Sunday Sensations – Modern Creative Life

August 19, 2018

Sunday Sensations: Electricity and Light Combine

Slipping fingers trace each slick page. This happens so rarely these days. Paper, colors, ink, form and function mix into one solid mass. Light and electricity combined these atoms and, as a result, I’m holding these photos of you.

Printing seems obsolete. Even grandmas pull out their phones to show you pictures of their grandchildren. Brightness, smoothness, simulated on the screen.

And yet, there’s something about holding this after-image of you that invokes so much more than scrolling through my phone. Printing photos isn’t obsolete, it’s absolute.

You were here.
You were real.
You now aren’t.

It doesn’t contain your laugh or your smell, but the photo invokes both in my memory. Glossy, fragile, frozen you stand there. How does a small rectangle have the power to both pierce and heal me?

There are books of these photos in a box in my parent’s storage. Frozen snippets of my childhood awaiting reclamation. There are notebooks full of silver nitrate from my grandmother’s journies. Hand-scrawled names and places that are foreign to me. There are shoeboxes full of missing tooth grins, proud smiles, and “firsts” in our closet.

Each page is imbued with laughter, sorrow, pain, and joy.

There’s echoes of the ones who have moved on to their permanent location. There’s sighs that stir forgotten memories. There’s love.

My fingertips trace the only piece of you I have left. Tears form despite my best efforts. I slip into a moment where the world is only me and my loss. Just for a moment, I let myself feel the missing you feeling that hangs in the back of my mind.

I put the photo in a place of prominence. Here I raise my Ebenezer, grateful for the help that gets me through. The help you left behind. The help that is your love.

I think it’s time to print some more photos.

About the author: Tabitha Grace Challis

Tabitha is a social media strategist, writer, blogger, and professional geek. Among her published works are the children’s books Jack the Kitten is Very Brave and Machu the Cat is Very Hungry, both published under the name Tabitha Grace Smith. A California girl (always and forever) she now lives in Maryland with her husband, son, and a collection of cats, dogs, and chickens. Find out more about her on her Amazon author page or follow her on Twitter: @Tabz.

July 15, 2018

Sunday Sensations: Growing Up Ain’t Easy

Many of us learned, at a fairly early age, that plants, animals, and humans need some basic things to grow – sun, air, and water. What we didn’t learn at this tender young age is the fine art of that mix. Too much sun? Dead. Too much water? Dead. Wrong kind of air? Dead.

Right now I’m growing some basil in a pot on my kitchen counter. I should have said attempting to grow. Rescued from a clearance cart at Aldi’s, this basil plant has had an Oliver Twist existence of thriving and nearly dying. Finding that fine balance between over watering and under watering hasn’t been easy. If only life were a bit more like a video game. Then I would get a fancy indicator light that’s like “heads up, basil dying if you don’t water in the next day!”

But life is infinitely more complex than that. So, by trial and error, I attempt to keep the poor thing alive. Some days I wonder why I keep trying to grow my own plants. With everything going on in our family and the endless projects and to do lists – plant keeping is nearly impossible. The struggle is most definitely real.

Then again. This week we made spaghetti, one of our host son’s favorite meals, and some of the fresh leaves graced the dish. Watching his eyes follow me as I picked the leaves and dropped them in reminded me why. Because of the joys of having something fresh. It’s worth the struggle.

Parenting is a lot like trying to grow my basil plant. It’s complex. There’s no rules, handbook, or indicator light to say “give more of this!” Yet, like the basil plant, when done right there’s amazing growth.

There are times when I go to bed at night wondering if I did the right thing or not. Too stern? Too gentle? Drowning my kid or starving him? With our host son in the mix, I’ve learned how much a kid (even a teenager) craves attention and love. There’s a light that shines every time I admire or praise.

Before our host son came, I took my husband to see the Mr. Rogers documentary. The care and compassion Mr. Rogers had for children and their feelings impressed me. Much like the plant thing, I think most of us know what helps make a child grow up well, but understanding the delicate balance is hard. Mr. Rogers seemed to grasp it easier than most of us. One of the most important lesson? Kids are just like us.

So I keep watering with kind words, wedding with some discipline, and shining light through teaching. Do I get it wrong? Yes. But, many times, just like your garden, if you just show up—things will grow.

About the author: Tabitha Grace Challis

June 17, 2018

Sunday Sensations – The Feeling of Safety Personified

I’ve always been afraid of the dark. The shadows, the shapes, the sounds—they all frighten me.

One person could always assuage that fear. No matter how long the night or how deep the darkness, I felt secure when I heard my father’s voice.

