Community and Campus Cats.
On paths, bravery, and happy birthday, Petey Sellers!
Last Wednesday morning, I met a Campus Cat.
He was at George Fox University in Newberg, Oregon, a gorgeous campus filled with statues and murals, peace posts and hot pink rhodies, trails with burbling brooks and a footbridge lined with twinkle lights. The night before, I presented and gave remarks at the Paper Gardens Writing Contest Book Release Ceremony as the Prose Judge. It was a wonderful night, and the next morning I woke up early to explore.
School was officially out for the year, so the campus was quiet except for the hourly toll of church bells, and a few students wandering around, water bottles and backpacks in tow. I rounded a curve and saw a young woman curled up on a bench reading a book with one hand and holding coffee in the other. Her knees were covered with a bright red blanket, and she looked cozier than I’d ever looked studying. What a thing to go here, I thought, this hidden gem tucked off Highway 99, the gateway to lavender farms and produce stands, vineyards, and rolling hills. There was something about this place. It oozed possibility.
I was looking at a statue, serenaded by flowing water and birdsong, when I heard a meow. Below me, a thick forest seemed to spread out for miles. Beside me, a gray and white tabby cat bumped my leg. “Hey buddy,” I said, putting my hand out. He booped it with his nose. “Hi.”
“That’s the campus cat,” a young woman said, walking by and smiling.
“Yeah,” said a woman trailing behind her. “He’s probably bummed there won’t be as many people around to feed him. He’s friendly, though.”
She reached down and scratched his neck.
“Is there a trail nearby?” I asked, pointing to the thicket of trees below us.
“There is,” she said, nodding. Her dark curls bobbed as she talked. “They’re working on it, but you can do half. It starts over there.”
She pointed to a little path down and to the left, so I took it. Always take the path, I thought. I could lead you everywhere.
As I walked, I thought about Petey. He loved cats, which made me think of him, but it was more than that. As I walked past the Cinema Studies building and the library, the Student Center, and the Humanities building, it hit me: I was never going to show my kid around a college campus because I didn’t have a kid. It was a conscious choice, and I’ve never felt sad about it, but in that moment, I felt the loss. I felt the path not taken.
I don’t believe in regrets, just experiences, and I’ve always been happy with my life. I’m a super-aunt with two glorious nephews; I write books for kids and kid-like books for adults; I taught kids’ yoga and was an unofficial aunt/step-mom-like figure to two lovely kids for a few years. I’ve always had kids and kid energy, and have never felt a lack. Why was this coming up now? And then I laughed, because I forgot. I did have a kid, he was just of the canine variety: Petey Sellers. I imagined walking the campus with him, which is what I really wanted at that moment.
Over the years, we explored dozens of campuses together. Petey was a big fan of Lewis and Clark and the trails surrounding it. He liked PSU off of Killingsworth and walking the overlook by the University of Portland. He loved our neighborhood, but liked it even more when we ventured out and were students of the world. I used to joke that I spent Petey’s college fund on his cancer treatments because, like student loans, it’s a debt I’ll be paying on forever. But zero regrets. Petey was my best friend and family, but he was also my muse. We wrote many books together, and he gave me an MFA in loving hard, living well, and showing up with joy and love even in, especially in hard times. The path I chose was the very best path. I smiled and walked the rest of the campus with Petey Sellers, the spirit, by my side.
Writing is a path, too. And you have to choose it.
This is part of what I talked about at the Paper Gardens Ceremony. Ursula LeGuin was a prose judge in 1995, and many wonderful writers have contributed since. For me, it was an honor and a privilege to read these talented writers’ work. I judged fiction and non-fiction, from kids to adults. Carolyn Martin, a wonderful poet, was the poetry judge. Together, we read over 400 entries, and in the end, seventy-four pieces were accepted for publication. That night, we were there to celebrate the release of the book and hear the writers read their work. I stood on stage, gave a few remarks, and then called their names. One by one, they came to the stage and then dazzled the audience with their words.
I saw myself in the precocious girl in the red skirt who read her poems with exuberance; the middle grader who seemed shy, but then read her story with a booming voice; and definitely in the teens wearing all black and Docs, vintage and menswear, reading highly fantastical and often dark works that explored the terrain of their worlds and their hearts. I see you, I thought. I was you. Keep writing. Keep going! The adults were wonderful, too, but it gave me heart to see that kids are still telling stories, still interested in writing, revising, and raising their voices. There was something special about this place, and it reverberated in the writing.
There were stories about magical forests and spirit animals, dogs and a numbers world, lush jungles, monsters, and magic gardens. There were relationship stories and stories of place; surrealism and realism, poetics and delight. Some were funny, some had surprises, and some were deeply personal stories of growth, home, and the homes we have inside ourselves.
The writers I met were sparkly, and the parents and friends had the same energy, too. It’s rare for a community to gather and get behind the written word, but they were there for their annual celebration of writing. They were lifting stories up, just as they had for thirty years. They were choosing a path. They were choosing to write.
Here’s a bit of the opening remarks I made:
Writing is magic. It’s magic for the writer, the reader, and tonight, for all of us who get to hear your extraordinary work. Fiction takes us on trips to imaginary worlds; inside the lives of people we know, and those we don’t. It lets us travel, helps us believe, and be anyone, anywhere, at any time. Creative non-fiction does that, too, giving us a window into real-life experiences and places, physical homes and the homes within our hearts. All it takes is imagination – and bravery.
You’re so brave. Writing isn’t easy, and weaving words together is an act of faith. Joy! And hope. Your words believe in another tomorrow and connect all of us in this room, in our larger communities, and the world, which is its own special kind of magic. So keep writing. Keep going! We need your voices. I can’t wait to see what you do next.
Newberg and its downtown art gallery, bookstore, and community were magical. And even though I got a flat tire on the way out of town, the Les Schwab was pretty enchanting, too. Maybe it was the vineyards surrounding the area, or maybe I was just buoyed by a night of writers, but I left more inspired than when I arrived. When it comes to writing, the path chose me, but I have to choose it, too. Every single day. That’s why, more often than not, I show up. I listen. And I travel wherever my words take me like a magical wanderer, wild, honest, and free.
I feel like Campus Cat would be a pretty big fan of that.
A Few Good Things:
Happy Spirit Birthday, Petey Sellers!
On May 12th, 2010, Petey Sellers was born, and the magic began. Even though he’s gone, his magic remains! It’s apt that I haven’t had time to pivot this space yet, since Petey always loved a birthday celebration. So, here you go, buddy! Happy birthday! Thanks for your joy and for visiting all those college campuses with me. We celebrate you. xoxo
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
It’s been almost a week since I saw Nick Cave, and I’m still processing the experience, still reeling and in awe of his artistry. What’s even better? Everyone I talk with feels the same way. It’s like a domino effect, but with joy. Get the new album! It’s incredible. So was his final encore when he played “Into My Arms” solo on piano and the entire audience, at his urging, sang along. SWOON. Bonus: dancing arms! DOUBLE SWOON.
Learning French: The Parisian Agency on Netflix
We all have our guilty pleasures, and my latest one is watching this French reality show to brush up on my lapsed intermediate French. I may only know how to talk to you about marble, la cuisine, and les chambres, but piscine in any language equals a party. Mais oui!
xoxo,
Kari
Loved hearing about your adventure to Newberg! The encouragement you poured out on the kids was inspiring and your obvious joy at being with the kids as well as spending time on the campus was great! I’m proud of all the ways you have stretched and grown! ❤️