Laurel Johnson Blogs?

Don't pay the ransom.....I escaped

2011-02-17T05:42:00.000-08:00

Has it really been five months since I last posted here? Guess other priorities and life got in the way. I've neglected my blog and also haven't created any new Squidoo lenses. Nor have I any desire to begin the "great American novel."

We enjoyed a beautiful Fall and early Winter here, but January and the first part of February brought several snows and below zero temps with harsh wind chills. Hubby is weary of shoveling snow and keeping all our various critters fed and watered. I love winter, and dread the coming of spring and summer storms since the house we live in doesn't have a basement.

The price of everything has gone up and up these past few months. Every time we grocery shop, the prices have crept up by a little or a lot. The store that will not be undersold has priced itself out of our budget, food-wise, so we shop the sales in small grocery stores. I find amusing the government's push to get U.S. citizens to eat more fruits and veggies. In this part of the country, at least, fresh fruits and veggies are never on sale, only snack foods and soft drinks.
Hubby and I have simplified our diet to compensate.

Our satellite TV service cost has increased....again.....so I'm still dreaming of a TV service that will let us cherry pick our channels and provide a lower price accordingly. I know, I know. Keep dreaming, right?

On a brighter note, our phone and internet cost has not increased in four years. So hooray to AT&T for that blessing!!

Another bright note: Two of my favorite writers have new books out so I curled up in my recliner while the snow flew and read several good books. Michael Corrigan's latest book of short stories is These Precious Hours, featuring characters of Irish heritage struggling with loss and grief. As always, Corrigan's exceptional prose style kept me engrossed from first page to last. Nancy Mehl is a prolific writer of Christian mysteries. This winter I read two books in her Harmony Series and two in her Hometown Mystery Series. I'd be hard pressed to choose a favorite among Ms. Mehl's four books because the plots and characters are so distinct and intriguing. Both are writers who deliver fascinating characters and stories.

I'll try not to wait five months until my next post, but no promises. Until next time.....

My Bucket List, sort of

2010-09-13T07:35:00.000-07:00

Why is it that I didn't start working on my Bucket List in my younger, more athletic years? Who knows? Guess life got in the way and work took most of my energy. And like most people, I didn't expect the economy to price me out of the adventures I had planned in my retirement years. Along with money and energy, my imagination has dwindled, so this Bucket List isn't very long.

1. Write the Great American Novel. Several of my books have been published, but none could be classified as the Great American Novel. Still, this is one goal that is at least semi-completed.

2. Visit the northern Atlantic coast of America to see the ocean.

3. Spend Christmas at Pine Mountain Lodge in Kentucky. This one was well within my reach when I lived in Kentucky. Why didn't I follow through when I had the chance?

4. Visit the British Isles, especially the seacoast of Ireland.

5. Take a riverboat cruise down the Mississippi from Cincinnati to New Orleans.

6. Visit all the Native American archeological sites in the U.S.

7. Visit Washington DC. Grandpa always said every American should visit our nation's capitol at least once.

8. Visit Egypt to see the Sphinx and the pyramids up close.

9. Visit Israel, with enough time and money to do more than hit the tourist routes.

10. Visit China, especially Mongolia.

Looking back over my list, it's easy to see why I haven't accomplished most of these goals. Most are expensive, time consuming adventures.

Sanows & Schulzes & Windows....OH MY!!

2010-07-14T06:36:00.000-07:00

I haven't been here since April. My attention has been focused on the sturm und drang of the world and its myriad technological glitches. More about glitches later.

In June my siblings and I attended the SANOW -- SCHULZ reunion in Iowa. We met relatives from around the country and enjoyed the visit despite 100-plus degree temps and tornadoes around the area at night. Our grandma, the heroine of My Name is Esther Clara, was a Sanow. Some people find no importance in knowing their ancestors. I discover truths about myself by exploring my ancestry. I'd like to explore the SCHULZ side of the family now, especially the family of my great grandmother's brother who lived in Cincinnati OH. If anyone out there is a relative of EMELIE ANNA SCHULZ SANOW, leave me a message here.

Windows of the Microsoft variety has almost driven me bonkers since April. My Windows updates stopped working in April for some unknown reason. Yeah, I troubleshoot within my limited capabilities but every hint at a fix leads to an ever more complicated Microsoft maze of possible non-answers. Yes, I have plenty of disc space. Yes, I've tried to download the updates manually, to no avail. My mother told me I was born a hundred years too late and computer technology has proven her right on many occasions.

I have no patience with computer programs that don't work, with viruses and worms and spyware, and email that takes so long to load I've forgotten what I was planning to say by the time I'm able to read the messages. Computers are wonderful tools......when they work properly. Imagine our outrage if we didn't have access to electricity half the time when we turn on the switch. But computer owners just have to accept the failures and glitches and keep on paying for services that don't work. At least snail mail works, most of the time.

thoughts about TV

2010-04-14T08:00:00.000-07:00

I read an article on the internet news today about 800,000 US subscribers who dumped cable or satellite. Some of them watch their favorite TV shows for free online. Others subscribe to Netflix or Hulu. Still others returned to capturing TV signals by antenna like we did in the good old days when I was a kid.

Out here in the boonies where I live, we wouldn't gain much by using an antenna. And I can't see subscribing to a bunch of other programs to get the shows we watch. Having said that, if I were tech savvy enough, I'd replace my current TV situation with something cheaper. I'm frustrated by how my provider raises prices arbitrarily without warning, and how we have to pay for the 100 junk channels we don't watch in order to get the few we do.

A few years ago when we exchanged cable for satellite TV, the cable company offered me a monthly fee that was 40 dollars cheaper than what we had been paying as an enticement not to cancel. I refused. My thinking was that if they could give me a more reasonable fee to stay with cable, they should be offering that fee to everyone all the time. Now I'm in the same boat with satellite, seeing fees rise and having few options to lower our monthly bill. We have the basic service. No DVR, no HD, no premium channels, no sports packages.

I admire the 800,000 people who refuse to pay big prices for channels they don't want and services that are unreliable in any kind of bad weather. If that number increases, maybe I'll get my wish and be allowed to cherry pick what channels I want for half the cost of what I'm paying now for a hundred channels I don't watch.

Thoughts on a snowy day in March

2010-03-20T05:55:00.000-07:00

The world is white outside my windows today. Last year at this time, the temps were more like summer here. To compound this wintry surprise, the sidewalks and porch are slick so we had fun ice skating our way out to the garage this morning to feed outdoor cats.

I read an interesting book recently. Angels are Watching Over Us by Niki Behrikis Shanahan is a comforting Bible-based book about the many types of angels we humans encounter in our everyday lives. She also writes books about our pets and what the Bible says about animals in heaven. Anyone who ever wondered about angels, or grieved the loss of a beloved pet, might find comfort in Ms. Shanahan's books.

My last post sparked interest in a way I didn't expect. I expected comments about the banking and Wall Street bailouts but got feedback about school cuts and closings instead. I admit my comments here are "knee jerk" reactions based on personal emotional responses and not always hard facts. I even admit to knowing that everything I see on the news may not be hard, proven facts. (Imagine that!!) I'd like to address both sides of this little tempest in a teapot:

Yes, I'm firmly convinced that in some cases schools fail because of mismanagement or even fraud. And I know that educating students is a far more complex job than it used to be back in the dark ages when I was a student. In most cases, it isn't teachers who cause schools to fail. That fault lies with management, or state and federal influences that hamstring classroom educators. I've seen first hand stupid practices that drove a school system into the red despite taxpayer opinion.
On the other hand, the school system where I live is a shining example of how education can thrive in a hostile economic environment. When it became apparent that teachers were spending their own money to purchase school supplies, shoes, socks, gloves, coats, food for students, local church groups and private citizens stepped in to lend ongoing assistance. Locals volunteer their time to ensure that track meets or the arts continue to be part of school curriculum. Such support is common practice in rural school systems.
I know several excellent long-time teachers who left the profession because they felt that their hands were tied and they could no longer make a difference in the lives of students. Yes, there are more than enough heart breaking stories to go around on both sides of this topic.

One thing is obvious to me: when it comes to government and politics, my opinion is worth less than nothing. So I'll go have a cuppa coffee and watch cardinals eating at the bird feeder.

2010-03-12T05:33:00.000-08:00

I recently read an interesting book, The Law of Distraction and Interruption by Joe Carroccio. Life's distractions can keep us from achieving our goals and dreams. Interruptions can slow us down or stop us from accomplishing what we set out do do. Carroccio's book came along at the ideal time because I've been distracted and interrupted for years!!!

