tea. [harvest time]

This morning heralds the end of my Fall Break, which is rather unfortunate--but it also ushers in the latter half of the semester, which means I'm only about six weeks away from graduation. As much as I do not want to go to class this morning, I must think of what is to come, and why I must go. This has perhaps been one of the best ones I have ever experienced. I read the entirety of Son of the Shadows, and loved every page of it; and I also began Child of the Prophecy, which is the next of the trilogy.
Yesterday was perhaps the best day though. Jeremy and I went to church at iSight, which was quite fulfilling, then came home and made and had lunch with Laurel, Jeremy's sister. After Laurel left we went out to find pumpkin carving tools, candy corn, and some pumpkin ale. Jeremy brought home three perfect pumpkins the other day, and we spent all day together yesterday carving pumpkins, toasting pumpkin seeds, listeing to Irish music, and eating candy corn. It was so great to spend a day with Jeremy, laughing, and joking around, and just being together having fun. I love carving pumpkins, and he surprised me the other day when he brought them home, like they were flowers. I was so excited. It was just such a pleasant time with him. We each carved one of our own, then I traced one, and he carved it while I made dinner. Can you guess which one's which?
We then watched The Village, which isn't terrifying, but it's as scary as I tend to venture to see. I love that movie, it's so thrilling--but I realized the real reason why I love it is because of the relationship between Ivy and Lucius. It's beautiful. There is this one scene where their town is being invaded by dangerous mythical creatures who have not breached their borders in many years, while everyone is terrified, running inside to their safe places beneath the floor boards, Ivy, who is blind but also one of the more capable people in the village, is standing on the front porch with her hand out, waiting for Lucius. She knows he will come for her, she has a faith in him that is so pure and so sure that she risks her life as one of the creatures is coming for her, but before it gets there, another hand firmly grasps hers and leads her inside. Lucius had come, just as she knew he would. It it's just such a beautiful picture of the kind of trust two such people should have in each other, they are not engaged yet as of that scene, but they do become so later. It really is the ultimate image of a blind faith, as cliche as that might be.
Spending time with Jeremy yesterday was so enjoyable, and reading books with such strong, faith-filled love, and seeing The Village last night really made me appreciate him all the more. We are so wonderful for each other, and it's beautiful to see our relationship strengthen, and our lives grow intwined with each other, creating not just two people perfect for each other, but eventually, one heart beating in a steady, never-ending cadence of devotion.

Not caring how sappy this post seems,

Caitlin

darjeeling black tea. [autumnal elegance]

After a wonderful night of dinner, dessert, and great company--Laura came over for dinner and brought with her an delectable chocolate peppermint torte--I read a bit before going to bed, and was inclined to sleep in this morning. When I woke up, Cael was ever so ready to go on his morning walk, tail wagging, constant whining and all. I threw on my favorite blue hoodie, my black sambas, got Cael leashed up and headed out the door.
As soon as I took a few steps outside I knew this morning was different. I continued walking, letting Cael do his thing, then usually I would turn back for home as soon as he was finished. But this morning lured me on to continue walking, the crispness in the air, the vibrant colors on the trees, and the ever thicker carpet of yellows, reds, and browns enlightened my mind to the fact that it was now undeniably autumn. The toughest wildflowers were still hanging on, but even they cannot last much longer, their springy pinks and purples no match for autumn's gold, scarlet, and sweet orange. As Cael and I walked, protected by the still intact canopy of the trees, the chill was nipping but not biting yet, still a small puppy waiting to be full grown with the coming of winter. The mist was covering the mountains again, giving way to yet another contented sigh from me as we walked on. The wind, by and by, would ripple through the trees and they would lean in toward each other as if telling great secrets only they can understand, precipitating a new array of color to rain down to the ground, adding to the beautiful autumnal mantle through which I continued to walk. We walked for the better part of an hour, smelling, hearing, seeing, and even tasting the lovely weather with the coming and going of the breeze, always having something else riveting to catch the eye. We turned for home, enjoying the last few paces of our walk and the wind prompted the trees to again begin whispering and leaning in toward each other, I couldn't understand their cryptic language, but I'd like to think they were calling to me, telling me to return again soon to enjoy their protective canopy, and delight in their resonant colors once more.

Enraptured by Autumn,

Caitlin

honey vanilla chamomile tea.

