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Telling stories has always been a passion of mine.

I distinctly remember “Show and Tell” in first grade. Even then I took great pride — and pleasure — in relating tales, especially the quirky and unexpected views of life.

One of my earliest memories from school is telling my teacher and classmates about the chicken dinner we had at my grandparents’ house near Kinston. Instead of focusing on the crispy, juicy fried chicken and our ritualistic pulling of the wishbone (does anyone even know what a wishbone is anymore?), I attempted to entertain the class by telling how that chicken got from the coop to the table.

MaMa and PaPa (Mary and Adair Kennedy) were farmers near Kinston and grew or raised just about everything they ate. This particular occasion, I followed PaPa to the chicken coop and watched him select the chicken we would later enjoy for dinner.

I clearly remember him wringing the chicken’s neck and explaining how to do it quickly so the chicken died instantly. MaMa removed the feathers by the pump house and dressed the hen explaining each step along the way.

When I related — in great detail — the process to my classmates, I remember the teacher saying, “That’s enough, Cathy.” Of course, I didn’t take the hint to stop my graphic description of how the chicken went limp after PaPa snapped its neck. Or how my favorite part of the chicken was the gizzard.

Somehow the teacher finally persuaded me to curtail the story before the entire class needed counseling.

Even now, I mentally file away incidents as potential column material. The deer that greeted me in my backyard two weeks ago when I tossed shrub clippings on our compost pile. The breast cancer survivor who has discovered a personal ministry in making comfort pillows. The little boy who has developed a simple yet brilliant system for labeling and choosing school lunch food — a system that we all can take into our grown-up world.

When I started writing this column in January 2000, I never worried that I’d run out of column ideas. In those early days, this column appeared every Monday on the front of what was then the High Point section of the paper. Before I met with my first editor, I jotted down 40 or more column ideas just to see if any of them interested him. He liked them all. My “column idea” folder stays full.

Life is full of inspiration and entertainment, and it has been an honor to write for you these past 11 years. You’ve carried me through good times and tough ones, as well.

The challenges of the past 18 months have led me to a big decision.

My minister says that when your passion and your gifts meet a strong need, you’ve found your calling. Well, I think I’ve found mine. Since last fall, I’ve been working with my oncologist to start a nonprofit organization that will help newly diagnosed cancer patients through their journeys.

I lost my mother to breast cancer in 1986 when she was just 53. In 2001, my brother died from lymphoma, yet another form of cancer, at the age of 34. I’m just days shy of my 54th birthday, and now that I, too, have been on my own pilgrimage with breast cancer, I feel called to take my writing skills, my life experiences and my passion to this new program.

To do this new job properly, I need to devote most of my attention to its development and implementation, and so I’ve come to the difficult decision that writing a regular column is no longer possible.
I hate to leave my regular spot in the Sunday newspaper. Selfishly, it’s so much fun to write for you, to talk about the columns around town and to have an excuse to intrude into your lives with questions.

As I write this quasi-farewell column, I am so tempted to tell you about hilarious “wardrobe malfunctions” that many of us local women have experienced. (Don’t let your minds wander into the gutter — all of these situations involve broken or hopelessly stuck zippers on women’s clothing).

With the permission of Southwest Record editor Cindy Loman , I will continue to write the occasional article. A number of topics have become rituals for me: summer reading lists, real-life ghost stories, North Carolina trivia. Stay tuned for my quirky insights into life in and around High Point.

Meanwhile, rest assured that I am doing something that I love, and this new venture, which I will one day explain in detail, is meeting a need — for our community and for me, as well.

It’s not every day that we have an opportunity to pursue a calling.

Thank you for sharing your stories with me and for giving me the honor of retelling them. In a way, my new career path will allow me to do something similar — assimilate real-life experiences and retell them in ways that improve the journeys of cancer patients.

Should you find yourself with a story to tell, please let me know. If I can’t write about it, I know plenty of people who can.

Contact Cathy Weaver at CWeaverNR@gmail.com