Some of my distractions are beneficial, like watching colorful birds eating together at our feeder against a snowy backdrop, or glimpsing a bald eagle perched in a tree behind our house. Most of my distractions, however, are not so soothing or kindly.

Some days, I make the big mistake of watching the news on TV. Watching news begins the distraction, but then I compound the problem by thinking about what I see. Two recent stories started the distraction process. One story involved Wall Street and how -- despite being "bailed out" by taxpayers -- they continue to do their business in the same old greedy, wasteful, destructive ways. Since I thought at the time that bailing out banks was saving the wrong bacon, I tend to go bananas with every new story about continuing fraud and waste. Yes, it drives me to distraction, which leads me to my next story.

Closing down schools to save money for bankrupted city and states and cutting education related services, laying off educators? Are they serious? This is especially distracting since I suspect some of our cities and states are going bankrupt for the same reasons the federal government is in the deep red: fraud, waste, greed, mismanagement, and refusing to acknowledge the voices of the taxpayers who fund all follies. I fear the foxes have been in charge of the hen house for too long.

None of us want necessary services cut. We want our infrastructure maintained, for example, by repairing roads and upgrading utility systems so our electric, gas, and water service works without glitches. But closing schools and cutting education services seems particularly short-sighted to me. I have no kids in school and may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even I can see the awful long term effect of putting education on the back burner.

Hubby says I shouldn't think so much about problems I didn't cause and can't change. But I can't help thinking that maybe in some small way I DID contribute to this problem. During all those years when I worked and focused on earning a living and ignored everything going on in the world around me, I was a part of the problem. Every time I voted in a less-than-stellar incumbent at the polls, I was a part of the problem. Every time I allowed political smoke screens or flowery rhetoric to lull me to complacency without question, I was a part of the problem. Now I'm reaping that bitter harvest of my past neglects.

Yep. Now I'm distracted and interrupted by the news and thoroughly disgusted by what I see.

Thoughts on a Winter Day......

2010-02-17T13:24:00.000-08:00

The sun is shining brightly today with nary a cloud in sight. Most people love the sun and suffer with Seasonal Affective Disorder in long spells of cloudy weather, but I'm just the opposite. I love clouds, rain, and snow and thrive when sun is hidden by a thick gray cover. Yeah, guess that makes me weird.

I dread my old nemesis, summer. Such dread is not a new development in my dotage. No, I dreaded summer's arrival in childhood too. A flaming red face and sweat-plastered hair was never my preferred condition. So yes, I played outside with the siblings and neighbor kids but only because Mom hooked the screen doors and refused to let me sneak back in the house. The oscillating fan called my name back then. Now it's the central air.

For awhile in nursing school I tried to fit in with my tan-loving classmates. But that brief chapter ended with a trip to the emergency room sporting humongous blisters that waved as I walked. Any dream of being a blonde, tanned goddess ended as I stripped down to my underpants in front of a grinning E.R. doctor armed with sunburn spray. The sunburn spray didn't help, by the way, and I stayed sick for days with what he called "sun poisoning."

Hubby loves the sun and summer so our vacationing activities were geared to his preference. Wherever we are, he basks from sun up to sun down, energized by solar rays. Meanwhile, I'm gasping like a sick chicken, light headed and hotter than usual because I keep every square inch of my body covered with long sleeves, long pants, and a big hat. Me, I'd prefer vacationing in the winter, snowed in somewhere in the Rockies or maybe Iceland. But hubby shivers in the house in winter with the thermostat set at 74 degrees, so guess he'd never survive Iceland.

This has been a hard winter with big snows and harsh winds blowing out of the north driving wind chills way below zero. I've treasured every frigid moment because I know hot weather will be here soon, along with ticks, mosquitoes, flies, and endless days of blazing sunshine.

Hopes for 2010

2010-01-04T13:39:00.000-08:00

Can it really be 2010 already? Seems like only a week ago that we welcomed in 1965.

My hopes and wishes for this new year and decade are simple ones. I'm not asking for World Peace or to win the 100 million dollar lottery. Such things rest with God. And yes, even my few hopes are probably beyond my control but here they are anyway:

I hope my family, friends, and acquaintances -- everyone I know -- stays healthy and safe;
I hope the interest on my home loan goes as low as the interest on my savings account. Barring that miracle, I hope the interest on my savings account increases to that of my home loan. See, I'm flexible.
I hope the satellite and cable TV services allow us to cherry pick what channels we want and adjust their pricing accordingly. No more taking away one great channel we watch and replacing it with 15 or 20 junk channels we've never heard of. What good are 150 channels if we don't watch 125 of them? Let me keep all the good channels and cut my bill in half.
I hope the political games played and special favors granted behind closed doors in Washington DC become a millstone around the necks of those guilty of same.

For all of you reading this, I wish you a happy, healthy, safe, prosperous new year.

Some thoughts on a winter day.....

2009-12-12T05:25:00.000-08:00

My success as a writer has not been grand, but I do have a few die-hard fans scattered around the country. Once in awhile, I hear from a new fan whose curiosity about me spills over into an email. Fans ask me questions that take me outside my familiar routine, which in turn keeps the old brain cells active. Usually I have to ponder the answers for awhile before answering. For example, the new fan asked which of my five books is my favorite, and why. The answer to that one is threefold.

The Alley of Wishes is the book of my heart and a labor of love because I wrote it for my mother, who died long before it was published. My Name is Esther Clara is probably my best and most challenging book because I wrote it in first person, in my grandmother's voice. The Grass Dance was my first book and remains a fan favorite eight years after its release. However, it is not my favorite and I'd rewrite it if I could.

The second question asked by this new fan really sparked my imagination!! "If you could go back in time and visit any past era, when would it be?" Hmmmm......

At first I thought it would be wonderful to visit Israel during the time of Christ, to see him during his ministry on earth. But the politics and powers during Christ's time were as messy and discouraging as they are today so I eliminated that option. Next I thought about my lifelong fascination with ancient Egypt and seeing the building of the Sphinx and pyramids with my own eyes. But then I thought about the horrible conditions that surely must have existed then, with laborers driven like cattle to complete their tasks. I wanted to see something pristine, a time that, in my mind at least, would be less chaotic.

My answer to the fan was that I'd like to see my homeland -- America -- 500 to 1000 years ago before politics, before machines, before pollution. I want to see primeval forests east of the Mississippi River and the untouched grasslands of the plains as they were before the axe and plow changed their faces forever. I want to smell the air as it must have been back then, fresh with pure, rich, untainted oxygen. I want to see rivers and streams as they were before our modern actions muddied them -- so clear I can see the fish and fresh water clam beds in the depths. I want to see beaches along the Atlantic, Pacific, and Gulf, before hotels, condos, and sprawling estates lined them. And most of all, I'd like to see the native people in their original habitat, before European diseases, politics, and "eminent domain" wrecked their beautiful world.

I've been hiding in the background......

2009-12-02T05:34:00.000-08:00

....wondering what I could possibly blog about that would make a difference in the grand scheme of things. We all have a lot to think about. Today I'll share a few random thoughts that range from the ridiculous to the sublime.

Politics & Politicians: I grew up listening to my grandparents argue and discuss politics and politicians. Maybe their mostly negative views influenced mine, because I find myself thinking more and more like they did 50 or 60 years ago: Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. So see? Nothing changes but the date and our age where politics are concerned.

Afghanistan & Iraq: I read a newspaper op ed that said Russia bankrupted itself fighting in Afghanistan. Well hey, the US had already been bankrupted by Wall Street, big business moving overseas, and fiscal mismanagement at every level, so guess we're good to go. I believe in our military forces and hold citizen soldiers in the highest esteem, but I don't believe in spending money on wars when schools and infrastructure are in such sad shape, and taxpayers are losing their jobs and homes.

Fame vs. Reality: Michael Jackson died and even our politicians acknowledged his passing with a moment of silence while in session. Where were the moments of silence for the soldiers and marines lost in Iraq and Afghanistan? Tiger Woods wrecked his car and refused to talk to the police, was fined $164. A young man I know did a slow-tap-on-pedal at a stop sign and had to do many hours of community service and pay a huge fine. Politicians that don't pay their taxes for years get no kind of punishment whatsoever. If Joe Public doesn't pay HIS taxes, the wrath of the IRS comes down on him with a vengeance. Can you see a pattern here?