I remember nights when my dad worked late. I would make my mom promise that she’d send him in for a goodnight kiss. Then I would lie awake, darkness clawing at my imagination, waiting for him to come home. If sleep came, it was fretful and worried. I felt so small in those moments.

Then he’d come in. I’d hear his car, the rumble of his voice, the footsteps in the hall and instantly, I felt relief. It’s amazing how his simple presence would change the fear. I was in the same bed, the same room, the same home, but nothing felt safe without him.

My dad would smell of the earth then (he was working in construction with my grandfather). He’d look tired, but he was the best sight I’d ever seen. I would happily fall into a peaceful sleep after he left my room.

People can be lighthouses of safety. When I had surgery to remove my appendix when I was six, my mother stayed by my side through the entire thing. I remember waking up, groggy, and having her voice right there. Just that simple presence chased any fear away. Even now, I can feel that level of security and warmth.

Since the beginning of mankind, we’ve sought security and refuge from each other. There would be no great cities or countries if this wasn’t the case. From the U.N. to the family unit, we’re meant to live in a community. This gives us safety.

The sad fact of the matter is that as much as people can bring a feeling of safety—people can also be harbingers of danger. In today’s world, a larger spotlight is being placed on the men who abuse their power and position to abuse the women they are meant to love. I can’t imagine living in a situation where I’d dread hearing my father’s voice at night, but there are so many vulnerable children who do. All too often, the people who are meant to love us can be the ones to rip safety out the fastest.

This Father’s Day, I celebrate the men who are safety bringers to their family and those around them. If you didn’t (or don’t) have a great dad, know that there are some lighthouses out there for you if you know where to look. And, thanks to my dad for always being my safe lighthouse.

About the author: Tabitha Grace Challis

Tabitha Grace Challis Tabitha is a social media strategist, writer, blogger, and professional geek. Among her published works are the children’s books Jack the Kitten is Very Brave and Machu the Cat is Very Hungry, both published under the name Tabitha Grace Smith. A California girl (always and forever) she now lives in Maryland with her husband, son, and a collection of cats, dogs, and chickens. Find out more about her on her Amazon author page or follow her on Twitter: @Tabz.

April 22, 2018

Sunday Sensations: The Power of Relationships

Before I was born my mother and father were sitting in a church service listening to a message about my namesake — Tabitha (Acts 9 if you want to look it up). Tabitha was one of the rare people in the Bible where you meet her after she’s already died. Peter, one of the apostles, goes to a house full of mourning. It seems Tabitha was much loved because she made clothes for widows and orphans. Peter, struck by her compassion and the grief of the people, raises her back to life.

My parents were struck by her story and decided their first female child would be named Tabitha.

In some sense, I’ve always tried to live up to her legacy. This legacy of leaving behind people who love you and who you’ve helped. And, for me, it all starts with cultivating relationships.

I was, like many nerdy kids, pretty lonely growing up. I longed for friends. Thankfully, I had a younger sister who was my constant companion, but I wanted more. I dreamt of friendships like the books I was obsessed with reading. I ached for someone who’d tell me stories and secrets. I was consistently dumbfounded when other people didn’t like me.

Then, when I was 12, I discovered the internet.

You have to understand that the internet to me will always be this Narnia of a place. Here I could type in things I loved (mystery novels) and find people who liked the same things as I did. It was magical. Suddenly, the world was open for me to find people who liked me for who I was — not because they were in the same age group at church.

I met my first internet friend at age 16 (with my parents). I remember buzzing with happiness for days after that. Someone who loved what I loved wanted to spend time with me. I was overwhelmed.

Over the years, I’ve met so many people through the power of social media and the internet. Bounds have formed that have lasted over a decade. The number of close friends I have would boggle the younger version of myself. The internet gave me a tool to find my tribe. To click when I felt anything but clickable.

There’s an energy that happens when you meet someone you can connect with — I call it “soul buzz.” There’s just something secret sauce about the right temperament, mood, mutual loves and energy that connect in a way that proves that human beings are infinitely complex. When you find “the one” — your skin seems to dance with a level of awareness. Yes, yes! I am not alone in my weirdness — this is someone like me.

It’s the main reason I attend comic cons.

While my father is the start of all that is good and geeky in my life, growing up I was still vaguely aware that being bookish and geeky was not “normal.” Nothing drove the point home like the last summer before high school when a table of kids laughed at me for using a four syllable word. I burned with shame.

For most of my life I’m unabashedly geeky, but going to comic cons reminds me that I am not alone. There’s a group of people — many of them professional, amazing, talented, functional people, who love the same things I do and learn the same things I learn through our fandoms.