I am not actually sipping my honey vanilla chamomile tea yet, I am awaiting the whistle of the kettle to forewarn me that the water is boiled and my tea can now begin imbuing its flavorful herbs in my white, wide-mouthed mug. Anytime now. Ah, I can hear the pressure rising...
Now that my tea is steeping and sweetened with the perfect amount of honey I can really sit down and write. Today has been another long day, made bearable by two things: The perpetual rain today has shrouded the mountains all around the valley in that enchanting mist I love so much, hiding the peaks so that one can imagine they loom higher than ever before in majestic mysteriousness. Today is also the beginning of Fall Break, and I am so thankful to get a couple days away from the engrossing life of being a student. I have two extra days in which to read whatever I want, and spend my time how ever I please, which may or may not include any of the following: reading, writing, drawing, thinking, painting, and then of course the everyday things like walking Cael, and loving my husband so well. These things are all prevailed upon in my everyday life by my school work and constant thoughts of assignments, grades, and articles for the newspaper. I eagerly anticipate giving them their due time these next few days; then alas, it will be over before I realize.

My tea is finally cool enough to sip. The flavor of the aromas are dancing upon my tongue in peaceful pirouettes then waltzing back and forth, making aqauintance with every tastebud before slipping down my throat, warm and comforting. The smell of chamomile is something that never fails to calm my senses and ease the tension that usually accumulates in my shoulders any given day. It's sweet but not sickly so; the redolence seems to permeate my being little by little, each breath taken being deeper than the one before it. It smells like home, like curling up with a good book on a chilly winter's gloaming, like the warm embrace of a parent when you're young before drifting off to sleep. When I smell chamomile I find it easy to imagine myself in my favorite fantasy novel, having a warm cup of chamomile tea before the hearth of my father's household, being full from a hearty dinner, surrounded by family listening to stories of old I've heard a thousand times and of which I never tire.
Now I am finding that as my body relaxes, that tranquility is knocking at the door to my mind. I think I'll end here, and go and welcome my guest waiting on the doorstep; I'll invite him in and ask him to stay a while.

Peacefully,

Caitlin

irish breakfast tea. [autumn approaching]

It's one of those mornings again. I do not say this because it's a dreadful, nothing is going right sort of morning. I say it because the night and dawn have brought a beautiful, enchanting mist upon my valley again this morning. I love these kinds of mornings, and while I took Cael out on his morning walk I took in the smells of the damp woods as the crisp autumn air nipped at the back of my neck. I pulled up my hood and noticed leaves littering the ground in a decorative carpet of golds and yellows. The vermilion leaves have not yet begun to show themselves as much as the vibrant, early yellows, but I have heard whispers of the sugar maples preparing for the day when they will allow their colors to explode forth in an array of gorgeous shades of sweet orange, yellow, with hints of crimson. I'll be there on that day, taking in the beauty and admiring the canvas of color with which God always blesses this valley. The time approaches.

vanilla black tea.

Yesterday was a pretty long day. I was on my feet, serving appetizers, serving wine, then clearing dishes, among other catering duties most of the day. It was for a fortieth wedding anniversary party, and it was a pretty sweet event. The house where the party was held was off of Elk Mountain Scenic Highway, which connects to the Parkway--it winds, twists, and turns up and around a mountain for about fifteen minutes before the intended destination. The way up was a bit precarious, because I was ill familiar with the road and its sudden veerings left and right. But after the party, around 10 o'clock in the evening, the brisk mountain air lured my windows down, my moon roof back, and my senses unwound as the road unwound itself down the mountain. I listened to some of my favorite bands, breathed deep, and enjoyed the crisp autumn zephyrs as they danced wildly with my dark tresses and gently kissed my eyelashes. It was one of the most pleasant drives I have had in quite some time.

Today in church, I was informed that a girl at my school's father died suddenly last night of a heart attack. He was in his mid-fifties and it was completely unexpected. My heart goes out to her and her family, I can't even imagine losing my father--just the idea makes my chest tighten and my eyes threaten to unleash a deluge of tears. It makes me miss my father, as well as my mother, tremendously. They live in Germany, and I see them very little except for Skype phone calls very once in a while. It makes me appreciate having such great parents, and continuing to love and grow in my relationship with them. Since I've gotten married our dynamic has changed to more of a friendship which is really wonderful. So Dad and Mom, I love you very much, and miss you more than you know. Thanks for being so amazing, and I look forward to when I am next able to see your smiling faces, and throw myself into your loving embraces. Can't wait till December.

Still sipping,

Caitlin

honey vanilla chamomile tea.

Autumn is here at last. I can feel it in the crisp chill in the air, and smell it in the breeze. The trees are beginning their annual spectacle of vivid shades of gold, vermilion, and orange. I feel it as I have a wear a hoodie or jacket when I take Cael on our morning walk. I sense the change, and it makes me smile and sigh with contentment. Autumn has always been my favorite season, and I look forward to enjoying another glorious Western Carolina autumn with Jeremy, and now Cael as well.
For those of you who have not been able meet the newest addition to our little family, I hope this video clip will help you realize what you're missing. Jeremy and I would love for you to visit.

vanilla black tea.