Health Care: I've said all I have to say about health care in a previous blog. Pres. Obama has pushed the possibility of a health care plan farther than any other president, but my opinion has not changed. The House and Senate have over-complicated the issue with thousands of pages of rules and regs, none of which will control the real problems. As long as insurance companies and lawyers provide huge support and perks to politicians, we won't have a plan that really helps the American people.

So that was the ridiculous and discouraging. For the sublime, here are some links you might enjoy:
http://www.squidoo.com/hollenbergstation
http://www.squidoo.com/sandhillscranes
http://www.squidoo.com/kentuckymountains

Cap & trade? Health care reform?

2009-09-08T08:27:00.000-07:00

I try to avoid watching the news lately. I surf through the channels and stop when something besides endless murmuring about health care reform is droning on and on. You'd think a retired Registered Nurse would be hanging on every word, but the writing is on the wall as far as I'm concerned. And those blurry heiroglyphics don't translate to "health care reform."

Why so skeptical? you ask. Well, first of all, I don't believe there will be any sort of meaningful health care reform. Our politicians are too busy feuding along party lines to reform anything except new perks to benefit themselves and bankers. I know that's harsh, but it's what I think so why not say it. Second, unless the insurance companies are held on a short leash, reform will be difficult. No more denying of claims due to pre-existing conditions. No more telling doctors what tests they can and cannot do. No more huge profits taken from people who paid their dues and got no service in return from their insurance company of choice. Our politicians will not be delivering ultimatums or wrist slaps to insurance companies in my lifetime. Nor will they be controlling the lawyers who file law suits that drive up malpractice insurance and health care costs.

I'd like to know more about cap and trade -- and odd name that disguises what our politicians are ramming through behind our backs while we're being fed "health care reform" 24/7. What I've learned about cap and trade comes mainly in the form of education through our local electric co op and a few small town paper op eds. Anyone with low income or fixed income is already struggling to pay for gasoline and groceries. (Even that famous store that will not be undersold has raised prices so high I can't afford to shop there.) So what's gonna happen when the politicians cap and trade utility bills into the stratosphere? Will we have to choose between buying food and paying our utility bills? I fully expect that to be the case.

My suggestion to the media and politicians is to stop droning on and on about health care reform unless you truly intend to work towards that goal. Stop creating smoke screens of all kinds and tell us what legislation you have planned that will drive our utility bills up. I'd like to know what my options are before winter sets in.

One final word to our politicians: We can't continue to be a world power when you allow businesses and jobs to go overseas or when your tax paying citizens can't find work, afford food, or pay utility bills. A true world power sees to its own country's strength and stability first.

I'm baa-aaa-ccc-kkk

2009-08-13T16:07:00.000-07:00

Did anybody miss me? I'm not sure if it's the summer doldrums, internet lag (like jet lag only worse), my age, or political aggravation that has dragged me down.

Summer came too early this year, along with its bugs and ghastly heat. We had a lovely fall like cool down in July that tortured me into believing we might have an early fall. But I was wrong. My brain goes on hiatus in summer. I hope it (my brain) returns when cold weather sets it.

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you know I reluctantly joined Twitter and Facebook. For awhile I bravely struggled on and tried to tweet and do my Facebook thing. Even though I was a minimal participant, it took WAY too much of my time, time that would have been better spent doing other things. Following up on Mafia wars and Farmtown requests is a full time, unpaid job!! Maybe I'm just an old poop, but playing games online seems like a waste of time and energy to me. For now I'm trying to pay attention to my email people and write an occasional book review. Oh yeah, and make a Squidoo lens once in awhile.

The health care issue would be almost humorous if it wasn't so discouraging. I'm getting more like my grandma every day because my tolerance of politics is riding a thin thread. She would have said, "How do politicians who voted themselves every perk in the book, including free health care, have the nerve to whine about providing health care to citizens?" I second that, Grandma. She would have said, "Maybe if the politicians hadn't allowed so many American businesses to move outside the country, our economy would be strong enough to support a health care plan." I second that, Grandma. She would have said, "Maybe if the politicians weren't trying to fund wars around the world, we'd have the money to spend on health care." I second that, Grandma. In my younger years I didn't pay much attention to wasteful politicians. Now I'm old enough to see the political foolishness for what it is -- brazenly wasteful and arrogantly focused on helping themselves first.

The one bright point in an otherwise dismal TV news time is that Pres. Clinton successfully went to N. Korea and brought the two women home. What a joy it must have been for those two women to walk into a room and see Pres. Clinton standing there!!

So now you know why I haven't been around lately. Maybe this fall I'll perk up.

Aston West Rocks!!

2009-05-29T08:48:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite fictional heroes is Aston West, created by sci fi writer T.M. Hunter. Now, I'm not a sci fi fan but Hunter converted me, and that took some doing!! I'm creating this shout out because I'm a die hard fan. Read the blurb and excerpt below. Check the links to Aston's website, and the book on Amazon and Fictionwise to learn more about West and his adventures.

BLURB:

Space pirate Aston West stumbles upon a derelict freighter, fresh from a recent battle, and can’t fight the urge to pilfer a valuable cache of highly illegal weapons. While on-board, however, one last stowaway fights back, thinking him part of an earlier boarding crew. Attack craft return to finish the ship off and Aston has no choice but to save her from certain destruction.

Who is she? What are the weapons for? Why was the freighter destroyed?

Aston discovers more questions than answers, and his life is put in jeopardy every time he stops to catch his breath. His life motto of never getting involved is put to the test, and he must decide whether to become a hero for people in need, or continue his path of self-preservation.

Find out more about my hero Aston West here:
http://astonwest.com

Here is Aston's story on Amaon:
http://www.amazon.com/Heroes-Die-Young-T-Hunter/dp/1897445784/

Or find the book on Fictionwise:
http://www.fictionwise.com/eBooks/eBook74975.htm

READ THIS EXCERPT:

I awoke to a seductive female voice. “Aston...”

Too bad for me, it belonged to Jeanie, my ship’s computer. A cruel joke designed for mostly male pilots spending long periods alone. It was even worse when I ignored the fact she was simply a machine programmed to think.

“What?”

“We’re entering the Toris system.”

Our current destination was my gateway to temporary financial security. I sat up from the hard, low-lying bunk, stood, and walked to the bridge. It was a short distance, nonetheless painful, as metallic floor panels clanked under my feet louder than normal.

As I walked onto my bridge, the hyper-speed engines disengaged and slowly wound down. I held onto my captain’s chair to steady myself until the ship reached a constant velocity. I sat down in my chair, reached into the side pocket, and pulled out the same bottle of Vladirian liquor that put me down.

“How are we doing on time?”

“Far ahead of schedule,” responded Jeanie. The second of my four cargo hatches held a cargo container full of blue organic crystals. When I picked it up, the seller told me to take it to Toris, the outer planet in the system of the same name. I didn’t know why, but I’d double my pay if I made it to Toris fast enough ahead of schedule. They didn’t have to tell me twice.

“Let me know when we reach the station.” I took a small taste of the light yellow liquid in the bottle. The storekeeper peddling the stuff at my last stop had filled me in with the full story behind the drink. A small animal called a Roshtu secreted the liquid as a defensive measure when attacked. The sweet smell and taste caused the attacking predator to lap it up and become intoxicated, while the Roshtu escaped unharmed. I took another drink, this one longer.

“So, Jeanie, what would you like me to buy you once I get paid?”

“I am currently running at peak performance, and have no requirements.”

I smiled and leaned back in my chair. I usually found scuttled and abandoned cargo, then sold it for profit. Scavenging was a less aggressive form of piracy, and usually safer, since you didn’t have to carry out threats of violence. Unfortunately, such cargo tended to be scarce, and had been more so lately. So, when I’d stumbled into an opportunity to carry cargo, I jumped at the chance. An extra bonus for speedy delivery didn’t hurt matters.

I took another sip of the Vladirian liquor and put it away. There needed to be something left to celebrate my fortune.

“ETA?”

Jeanie ignored my question. “I’m picking up a ship on medium range sensors.”

The hair on the back of my neck rose. “Show me.”

My view screen lit up along the front wall of my bridge. A couple kilpars in length, the lines of the ship were smooth, tapering from the nose to a constant, rectangular cross-section around the first quarter of the hull. Near the back of the ship, I could see bell-shaped nozzles behind four embedded engines, darkened against the starfield. I recognized the configuration, but wanted some confirmation.

“Rulusian freighter?”

She gave the designation. “Green Three.”