As I reflect on how happy I am and realize again that relationships are the backbone of life. My husband, my kid, my family, these friends — all of them contribute to my life being wonderful or terrible. As I build this tribe, people who follow and love me no matter what, I realize that was what Tabitha must have been doing — making relationships.

I hope she’d be proud.

About the author: Tabitha Grace Challis

March 18, 2018

Sunday Sensations – Power Outages, Baby Chicks, and Miracles

Sometimes it’s hard to believe in miracles. Slammed in the face with harsh reality day after day, you soon start closing your eyes to the world’s wonders. In the current political, social, and cultural climate it’s hard to believe in miracles.

Spring is a confirmation of miracles. The dead earth brings forth new life, exactly on a schedule. The sun remembers it’s duty and comes back from a long extended nap. Even when I lived in Los Angeles, where the sun always shone, spring was when everyone could breathe a collective sigh of relief. We’d made it through fire season, mudslides, and general chaos.

This spring, after a particularly dark winter, we had our own miracle. Enter, Nova.

If you’ve followed my column for long, you know that I have chickens.

Nova started out her* life as an egg, mailed from Ohio to Maryland. Due to the post office, she came to our house days after she should have and that ruined her chances of even being viable.

The one thing that you need to know about hatching chickens is this — to have the best chance at hatching they need to be kept warm and at the right humidity consistently or terrible things can happen.

Nova was placed in a terrible inconsistent incubator (we’ve since returned) that kept running too hot or too humid.

Then, we had a multi-day power outage that ruined her chances even further. My husband hurried her over to our neighbor who still had power, then she made a 20 minute trip to our temporary housing. Then, after three days, she came back home.

Every single one of these should have made it impossible for her to come into the world.  Yet, she did.  We had given up most hope. My husband hadn’t even looked at the incubator that morning. Then, out of nowhere, a crack in the shell.   Nova was born.

Due to her hard start, she’s missing a toe. Her legs were bent. Because of this, the flock of other chicks we bought the same day, may have rejected her.  But she was accepted. She’s growing stronger every day.

She’s a miracle.

There’s so much joy every time I look at her. She’s a little ray of sunshine and hope in the midst of any dark day.

I hope you find your miracle today.

*We have no idea if Nova is a boy or girl and won’t until she feathers out. But for now, she seemed fitting.

About the author: Tabitha Grace Challis

January 28, 2018

Sunday Sensations: The World Before

I ate some M&Ms yesterday and was struck by one simple fact. I knew of a time before there were blue M&Ms.

It’s rare that I think of myself as old. I haven’t even hit the age of 40, let alone a time period where anyone thinks of me as “older,” but the longer I live — the more I realize how much I know of a world that is no longer here.

Some of it I see through my son’s eyes. To him, everything is new just now. I tried to tell him two years ago that Mario was a video game from when I was a kid. There was disbelief and even confusion (until I played it with him and my reflexes kicked in and I beat the level on the first try).

I marvel at this before world. At Christmas, I marveled again at how Christmas presents have changed. My grandfather still remembered fondly the childhood where his dad found a beat up toy truck and refurbished it for him. My mom talked about receiving a beloved doll. I remember a Christmas where new bedding was my “big” gift. Now, my son, was longing for a new iPad. How far we’ve come in just four generations.

I lived in a world that knew the fear of a cold war, where Pluto was still a planet, and pay phones were still on every corner. All these things have been dead for awhile. And yet, these things don’t feel like they should be in a museum fact sheet.

I can touch those things still in my mind’s eye. I remember big plastic glasses, neon shoe laces, and when gel was the coolest thing you could put in your hair. It doesn’t feel like actors like Michael J. Fox or Robin Wright should be playing parents. Not enough time has passed for me to understand the need for a new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie.

Maybe some gray hairs are creeping in and maybe I feel old when I have to explain She Blinded Me With Science to my coworkers, but is this world before so far gone?

Memories are a tricky thing. They slip and slide like rocks on a beach. Over and over they grind down their sharp edges until only the smooth remains. There’s few moments that I would want to relive from this time past. I bear no illusions to it being a better or more significant time. I may be as old as Celine Dion’s career, but that doesn’t mean I want to relive it.

And yet, so many of those pieces from the time before have built me into the person I am now. Is it any wonder why a blue M&M can send someone into such reverie? I take another candy from my son’s stash and wonder what things he’ll remember as being a before. Will it be fidget spinners and that year where everyone on the planet dabbed? Or will it be YouTube and Minecraft and school lunches? I hope it’s a good thing and that he doesn’t mind losing it to the land of before. I also hope he doesn’t mind that I ate more of his M&Ms… I think I’ll leave him the blue ones.

