Home Improvement

The paint had been sitting in the house for weeks. I kept inventing reasons not to start, missing the person who used to guide me, showing me the corners, the edges, the little tricks that make a wall look complete.

I don’t talk about this much.

It’s not just painting walls. It’s covering furniture, sanding rough spots, all the small, deliberate acts of guidance and care. I remember him showing me that you don’t have to buy actual trim to make something elegant. A little thought, a little patience, even ordinary wood could be transformed.

Starting is the hardest part. Each brushstroke, each measured line is a memory of someone I can no longer see except in my heart. He always knew exactly when to pause and order really good takeout. Now I stare at the clock, wondering when to take a break, wishing he could come and see how I’m doing.

If I’m honest, I still would have worried through half of it, how much it was all costing, whether we could really justify that big Italian meal with the garlic knots. He was generous to a fault, maddeningly so, and would have insisted on ordering extra food for everyone, even if they weren’t home, and probably the neighbors, too. 

He saw me clearly: the worrier, the planner, the one counting receipts. I gave him an out so many times, but he kept picking me, he loved me right there in it. It’s such a gift to be seen without being fixed.

I keep going. I sand, I spackle, I mix the paint, I roll, and I step back to see the lines. The rhythm we shared hums inside me, guiding each motion in the quiet space. Slowly, the house feels lighter, calmer, more cared for. 

For dinner, I make creamy mac and cheese from scratch. It’s an easy, rich meal, and I like to indulge on a dime when I can. He would have laughed as he quoted Holmes and Watson: "I don't deserve nice things." Then he would have said, "Oh, we're going" to Eddie's tomorrow night. Because he thought all of us deserved nice things, and he always found a way to get them. 

Grief sometimes looks like avoidance. I fought it, but this project is exactly what I needed. Tonight, with paint on my hands, I feel a little closer to fine. My heart has yielded to a bit more loss, and I possess this life I’m building on my own. Maybe I'll do takeout tomorrow night.

Soup

I am a big fan of soup, and here are the reasons:

• It's everything all at once
• It's a basic formula you can switch up depending what's on hand
• You can puree it and be fancy with a dollop of sour cream
• It's a low-calorie high-nutrient meal
• Stone Soup is a really good story
• It only tastes better the next day
• Usually the cheapest hearty thing on the menu
• It freezes well
• Soup is pretty
• Really good excuse to eat bread

I tend to make my old favorite soups year-round, but fall and winter is when I branch out and try new recipes. Today I made this chorizo soup with sweet potatoes. I substituted avocado for the spinach, and it is yummy. A great meal after going to the pumpkin patch!

Care, Curiosity, and Stories

Me around that time

 Now: rebuilding my YA collection

When I was a kid, my dad had a monthly preaching appointment about five hours south of where we lived. He worked full-time too, as a sales manager, so Friday after work and school,  we’d pile into the car and drive down to the nearest church member's house. This was California, maybe around 1980. 

 

We’d get there around 11 PM, and James and Margie always had the table spread with every kind of food we could want. They lived in a little town north of Santa Barbara, right near the beach. Sometimes the next day, Margie would take us to look for seashells, and we always found the best ones. They had wonderful cookouts too, and they were so warm, happy, and kind that it felt like the whole world fit into their little house.

 

You might think I’d be most excited about the water. That was pretty cool, but my favorite thing was sitting on the chest freezer in their garage, reading through the large collection of young adult novels they kept there. 

Restocking my library now (yay, Friends of the Library Bookstore!) I can’t help but think back to those evenings when someone would say, "Where's Katie?" and then laugh when they found me reading again. I’m so thankful to be in this home, making a space where a young guest can stretch out with a book and feel the same sense of welcome and warmth I felt at James and Margie's. I am making a home like theirs, filled with care, curiosity, and stories.

 

IKEA and Me

I have an absurd love for IKEA. It makes me happy to wander through tiny stage sets built from flat-pack furniture. Which life do I want to live? I’m rebuilding my bookcases one Kallax at a time.

I used to have an IKEA right around the corner and would often spend a lazy afternoon eating meatballs and enjoying the possibilities. Moving states means I must carefully plan my pilgrimage, but my middle daughter and son-in-love now live near one! IKEA and family? Yes, please. 

Yay for egg sketches in the last chance aisle! It was so bright that day.

My summer, though delightful, was full of messy moments that threatened to steal my sparkle. But life is mine to make. I get to design it, sofas and sauces and dangling plants, laughter and stories and plans for tomorrow. Now to put those shelves together.

It's not an IKEA trip unless you gather random treasures. 

Taking the Plunge

When I was a kid, our neighborhood pool had a high dive. I couldn’t wait to try it. The first couple of weeks, I’d climb up the ladder, walk out to the edge of the diving board, peer down into the deep end, then chicken out and climb right back down the ladder. Over and over.

Finally, one day, as I turned to make my usual retreat, a lifeguard blew his whistle. He shook his head and motioned firmly: jump.

So I did, and I loved it. That first leap changed everything. I spent the rest of the summer climbing, running, bouncing, and diving, over and over again, as if I’d been born to that high dive.

I’ve realized I approach new communities the same way. I show up eager, but I take a while to find my bearings. I hover on the edge. Sometimes, if I’m honest, I linger a little too long before jumping in.

I've been in Alabama for a year, and I have joined in a bit, but mostly held back. Now the school year has started again, and with it, the rhythms of community life. It feels like the right moment to take the plunge. So I've signed up for a few things, and here I go.

Don't just blow bubbles - make a splash :)

Hi there!

I'm Katie, and I used to blog at CM, Children and Lots of Grace. Eventually, the kids grew up, so I renamed the blog Lots of Grace. Then there were things that happened, and while I still felt the presence of grace (thank the Lord for it, too, his mercies are everlasting, and also new every morning, and I will cry if I think too hard about it), I felt the need for a bigger change. So I switched to this new blog, The Lighthearted Stoic.

Not sure how folks will take the Stoic part of Lighthearted Stoic, but it's accurate. I need to cultivate a bit of stoicism; otherwise, I get maudlin, and no one wants that.

Meanwhile, I moved from Texas to Alabama and bought my own home, which had been a dream of mine for a long time. It's the best house. I always wanted to have a home with history. This house was built in 1952, and one family owned it until I bought it in March of this year. There are so many ingenious and quirky things on the property. I love it of all things, and I've named it Everhaven. It's the best.

If you remember, I had a music studio before. Now I work as a trainer in financial services, but I'm starting to teach piano again here at Everhaven. I have one student, and she is wonderful. We put on a recital, just the two of us, in July. I'm working at getting more students, but that two-person recital was unquestionably fabulous.

Also, I am a grandma now! My grandmother name is Lulu. This child is such a sweet little miracle. I have no words. I'm planning all my low shelves to be her property, and we will have such fun identifying flowers and birds, sketching, and reading books together. I'm definitely in the idealistic phase of grandma-ing. I can't wait. Right now, I get to hold her while she sleeps and speak to her when her eyes are open. She has the deepest blue eyes. 

Anyway, Cornflower said I should return to my blog, and I think she is right. So here I am. I'll keep blogging.