I took another look at the sensor screen over my left armrest. “I don’t see any other ships out there.”

“There are none in the vicinity.”

A Rulusian freighter in an alien system, all by itself, made no sense. They often stuck together in vast convoys, to give themselves a better defensive position through sheer numbers.

“Status of the freighter?”

“Engines and main power are down, backup systems are in effect. No shields, no weapons charged.” She paused a moment. “No life signs.”

With the condition of the ship and no crew, I wondered what happened. Then a smile crossed my lips. I was a scavenger pirate at heart and wasn’t about to let a prime opportunity escape.

“Any cargo in the bays?”

Jeanie was hesitant. “Yes.”

“Well,” I chuckled, “what is it?”

“I’m picking up signs of cargo without accompanying records in the transport manifest.”

Contraband.

My smile grew. Rulusians were usually law-abiding. I had no idea why one of their ships would be hauling illegal cargo, but with three open bays on my ship and plenty of time to spare, there was only one thing on my mind.

Jeanie was too smart for her own good. “The logic of this situation does not compute.”

“It’s nice you worry about me, but I’ll be fine.” I nearly laughed at the thought of a machine with feelings.

She remained silent.

“Access their computer, and drop their cargo.”

“Unable to comply.”

If she wasn’t programmed to obey, I would have been upset. There had to be something wrong.

“Explain.”

“The on-board systems were placed under a command-level lockout by the Captain of the vessel. Only the Captain can remove it.”

I clasped my hands behind my head and sighed as Green Three grew larger in the view screen. Finding the freighter made me think my luck was turning for the better. Now, the situation was tougher than it first seemed. My thoughts drifted to the state of the ship.

“Looks like they didn’t want anyone else gaining control. Maybe they abandoned her.”

“That theory appears plausible.”

I ran my hands through my dark brown, wavy locks, then massaged the tension out of the back of my neck. “I guess I’ll just have to go over and drop it manually. Move us to the starboard docking port.”

******

I've read the book so know what happens next. Poor Jeanie just can't keep Aston out of trouble. And he won't be sipping Vladirian liquor where he's headed!!

Memorial Day 2009

2009-05-25T05:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we four siblings decorated our family graves. By our presence and floral offerings, we honored the people who raised, fed, and nurtured us. Among our ancestors are two veterans of World War Two and one of World War One.

As we placed our flowers and reminisced among ourselves, I thought of the America I knew as a child in the World War Two era. I was very young, but understood that everything my family did was to help the war effort and soldiers any way they could.

we saved our pennies and bought war bonds
we raised Victory gardens
we pooled our ration tickets with family and friends
we ate that awful early version of margarine -- the gloppy white stuff with an orange color bead in it that we had to mix into the white glop -- so our soldiers overseas could have the butter.
we hung flags on our porches and put stars in our windows.

I'm sure there were many more ways Americans sacrificed back then, but those are the efforts I remember. Grandpa spent a lot of time explaining to me why we had to economize:

our boys overseas needed nourishing food and special vehicles and equipment to survive;
Planes, tanks, weapons, warships cost a lot of money to make and that money had to come from citizens like us;
buying war bonds helped keep the country strong during war time;
what few little sacrifices we made were nothing compared to what our soldiers had to face in battle far away from home.

Today I'm thinking about how awful it must be to be a military person in a strange country. I'm thinking I don't mind if tax money is spent on protective equipment, whatever that might cost, to keep them as safe as possible.

The men and women in harm's way around the world deserve at least as much support as our country has given failed banks. That's what I'm thinking this Memorial Day 2009.

Reading, writing, and garden -- OH MY

2009-05-12T13:13:00.000-07:00

Our Victory Garden is looking healthy and the vegetable plants growing like weeds. From the sound of the news -- why can't I learn to stop listening to the news? -- we'll need every veggie that comes of our efforts. We're substituting meatless meals a couple evenings a week, and may have to do more of that. Not long ago we discovered our local stores were selling meat from Mexico, beef raised by American growers with their operation in Mexico now. That may explain why beef has not tasted as good as it used to. Why would stores in Kansas and Nebraska have to import beef from Mexico or other countries? Must have something to do with NAFTA. Not sure what we will do about it, other than to stop buying meat unless it's been processed at our local locker plant. As for the veggies, those grown in our organic backyard garden we KNOW are not laced with pesticides and god knows what else.

We decided to take a lesson from friends in the UK. They plant tomatoes and green peppers in five gallon buckets, so that's an experiment we tried this year with a couple tomato plants and green pepper plants. We're eagerly anticipating the first peas from our garden. My mother-in-law always planted peas with edible pods so we planted the same.

Reading and writing? I barely have enough concentration to read very often anymore. No, I don't have dementia or some other condition causing my lack of concentration. I can't explain this turn of events in a woman who has loved reading since kindergarten. Writing has suffered the same fate. I have nothing more to say to the world. Two major writing projects are patiently waiting for my muse to return. Somehow, I feel that won't happen. I have six books in my resume. That's enough for me.....unless I change my mind.

Right now I keep my writing muscles flexed a bit by making Squidoo lenses. Some recent topics include:
http://www.squidoo.com/dissociativedisorder-me
http://www.squidoo.com/maydaymemories
http://www.squidoo.com/laurelspoetry
http://www.squidoo.com/laurelsheroes

So if any of my fans out there get lonesome for my writing, you'll have to check out Squidoo. Meanwhile, I'll dream of a garden overflowing with veggies.

Victory Gardens, War Bonds, and Patriotism

2009-04-11T04:58:00.000-07:00

I grew up during World War 2 when even the poorest among us raised a Victory Garden and bought war bonds.

I've often wondered while watching the news today

why the government no longer sells war bonds. Is it

ingenuous of me to think that would be one way to

decrease the U.S. budget deficit? Granted, movie

stars and famous folks hawked war bonds in that

era instead of protesting and taking pot shots like

they do now.

I know these are very different times, and that during World War 2 the war bonds were

affordable for just about everyone. We put pennies,

nickels and dimes in a jar and whenever enough

coins were accumulated, we bought a war bond.

This week my husband and I planted a Victory Garden. It isn't necessarily

dedicated to war victory, more like victory over ever increasing grocery prices

for the vegetables we prize. Even the famous store that will not be undersold

has raised prices so high we can barely afford to shop there on a fixed income.

Our garden is a raised bed organic garden, 10' X 10'. Potatoes, tomatoes, green beans, and peas will be planted in it. We learned from past experience that a garden that size will produce a LOT of veggies if the soil is prepared right.

Maybe it's my age, but it seems to me that America has forgotten what patriotism is and is not. I don't believe our country is always right, but we're blessed

here in ways that every country everywhere can see and understand. No matter how spoiled and weak we Americans seem to be, we rise to overcome whatever problem presents itself. That's why people come here legally, illegally, and any other way they can. They want a small piece of our blessings as a country. They want freedoms like the ones we enjoy and the ability to earn a living wage.

Our little Victory Garden behind the garage is a small gesture we make to show how we feel. Like my grandparents before me, I help with the labor of bringing our garden to fruition. We do it because we can, because we're free to use our property as we see fit, within legal parameters. Our garden represents

our support of American soldiers everywhere, and our willingness to sacrifice to better our lives and our country.

Now, if we could just buy war bonds, life will have come full circle for me, back to the years when Americans were hopeful, self-reliant, and proud.

An Exceptional Two Weeks For Me

2009-04-02T10:44:00.000-07:00

First, I tied for first place in the New Squid category of the International Friendship Day contest on Squidoo with my Friends of the Heart lens. My prize is a Twitter page background created by a skilled graphic artist. Can't wait to see it!! You can view my page at http://www.squidoo.com/friendsoftheheart.

Second, I've been gone a week visiting the Rowe Sanctuary in central Nebraska, seeing Sand Hill Cranes up close and personal. The Platte River has always fascinated me. I get a sense there

of ancient times and places. Sand Hill Cranes have been on earth for millions of years. One 12 mile area of the Platte is now their migration flyway. They spend the day eating waste corn in harvested fields adjacent to the Platte. At sunrise they fly out to the fields. At sunset they return to the river to roost. The sight of thousands of cranes in flight or roosting on the river is beyond my ability to desribe.

Now I'm home, trying to document my thoughts before they fade. For more pictures and thoughts you can visit http://www.squidoo.com/sandhillcranes

I'm Just an Old Country Girl....

2009-03-01T08:08:00.000-08:00

....So I realize politicians don't give a hoot what I think. The nice thing about this country is that I can say what I think whether anyone listens or not.