About the author: Tabitha Grace Challis

December 17, 2017

Sunday Sensations: The First Christmas Without You

I’m slipping into the holidays sideways this year.

When you experience tremendous loss, the whole world functions differently for awhile. Grief is a weird sensation. It’s simultaneously universally known and deeply personal. If you’ve lost someone dear to you, you know how it feels, but you can’t know how someone else feels. Your own grief is picking through a town that you haven’t been to in years. It feels familiar, but the signs have changed. You never walk the same street twice.

So bring on the presents, hot chocolate and cheer. Let me touch things my mother touched. It’s all familiar, but foreign.

If my mom hadn’t been so great at Christmas it may be a bit easier on my heart. Everything I do echos her. There’s an echo here as we make cookies and my husband asks why I put the sugar on after bringing them out of the oven. “Because mom did it.” There’s a wisp of her as I hang ornaments she crafted years ago. If I close my eyes and listen I can hear her as I wrap gifts for my dad.

Mom is Christmas. It’s as if the holiday was made just for her — her creativity, her skills, her belief in Jesus, and her heart for others all came to life at the end of the year. From presents to tree to cookies and decorations, she was the event planner and we her happy elves. I ached every year to put out her Precious Moments nativity set. Every tradition cemented my love for Christmas and for our faith.

I’ve had the ache of loss at Christmas before. Losing my grandparents early and watching my friends travel from grandparent to grandparent was hard. Seeing a tree decorated in all blue still conjure up images of my Grandma Shirley singing “I’ll have a blue Christmas” over her petite live Christmas tree. I remember the story of my Grandpa’s favorite childhood Christmas. But this is different.

This is not to say that my life is full of despair. Loneliness is hemmed in by family and friends. Puppy kisses and kitten purrs sooth the rough spots. There are many happy moments of peace, kindness and love. There’s simply something about grief that’s so personal, and (at times) a bit selfish.

So here’s to all of us coming to the holidays sideways this year. Our journeys are different, but similar. The lights are a bit dimmer, but they still shine brightly. We drink deeply of the sweet and bitter. We will love. So cry. Rest. Love. Christmas may not be as magical as it has been, but they won’t always be like this.

About the author: Tabitha Grace Challis

November 19, 2017

Sunday Sensations: Surprised

There are people who have never left their hometown. As a newly minted adult, I met them. Boggled at the complexity of the thought, I gaped. They didn’t even drive the four hours to the nearest city across the state line. They’d never left Iowa.

Corn fields are nice, but I need to breath new air every once in awhile. My father was made of wanderlust. As I grew, there were few places in our town we had not seen. Los Angeles was as familiar as an old friend. I spent hours in our car traversing the length and breadth of her streets.

And we went further.

Trips took me to state after state in our nation. I experienced humidity for the first time as a small child. I had my mind expanded when I realized that, if you drive far enough, people’s accents change. I learned the world is not black and white, but filled with all shades of gray. There was lessons learned in trains and buses and planes. I saw America.

I climbed through the desert, I picked through the forest, I sat by lakes and streams and two major oceans.

I lived in other people’s shoes. You can’t not when you travel. I slept in beds that were not my own. I ate at tables that did not resemble home. I found the foreign even in my own country. Early on I found out that not everyone is shaped the same.

I marveled in Missouri why there were so many trees. In my California mind I believed that trees were something you planned. To have them so densely, so chokingly — must be a conspiracy. I voiced my wonder to my parents and asked, “what are they hiding?” It’s been a family joke ever since.

Packed bags provided their own life lessons. All you really need can fit in one or two suitcases. Vital life can be done with less. Real happiness comes with who you are with, not what you carry.

To say I am grateful for my father’s traveler’s heart would be the understatement. My mother provided the necessary comfort for any journey. She packed as if the Boy Scout motto was a creed to be followed without deviation. We were always prepared.

Last week, I stood on a cliff overlooking the ocean in Iceland. I thought of those people I met so many years ago who had never thought to leave their own state. I discovered a new favorite place that took six hours of plane travel and two hours of driving. Had I been like them, had I never moved from my spot, I would have missed the chance to see something this beautiful. This was unlike anything I had seen and I had seen so many days at the ocean. I held my husband’s hand and fell in love again with travel. I can’t wait for our next trip.