I sit down to write today in the midst of a Montreat afternoon thunder shower. With all the windows in the room open, as well as the door, I am able to enjoy the poetic fragrance of the shower. If you've ever been in Montreat during one of these wonderful events you know what I'm talking about. The smell of fresh rain, and damp earth are mingling with the aroma of vanilla and black spices within my tea and soothing my spirit.
Afternoons such as this never fail to bring a smile to my face, and a contented sigh upon my breath. Earlier today I was feeling a bit overused, tired and unsought. Those moods have a habit of creeping up on me when I'm not expecting them, making them harder to combat. I tend to dwell on the things going awry in my life, things that I don't have or things I desire to have happen, but dont. It's hard to come out of a slump like that on your own. Then I remember who has my seemingly huge problems right in the palm of his hand. I realize that God's going to take care of me, no matter how I feel or what happens. Instead of turning inward and feeling sorry for myself, I must lean on the shoulder of God, a shoulder that will always be there--waiting for me to lean on him. Then he brings me a thunder shower, speaking to me in the deep rumblings of the thunder and in the sweet aroma of the new rain. He washes away my worry and doubt with his majestic glory, and I realize how small my problems really are to him. As long as I trust in God, he will always pull me out of my slump--as a little weeping child is pulled up from the ground into his loving father's strong embrace. He tells me it'll be okay, and to just trust in him. He knows my needs better than I do, and he will provide. Always.
Thank you, Lord, for never leaving me in my times of doubt and darkness, but shining your glorious light upon my life, and ever holding me within your loving, strong embrace.

Still sipping,

Caitlin

filled with chai latte goodness.

It rained late into the night last night, and this morning an enveloping mist shrouded the valley of Montreat, making it even more like a fairy tale than yesterday. By the time I went outside to walk Cael, my beloved puppy, the mists had receded but they left a similar feeling of mystery and an imagination evoking sensation. I took a photograph so my lovely readers could share in my imaginings. Can't you just see fairies making their home in an enchanting place such as this?


This morning I went to Moments, Jeremy's coffee shop, (that's where I had my chai) and met with my group of novelists--Laura and Chelsea--to discuss the progress we have made this week on our writing. It's so good to meet with such good friends, sharing common interests, and be able to help one another improve our writing, plot, dialogue, etc.

We all read a bit from what we've written, well, Chelsea read a LOT, but it was all so good, Laura and I didn't care. It was good to read some of my story, and hear it out loud. It is always helpful to hear something you've written read out loud, it puts things into a different perspective. You're able to hear things you want change or reword, things that you might not have caught just reading it in your head.

Being encouraged by such good writers, as Chelsea and Laura are, is really nice, yet intimidating sometimes; they've been writing seriously much longer than I have and I relish their compliments and advice. Their stories are so well written and exciting, I can't wait to hear how they turn out.


In about 45 minutes Jeremy and I are going to the first home soccer game Montreat has had in about a month, they play University of the Cumberlands and it promises to be a good game. I'll, of course, have my camera handy and might post some photos later of the game. Go Cavaliers!

Chai still lingering on my breath,

Caitlin

english afternoon tea.

As I sit here waiting for my tea to steep, listening to Wilco, I try to decide what kind of brilliance to grace my readers with today.

It's raining today, it has been throughout the morning and hasn't let up now that it's almost 5:00. I used to hate rain, mostly due to the nature of my curly hair in damp weather. Now though, from living in Montreat for nearly 4 years and most likely my desire and love for all things Irish, rainy weather not excluded--I have come to terms with my amative feelings toward rain.

Rain is probably the most romantic type of weather. When I say romantic, I don't really mean romantic as we think of it today--though that is probably true too. I mean romantic in the Jane Austen, Victorian Era sense of the word. I mean rainy weather, at least for me, evokes a strong desire to use my imagination. As I drive through the back roads of Montreat on a overcast, cool, rainy afternoon I can see fairies flitting in and out amongst the trees. I can imagine a hidden community of fairy folk living in the woods, having been here long before humans came to settle here. That's why Montreat seems so magical--because it is.

Rain also has a calming effect on my senses. Listening to the raindrops hitting the ground outside my window makes me feel at ease, lets me enjoy the time I have to myself--just writing and drinking my tea, which has now steeped, I've added the necessary milk and brown sugar, and I'm enjoying it immensely.

Hot tea and rainy days are my elysian standard.

Until my next cup,

Caitlin