I find humorous the recent wailing and gnashing of teeth by Republicans re: Obama's stimulus plan. Now, I come from a long LONG line of die hard Republicans. I'm not defending either party here, just saying what I think. Now back to the GOP wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Where was all their wailing when Pres. Bush ramrodded the country into the Iraqui war? Or when he proposed the Wallstreet Bailout and they approved it with no oversight whatsoever? Where was their teeth gnashing when the Bush-sponsored bailout produced no results, other than already rich bankers having our tax money to take trips, grab big bonuses, and remodel offices. Do the House and Senate Republicans think our memories are that short? If so, they need to guess again.

I'm sick of hearing Republican politicians whine about Obama and the Dems when they share the guilt for what happened in this country equally with their Democratic peers. Maybe part of their problem is that they allow Rush Limbaugh to be a Republican spokesperson. They should let the CITIZENS be their spokespersons and no one else. After all, it is the citizens of this country who provide their privileged life style.

Not to let the Dems off the hook, they helped create this economic hell right along with the GOP. They allowed big business to ship jobs outside the country, and supported said big business every step of the way. They helped allow trade deficits to grow and prosper, to the detriment of their homeland. And they expect the common man to pull in his or her belt and sacrifice, while they continue to receive free health care, a pension fund for life, and continue to take non-essential trips on the taxpayer nickel in the midst of economic chaos. (a recent trip to Italy comes to mind.) Dems and Republicans alike are guilty of feathering their nests while expecting citizens to sacrifice everything so they can continue to live large.

Before retirement, we paid, paid, paid our taxes. One April the IRS made a mistake and said we owed them $500. They came down on us like ugly on an ape by May and threatened dire consequences if full payment was not forthcoming immediately. Our tax prep person said we did not owe the money but we needed to pay it or the IRS would red flag us. We paid it, and by July the IRS returned our money, sans interest of course. I want to know how politicians get away with not paying their taxes? Is this yet another case of Rank Has Its Privileges? I suspect so. Common citizens have to pay their taxes or suffer bad consequences but politicians can do anything and come out smelling like a rose.

My point is, I'm willing to sacrifice. Most Americans are willing to sacrifice. So when do our politicians join in the sacrificial process? Cut their salaries, limit the pension fund for life to years served, or pay for their own health insurance??

I'm just asking.

A Strange New Day for Me.....

2009-02-14T06:14:00.000-08:00

I started out by BLOGGING here. No one could have ever convinced me I'd BLOG anything anywhere, but here I am.

Then I became a Squidlet over on SQUIDOO. No one could have ever convinced me I'd be making SQUIDOO lenses, but at latest count I've made ten.

Hmmmm. Then someone invited me to join FACEBOOK. I thought no way, no how, but now I'm on Facebook gathering friends and joining groups.

I said in a previous blog post that I don't TWITTER. Never say never cause now I'm a TWEEP on TWITTER.

Slowly and gradually, people I like have been dragging me kicking and screaming into the 21st century. You can hunt me up on FACEBOOK or TWITTER if the mood strikes. And I'd really be thrilled if you'd leave comments in the guestbooks on my lenses on SQUIDOO. I'm not a very accomplished lensmaster but my heart is in each Squidoo lens I make. The topics vary:

http://www.squidoo.com/economylessons is about my grandparents and their life as documented in My Name is Esther Clara.
http://www.squidoo.com/beckslovelessons is written from Beck's point of view. Beck is the main character in The Alley of Wishes.
http://www.squidoo.com/friendsoftheheart is a testament to my long time friends. (This one is mentioned above as part of a contest to commemorate International Friendship Month.)
http://www.squidoo.com/laurelspersonal-philosophy is just what the title implies.
http://www.squidoo.com/kentuckymountains features photos and prose about the years I lived in the Kentucky mountains.
http://www.squidoo.com/litbits tells about my writing experience from first book to last.
http://www.squidoo.com/homelessinamerica features personal experience with and concerns about the homeless population.

OK enough of blowing my own horn. I'm not sure if blogging, squidooing, facebooking, and twittering has helped enhance my reputation as a person or a writer, but they've been interesting and new experiences.

INTERNATIONAL FRIENDSHIP MONTH

2009-02-06T04:25:00.000-08:00

I decided to join the International Friendship Month contest sponsored by Gypsy Owl over on Squidoo. I thought this was a wonderful way to memorialize my friends. My friends are a blessing, every single one of them whether new friends or old. The main problem was whittling down the list. I have long time friends and computer friends, writer friends and relatives who are friends. For the purpose of this contest, I decided to focus on long time friends.

Anyone not registered with a username and password on Squidoo won't be able to vote for me in the contest. But you can go to my page and leave a message if you want to. No pressure. :)) You can find my friendship page at the following link:

http://www.squidoo.com/friendsoftheheart.

Gypsy Owl is a kindly and helpful Giant Squid over on Squidoo. Giant Squids have 50 or more lenses (pages). This is a designation I'll never reach. I'm happy being what I call a Squidlet, making lenses about the people, places, and things that bring joy and meaning to my life. The friendship contest lens can be found at the following link:

http://www.squidoo.com/Lens-Contest. You'll find some interesting and heartwarming lens links there.

With all the bad, awful, unbelievable news we see around us, heartwarming and kind lenses in this contest are a welcome change.

Thoughts for a New Year

2009-01-14T05:39:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid in kindergarten, I used to think I'd die in the year 2000. Don't ask me why I thought that. Guess it was just a wrinkle in my childlike reasoning because here it is 2009 and I'm still kicking.

Sinking into discouragement at the outset of this new year would be easy. Who would blame us for our dark thoughts? Discouraging news is everywhere. Yes, we have the promise of hope from a new President, but even that has its downside. The new broom has to work with the same old dust and cobwebs. Can he sweep them clean? Forgive my doubts that a strong, young, determined broom can clean the Beltway's focus on "rescuing" already wealthy bankers and cohorts from the mess they've made for someone else to scrub. I'm not alone in thinking that even millionaires and billionaires who mismanaged the funds of investors should not be on house arrest, living in luxury or waiting for a tiny slap on the wrist for their misdeeds. To clean up and paraphrase Al Pacino's famous line: They belong in freaking JAIL.

I'm no economist, but my thought is if our politicians want to grant billions and trillions of dollars to anyone in hopes of jump starting our economy, that largesse should go to the citizens and taxpayers. Give every citizen of legal age $100,000, or even $10,000 and we'll spend it on things we've needed or wanted but are afraid to buy right now. Give us enough and we'll pay off our credit cards or our homes and start fresh. We'll shop til we drop. Yeah, I know I'm stupid for even having such a thought. Such a "bail out" might lift some people out of poverty and our politicians certainly would not want THAT. However, the Congress, Senate, and American people have seen no results from the first gift to our big banks so perhaps it's time to change focus.

Like most Americans, I don't expect my government to give me anything. I set my budget and live within it. If a few extra bucks accumulate, I might splurge and buy that new toaster I've been needing. If not, I'll do without. Too bad our elected politicians don't spend taxpayer money with the same thought in mind. They expect us to sacrifice, but are not willing to give up anything from their own benefits. They'll keep their health care and pension fund for life while citizens are losing theirs. Something is wrong with that picture. No politician should have entitlements for life, especially if they do nothing to earn such benefits.

Still, I am in charge of my own destiny. I am the one who determines how my life proceeds, so I'll continue what works for me and mine. Meanwhile, I'll entertain a small modicum of hope that our new broom will actually make inroads into the glutted mess our government has become.

Merry Christmas!!!

2008-12-25T06:55:00.000-08:00

Back in those olden days when I was a child, Christmas had a very different meaning than it does now. Christmastime was magic then, with twinkling lights reflecting in the eyes of children, and stories of the Christ Child keeping our focus off the presents under our tree. Mom and Grandma made sure we understood the Baby Jesus was the reason for all the gaiety, presents, and colored lights.

Now, in my golden years, reminiscence is the Christmas I celebrate in mind and spirit. No Grinches or Scrooges or Humbugs can discourage me. I remember the glory days of Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa's, days when all their children and grandchildren gathered in their small house. The scents and sounds of Christmas come back to me like a gift of memory: turkey cooking in Grandma's well used Westinghouse roaster; her secret recipe stuffing baking in the oven; frosted molasses squares resting fragrant amidst a cookie tray so loaded down with hand decorated treasures that the mind boggles now just thinking about it; a cacaphony of chatter and laughter while relatives talked at once in every corner of the house.