About the author: Tabitha Grace Challis

A California girl (always and forever) she now lives in Maryland with her husband, son, and a collection of cats, dogs, and chickens. Find out more about her on her Amazon author page or follow her on Twitter: @Tabz.

October 15, 2017

Sunday Sensations: Feels Like Home

My great-grandma, Golda, was home.

No one in the world smelled like my great-grandma, Golda. She was a small woman, yet her hug could engulf you. To this day, I can’t tell you what exactly she smelled like, but it was a smell all her own.

To an inner city kid, the drive from Los Angeles to Missouri never entirely made sense until we got to Grandma Golda’s house. The long hours. The boredom. The tension. The countless times I had to pee, but it was awhile to the next rest stop. All those things melted away when we saw her on her front porch. Everything slowed down once we got there. Suddenly, there was time again. As if we’d traveled back in time and could reclaim some we lost.

Missouri felt different too. This was the place I learned about sulfur in the water, the evils of humidity, the joys of dressing up “to go to town” and how happy a pizza delivery could make one person.

There was a comfortable familiarity whenever we’d go to Grandma’s house. There was the ceramic deer in the lawn that every grandchild and great-grandchild had posed by. I can still hear her grandfather clock ticking away if I close my eyes. Everything sat in the same place. Even if a couple years went by, I could count on those things. They were just always there. In a world where it seemed everything changed in a whirlwind around me — Grandma Golda’s house was a constant.

Grandma was a storyteller. We’d have a meal and not leave the table for hours while she told stories and talked. She had a twinkle in her eye that I often saw reflected in my grandfather (her second child). The family’s history, our legacy, everything was contained in my Grandma’s stories.

Sometimes, when life gets too hectic or stressful, I sit out on my front porch, close my eyes and remember my Grandma Golda saying “come in, I’m so happy you’re here.”

For a minute, it feels like home again.

About the author: Tabitha Grace Challis

September 17, 2017

Sunday Sensations: An Ode to Fall

I adore the fall season.

I’m not the biggest fan of summer – other than the ability to wear flip flops every day and swim in a pool outside. Winters fill me with intense dread and spring I can take or leave, but fall absolutely excites me. Fall is when the world comes alive with sensations. Enjoyable sensations. Crisper weather, crunching leaves, and caramel flavors.

There’s just the right amount of cold. It’s not enough to seep into your bones until you feel as all the color has drained from your world. It’s not warm enough to make you wish your home has central AC. Jack Frost barely lifts a finger, but your cheeks can feel his kiss.

In fall, you can snuggle into a soft sweater. You’re hugged by your clothing instead of restrained by it. No longer are you longing to join a nudist colony. Summer is so hot that even your thin strapped tank top is sticking to your skin. No more. Now you can layer with abandon and for fashion. Hats that aren’t ball caps are once again welcomed. Boots are worn for the sheer pleasure rather than necessity. All of your closet is now optional. T-shirt and leggings? Yes. Sweater and jeans? Also, yes. It’s truly a magical time of year for your wardrobe.

Never a huge fan of nature myself, I love the fall colors outside. The world outside may be settling in for a long winter’s nap, but it’s going out with a bang! It throws a final hurrah of colors, sights and smells. Red, a personal favorite, appears as Cinderella at the ball. She dips herself into leaves and wild grasses. Wrapping herself up in smoke and frost, she is the brash opening to a symphony that will echo until the first snow. Orange runs and laughs from treetop to treetop. Snaking his way through the landscape and bursting out in giant plumbs in every pumpkin patch. Yellow, who has been around all summer, throws one final party as it bends through every corn and wheat field.

And the food.

America’s food landscape alters dramatically in fall. Pumpkins, apples, caramel, and cinnamon dominate the landscape. Suddenly, it’s a time for warm pies, hot soups, and spiced drinks. The #PSL coffee craze aside, pumpkins come into their own in the fall. Soups, cakes, cookies, pies, pasta and so much more can all be made with this impressive gourd. Apples are being picked so fresh you can still taste a bit of the summer sun that nurtured them in every bite.

Food is the reason for the season. Factories work around the calendar year just to feed our need for candy and sugar when Halloween hits. This holiday may have begun with some pagan roots, but in reality we all know it’s the candy that’s won out in the end. The haul of tipped over buckets and bags is carefully picked through by the time the clock strikes midnight on October 31.

Food warms and comforts you in the fall. So much so, we have entire holiday centered around it. Thanksgiving is about warmth. Warm food, warm hugs and time with family and friends, and the warm glow of thankfulness.

Really what isn’t there to love about fall?

If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to find some hot apple cider.