No Christmas is complete without recalling Mother's decorated packages. Even the most humble pair of socks came in a package so beautifully decorated that children hated to disturb the wrapping. Mom labored over wrapping every present for hours.
She created breathtaking winter scenes -- drawn first by hand, then finished with colored glitters. Santa Claus with his sleigh and reindeer flying through a night sky, a family of deer drinking from a stream meandering through snow drifts, a nativity scene so glorious it should have hung in the Louvre.

Mom's Christmas cookies were the same. No simple cookies ever graced her trays. Santas with white frosting beards and red candy sprinkle suits, Rudolphs with red sprinkle noses and colored lights hung around his neck, Christmas trees loaded down with lights and gifts, and Angels, stars, candy canes so beautiful that recipients were hesitant to bite into the creations.

No matter what my situation now, I never feel isolated, lonely, or blue at Christmas time. My mind takes me to those gentle places in the past where Mom and Grandma and Grandpa and family celebrated the Christ Child's birth by sharing their gifts of good food and decorated cookies. Merry Christmas and God bless us, every one.

I'm a squidlet on Squidoo

2008-12-15T11:19:00.000-08:00

Have you Squidood yet? I wouldn't even have known about it if not for my publisher, Dandelion Books. Editor Carol Adler emailed me and suggested I try my hand at making pages -- Squidoo calls them lenses -- on Squidoo.

I'm not too gung ho about social networking sites on the internet. You won't find me on Facebook or MySpace etc. because I don't have the patience or knowledge to socialize online. But I dutifully made a lens on Squidoo. Imagine my surprise when other kindly squids actually read what I wrote and left positive comments!! Not only that, creating a lens was as easy as writing a blog on Blogspot. One lens lead to another, then another, until I had four. With each new lens I learned something new.

Now, I'll never be a Giant Squid or Squid Angel. Giant Squids are prolific and have many helpful, creative lenses to their credit. Squid Angels dispense blessings far and wide throughout SquidLand. I'm not too prolific or creative, but being a member is part of the fun. Several Giant Squids have been supportive of my fledgling efforts. I even came in third in a Season of Thanks contest at Thanksgiving time. Such excitement!! I even have FANS on Squidoo. Imagine that.

If you have something to offer that might be helpful to others, consider adding your expertise to a Squidoo lens. And if you have the time, check out my handiwork. My lenses are rudimentary, but they come from the heart. Stop by. Leave a comment on my guestbook, or maybe even make a lens of your own. I'll stop by if you do and leave you a friendly message. That's how they do it on Squidoo.

Here are my lenses:

http://www.squidoo.com/economylessons

http://www.squidoo.com/beckslovelessons

http://www.squidoo.com/laurelspersonal-philosophy

http://www.squidoo.com/tomsheehan

Thoughts of the season.....

2008-12-09T07:19:00.000-08:00

Like most Americans, I'm tempted to dwell on the floundering economy and bailout info we're force fed 24/7 by the media. If government bailouts of big banks and big business wasn't so outrageous, I might even find a bit of humor in the process. If I mismanage my budget to the point that we lose our home, our vehicle, and everything we own, no one will care. We'd be considered foolish failures, pariahs. Folks would whisper about us and cluck their tongues. But.....when bankers or auto makers mismanage their businesses into the ground, the Beltway races in to rescue them from their follies.

This last weekend I experienced life as it is in small town America, life as it should be and is for a majority of us. The rural economy may be sluggish, but I saw no signs of hopelessness in my little town on Saturday. I started my day at a pancake feed to benefit local service groups. Then I browsed a fantastic craft fair, the proceeds of which went to support local schools. I ended my day at another craft fair where all the proceeds went to a fund established to help build a new hospital. Later in the day a soup day was hosted by a local restaurant to help offset medical bills for a local couple. The turnout for each event was huge and crowded with people eager to spend whatever they could afford in support of projects larger than their own immediate needs. I saw many smiling faces this weekend on people happy to be a part of solutions instead of contributing to problems. That is life outside the Beltway.

I don't mind supporting projects that accomplish good results, such as the church ladies who contribute school supplies for grade school children. I enjoy contributing to the greater good when it comes to schools, hospitals, food banks, or common citizens. In this small, rural town you'll hear no whining about needing bailouts or handouts. What you WILL see is people who contribute wherever they can and try to take up the slack ignored by state and federal entities.

Generous spirits thrive everywhere during the Thanksgiving and Christmas seasons. But in my rural Kansas town, generosity flourishes year round.

Hunger, poverty, "entitlements"

2008-11-14T04:42:00.000-08:00

With all the coverage lately of government bailouts, I've been reminiscing about a childhood lived in poverty. I was nine when my parents divorced, leaving Mother on her own to feed, clothe, and raise four children. Dad made good money, but for some reason did not feel obligated to support his children. Mom worked at low paying jobs to support her brood but really had to struggle and pinch pennies when it came to Christmas or buying school clothes and supplies. We had a local Sears store then and she made good use of the layaway plan. She started every January laying away things for the next school year or Christmas. A dollar a week accomplished a lot in the 1940s and 1950s.

I can't say we little urchins were ever actually hungry, but our diets left much to be desired. High calorie, high carb, high fat foods were cheap when I was a child. Mom made huge pots of navy beans or noodles or potato soup which we ate with bread or crackers to put a chunk in our young stomachs. Menu variety included pancakes, french toast or a tasty meal Mom called "eggs a la goldenrod." For that delicious meal, Mom hard boiled 2 or 3 eggs then stirred them into a white sauce -- milk and flour -- spooned over toast. We did not always have meat. On Sunday she'd fix a roast or fried chicken. Other days of the week were often meatless. Most of our protein came in the form of lentils or eggs.

I know poverty first hand from those childhood years and understand how desperately low income parents want a better life for their children. My mother was one of those desperate parents. Contrary to the picture painted of low income parents, she did not sit around waiting and hoping for handouts. She plowed on, earning what money she could and spending the majority of her income on her kids. She could not afford to buy a house, to wear fancy clothes and shoes, or anything else that was a non necessity.

So when millionaire politicians cast aspersions on people who get "entitlements" while bailing out the millionaire bankers and businessmen who have mismanaged their businesses into the ground, I think of my mother. She wouldn't have paid attention to entitlements for the very rich. She would have been too busy fighting to survive. But I pay attention to every word describing every bailout. Rich bankers and businessmen who need a bailout should have to bail themselves out like my mother did -- by working and struggling and managing a budget and pinching pennies and taking care of business. They shouldn't stand around whining with their hands out waiting for taxpayers to shovel more entitlements down their bottomless pits of greed.

Grief and Loss revisited

2008-11-04T04:45:00.000-08:00

My mother died in December of 1984, eight days before Christmas. She was 65 years old and I wasn't ready to lose her. I floundered at the time and have been floundering in one way or another ever since. I wanted to keep her in my life as a beloved nurturing presence. I'm sure my siblings felt exactly the same. I think we all reverted to children in our hearts when she died. Her loss transformed us into orphans. No aspect of my life has been the same for me since 1984.

Over the years I read books on grief and loss. I had my head shrunk by experts. Nothing helped or made sense. Recently I had the good fortune to read a journal about grief and loss by another soul floundering in the aftermath of a loved one's death. Something in this man's struggles spoke to me as no other book had. How did I learn about this book? I knew the writer, and empathized with his struggles. His simple words, gouged from a grieving spirit, helped me understand -- where nothing else had -- that human grief is a refining fire we all must face eventually as an unwelcome part of life.

You won't find this book on amazon or at your local book store. It was published by the Idaho State University Press. The author is Michael Corrigan and this is by far the most helpful personal narrative of grief and loss I've ever read.

The title A Year and a Day was taken from the Irish tradition of mourning a death for one year and one day. During that time, Corrigan kept a journal documenting the shock, horror, rage and grief he felt while trying to survive the death that shattered his life.

If you're grieving a devastating loss and your mind has reached the point where you can process information, this is the book to read. You'll have to order it directly from the Idaho State University press at 208-282-3215 or email the editor William Harwood at harwbill@isu.edu.

Can money and appearance buy success???

2008-10-26T12:04:00.000-07:00

I'm a writer who would like to be successful because my message is in the medium.

Palin is a politician who would like to be successful in her bid for U.S. vice president.

Other than riding life's merry-go-round while reaching for the brass ring, that's where this comparison ends. We are apples and oranges, or more likely water and champagne, me being the water.

Before proceeding further, I need to make it clear that I am not a Palin basher. Like Hillary before her, everything she wears, says, or does is run through the media sausage grinder. Journalists give her male counterparts a pass while broadcasting her every real or imagined flaw and foible ad nauseum, ad infinitum. The new kid from Alaska didn't stand a chance from day one, while the other new kid from Chicago skates above the fray, reaping life's bounties.

OK, now that that disclaimer is out of the way, here's my point. Palin and I both would love to be successful in our chosen endeavor. She has succeeded, at least in part, where I have failed, because she dresses the part. That 150k spent on wardrobe, hair, makeup, shoes has certainly helped gild the lily.

On the other hand this writer / sow's ear has had a hell of a time transforming itself into a silk purse. It would cost at least HALF that 150k to do something with my hair, and that's IF a world famous hair dresser could be found with the skill to transform me. A make up makeover would be equally daunting. Maybe a Hollywood make up artist would know what to do, but I'm not at all certain about that. The clothing makeover might just be hopeless. Transforming a Marjorie Main type into a charismatic beauty is harder than you realize.

My last public appearance as a writer was quite successful. More successful than I'm used to. In preparation, I got a seven dollar hair cut and combed as much hair as I could over my bald spot that shines like a beacon on the top of my head. I put some lotion on my face and applied a dab of wine colored lip gloss that cost three dollars ten years ago when I bought it. And I bought a new outfit, which looked pretty good on me -- slacks twelve bucks at WalMart and a quite flattering sweater that cost sixteen dollars in a catalog. So let's see: seven dollars plus three dollars plus twelve dollars plus sixteen dollars equals thirty-eight dollars. If you add in my five year old sixty dollar shoes, my appearance that day cost almost a hundred bucks.

The appreciative audience loved me and my message. They bought all the books I had with me and would have bought more. They asked if I would please come back and talk to them again. I basked in that approval and appreciation for weeks. Just imagine what I could have done with 150k worth of improvements!! I might be in New York on the Today show or interviewed by Ellen Degeneres. My books might be on the New York Times best seller list. Oprah might choose me for her book club. I might have been a contender!!

Yep. If lots of moola can ensure success, with 150k I might have been a contender.

Good thoughts to ponder.....

2008-10-22T17:23:00.000-07:00

Someone sent this to me over email today. I thought, considering the tangled messes we are reaping from Washington DC and the banking industry, these points were well worth repeating.

Whatever we give to life, life gives back.

If you plant honesty, you will reap trust

If you plant goodness, you will reap friends

If you plant humility, you will reap greatness

If you plant perseverance, you will reap contentment

If you plant consideration, you will reap perspective

If you plant hard work, you will reap success

If you plant forgiveness, you will reap reconciliation

If you plant faith in God, you will reap a harvest

So, be careful what you plant now; it will determine what you will reap later.

Yes, whatever we dish out will come back to roost on our own shoulders. So when will self-serving politicians and crooks reap what they sow? Hope we live to see it.

Campbell Brown and me.......

2008-10-16T17:12:00.000-07:00

In past blog posts I've talked about the obscene amounts of money spent by both presidential candidate campaigns. I think that two men who pretend to care about struggling citizens should curtail their spending. Tens of millions of dollars have swirled down the sewer of attack ads on TV, for example. That money would be better spent by putting dollars where their mouths are -- homeless shelters and food banks, or other exceptional humanitarian needs.

My thought has been that maybe I'm the only citizen who resents such waste of time and money, that maybe I'm delusional or simply gone crochety in my old age. But tonight on CNN, Campbell Brown -- No Bias, No Bull -- suggested that the millions per week wasted by these candidates should be sent to food banks trying to serve the families of taxpayers who lost jobs.
Whether large city or tiny rural community, food banks are struggling now with empty shelves and decreasing donations. I can't speak for cities, but people in the rural area where I live are beyond generous when it comes to supporting their local food bank. Even so, food needs have increased here, as they have everywhere.

So, if Obama and McCain want to convince Campbell Brown and me that they really truly do care about struggling people in harsh economic times. her idea has great merit. Every week until election day, each candidate could give a million dollars to support foodbanks around the country. I'm just skeptical enough to think that won't happen. The Fed probably has some goofy law against it, but I can dream. I doubt any of those high priced TV ads will change the minds of voters at this late date.

Campbell, you go, girl!!!! What a wonderful idea!!

A hopeful perspective......

2008-10-09T05:17:00.000-07:00

Matt Ford is an AP journalist touring the battleground states, interviewing citizens and covering issues that matter to voters. These videos of everyday Americans demonstrate the hope, determination, and grit of citizens from every walk of life. Yes, people are discouraged on many levels, but the message in these videos is what individuals are thinking and doing, personally, to adapt to our current economic storm of higher prices and shattered family budgets.

Regardless of our current troubles, the world still looks to America for hope. Think about that for a second. Wall Street excesses, our dependence on middle eastern oil, and out-of-control pork barrel politics have wrecked our economy. This economic free fall has impacted every other country in the world. The scenario seems grim but, still, they look to America for financial salvation and answers. Matt Ford's stories clearly demonstrate why.

John McCain said recently our economy is essentially sound. By that, he said he meant the American people who work, pay taxes, and keep the wheels of this country turning. These thumbnail videos of American citizens prove that McCain was right. Times may be grim, but every person featured in these videos has found a way of making sense out of the chaos, not for the world, perhaps, but for themselves and their families. They've devised ways to work around the problems that plague working class families in hard economic times.

While viewing these videos, I thought of my maternal grandparents. By any measure you might use, my grandparents were poor. They raised four children during the Depression and hardship was their daily companion. They sacrificed along with everyone else during the Depression and the World War Two years, never doubting that America would continue to thrive and survive.

Anyone who reads this blog should consider viewing Matt Ford's profiles of American taxpayers. None of them are rich or famous. None are happy with the economic problems they're forced to deal with on a daily basis. And yet, these people inspire hope. They represent small slices of life in America and provide a glimpse into why this country thrives, no matter what. American taxpayers are not sheep being lead to the slaughter. They are taking action to help themselves, just as they have always done in hard times. That, to me, is a hopeful perspective.

Here is a link to Matt Ford's citizen profiles related to the big issues of this election year:

http://hosted.ap.org/specials/interactives/campaign_plus/big_issue/

Tag I'm it......

2008-10-01T05:31:00.000-07:00

Aston West over at the Western Chronicles tagged me. The tag rule is that I must list six things about myself here that people don't know about me. I don't really understand tags very well. Don't know where they originate or why, but since Aston West is one of my favorite heroes, I'll play along. Here are my six revelations:

1. Because of my nursing philosophy, my empathetic concerns for others, my work with the homeless, and the type of books I write, a fan suggested I receive an honorary doctorate from a major university. I doubt that happens, mainly because of my low key way of doing things, but I was pleased to know anyone thinks that highly of me.

2. Female pattern baldness runs in my family and I inherited the trait. Except for maybe warts on my nose, I can't envision anything worse than stumping books in public with my scalp shining like a beacon in the fog.

3. Beck Sanow, the delicious and stalwart hero of my fictional book, The Alley of Wishes, is based on a real person who actually existed. The creation of this hero was a gift to my mother.

4. I have a zany sense of humor but very few people know that.

5. I'm a radical activist for justice, equality, and compassion. The politicians and potentates who know that about me don't appreciate my activism or my opinions, and don't personally give a hoot what I think, but I keep on trucking anyway.

6. I have several major psychiatric diagnoses that I've managed for over twenty years without medication. (Disclaimer: This is not a recommendation to others as a way to manage psychiatric conditions, just saying medication did not work for me so I learned ways to work around my diagnoses.)

OK Aston, there are your six revelations.

On to another semi-unrelated topic

2008-09-25T04:37:00.000-07:00

OK, you're safe now. I'm off the topic of wishing and on to something else. Grandpa's stock answer when anyone "wished" for anything was, "Wish in one hand and s--t in the other and see which one gets full the quickest." Grandma and Grandpa were a wealth of such salty sayings. I grew up seeing the intangibles of life -- wishing, hoping, day dreaming -- through their eyes. They didn't smother down my imagination, but forced me to look at life realistically.

Would I ever be a princess? NO. you came from sturdy peasant stock, so ethereal beauty, fragile vulnerability, and petite, ladylike charm do not exist anywhere in your makeup.

Would a knight on a white charger show up some day to whisk me away? NO. Knights don't look twice at girls who labor their way through life and don't know one fork from another.

Would I ever have a horse of my own to ride? NO. Horses cost too much to feed and maintain so ride your bike and be glad you have it.

Grandma and Grandpa have frequently been on my mind lately. They'd have plenty to say about the political hi-jinks on the news, and would be raving mad about the bailout of big financial institutions that have mismanaged themselves into the gutter. They didn't trust the stock market or investments because the Great Depression was too stark a memory. They didn't trust most politicians, with a couple possible exceptions. Dwight Eisenhower was one man they trusted. Politically, I can't recall another they thought was worth the powder and lead it would take to blow him up. (Another Grandpa saying. "That guy isn't worth the powder and lead it would take to blow him up.") Of course, if he were overheard saying that now, Homeland Security would come calling.

My point is, Grandma and Grandpa were forced by life and circumstance to live in the real world. They didn't come from money and knew they would never be rich. They had no expectations of financial windfalls or miraculous bailouts. And they certainly did not believe their government would rescue them in tough times. Like most Americans today, they worked hard to feed, clothe, and nurture their children. They paid taxes, saved a bit of every paycheck, and found their joy in simple things. They didn't spend big or live "high on the hog." They didn't fritter away money foolishly and had no respect for politicians who spent taxpayer money like drunken sailors.

Every day, when I watch the news, I wonder what Grandma and Grandpa would have to say about the excesses on Wall Street and in Washington D.C.

Wishing, Part Two

2008-09-14T08:38:00.000-07:00

In my last post I discussed some wishes. My tongue was firmly planted in my cheek at the time, which is probably a poor technique if I want to see those wishes come true. One of my wishes was as follows:

"I wish excellence, kindness, honesty, courage would be rewarded and failure, dishonesty, meanness, sneakiness punished. Before you say "OH but dishonesty and crime ARE punished!" stop and think about this one. That may be true for poor crooks but not rich ones. Think Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac and various politicians and CEO's and you'll see where I'm going with this wish."

I saw a Danziger cartoon that illustrates clearly why I doubt excellence and honesty will be rewarded with any regularity. The cartoon showed the CEO of Fannie Mae -- Daniel Mudd --
and the CEO of Freddie Mac -- Richard Syron -- pushing wheelbarrows loaded with their severance packages away from the wrecked businesses they helped ruin. Mudd's severance package was $9.3 million and Syron's $14.1 million. If this cartoon represented a true picture of the situation, there will be no punishment for these two failures. No shame at a botched job. No regret at a colossoal failure. They toddled off to their mansions with a severance package that should have been returned to the coffers they raided. They laughed all the way to a bank that is no doubt still solvent.

Here's a thought for our government. Pick a senior citizen fighting cancer, living on $600 a month and TEN dollars worth of food stamps a month, barely able to survive, and give that person a million dollars. Find NINE of them in similar circumstances and give each one a million dollars. Find fourteen low income families -- two working parents struggling to support and nourish and clothe their children and keep gas in the family car -- and give THEM a million bucks each. If you're gonna reward the failures of big business CEOs, why not branch out and give big bucks to people struggling with courage and succeeding against all the cards you've stacked against them? Start a trend that focuses on the overburdened among us instead of your privileged bigwigs pals who've failed so dismally.

If you do that, I might still believe that wishes come true.

Wishing will make it so???

2008-09-09T12:34:00.000-07:00

I read an article recently about a woman who tested that old axiom. She wished for certain things for a year, and all -- or most -- of her wishes came true. Maybe I'm just old and cynical. I used to believe whatever I could envision would happen, but that was many moons ago. These days I'm skeptical. Here are a few wishes I'd like to see come true, not necessarily in the order of top priority:

I wish all elected and appointed politicians at the local, state, and federal level would spend taxpayer money as if it were their own and live within a strict budget like they expect us to do;
I wish homeless people, poor working mothers (parents), and common folk had the same power and respect as millionaires, billionaires, politicians, and power mongers;
I wish cures could be found for all catastrophic diseases - cancer, alzheimer's, ALS, etc.
I wish excellence, kindness, honesty, courage would be rewarded and failure, dishonesty, meanness, sneakiness punished. Before you say "OH but dishonesty and crime ARE punished!" stop and think about this one. That may be true for poor crooks but not rich ones. Think Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac and various politicians and CEO's and you'll see where I'm going with this wish.
I wish some of the excellent writers I know could have the honors, sales, and recognition they deserve. This goes along with the prior wish that excellence should be rewarded.

My wish list is much longer than that but those are a few of the less selfish and frivolous ones. Maybe tonight I'll pick one at random, wish upon a star and see what happens.

My husband read a sci fi book!!

2008-09-04T11:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was chilly and cloudy so hubby spent most of the day indoors. Instead of watching the telly, he picked up a book I won in a contest. He read one page, then another, then sat stretched out on the couch and continued reading. As far as I know, this is only the 5th book he's read in our more than 40 years together. He's read my four published books just to make sure I said nice things about him, but otherwise he's a tv watcher or worker bee and not a reader.

The book that held his rapt attention all afternoon was Heroes Die Young by T.M. Hunter. It's a small book of 136 pages, which is probably what appealed to hubby at the beginning. But what held his attention was the sci fi action and adventure and the book's hero, Aston West. West is a humorous, self-effacing, reluctant hero who delivers with courage when the chips are down.

When he finished the book, hubby said, "Well that was pretty damn good! Is this Hunter guy a famous writer?"

I said, "No, but if there's any justice in the world, he will be some day."

My apologies to all the fine, unkown writers whose work deserves more attention than it gets. You all know who you are because I communicated that clearly through my reviews of your work. I singled this one out because a man who rarely reads anything was so intrigued by it he spent the day reading instead of watching reruns of CSI on Spike or Forensic files on Tru TV.

Congrats, T.M. Hunter, for enticing my husband into reading your book. Readers of sci fi out there, remember T.M. Hunter's name. You might even consider following hubby's lead and reading Heroes Die Young.

Homeless and hungry, just passing through....

2008-08-29T09:18:00.000-07:00

Mother used to say that if we paid attention, looked around us, we would find reminders of those little things that keep the world turning. Since she was poor, raising four children on tiny wages and a shoestring budget, we knew Mom didn't mean for us to look around for mansions, expensive cars, diamonds and gold, or fancy clothes. She meant to keep our eyes peeled for regular people doing the right thing, showing compassion, sacrificing for the betterment of others without whining about it. She meant for us to observe the loyalty and rituals of wildlife and domestic animals, the reliable resurgence of spring, or how winter snows cleansed the air and covered Earth's bare places.

Amidst the frivolity and excesses of political conventions -- financial excesses that literally turn my stomach -- I hoped for a sign that the common world still turned in ways I could accept and appreciate. That sign came this past Wednesday in the guise of a homeless man heading east on Kansas Highway 36 to visit his mother. We passed him on the road while he pedaled a three-wheel bicycle loaded down with two dogs and everything he owned. He grinned happily and tossed a jaunty wave as we passed in reply to my husband's honk. Dressed in an Army fatigue jacket and tattered jeans, he had that weathered look of a man who spends long hours in the sun. On the back of his bicycle was a sign: "Homeless. Hungry. Will work for food for me and my dogs."

I knew without asking what my husband would want to do. We were a mile out of town, so I suggested we turn around and get a few staples at the local grocery store. Hubby was more than happy to do so. Half an hour later we found him stopped along the highway giving his dogs a drink of water and some bites of plain bread. We presented high energy drinks, bananas, crackers and peanut butter to tide him over for a day or two, a bag of dog food, and a couple deli sandwiches. He grinned and shook hands with my husband, said he had a long way to pedal himself and his dogs before reaching his destination in the heart of Illinois. But he wasn't complaining. He was happy to have transportation.

As we proceeded to our own destination, we wondered about his history. What put him in such circumstances? Would he reach his destination in Illinois? Will he take side roads or try to reach his mother by pedaling himself and his dogs along a busy interstate? Will anyone give him work? Food for him and his dogs? Shelter from the weather? Will anyone see in him what we did, a wide happy smile free of self-pity and a man willing to ride a loaded down three wheel bike hundreds of miles no matter what befell him along the way?

On our return trip home several hours later, we passed him again, more than 10 miles east of our first encounter. He was parked under shade trees, sitting cross legged in the dirt, eating a sandwich and petting his dogs as they ate their dog food. We honked, he grinned and waved as we passed. And we returned home, more thankful than ever for the reliable vehicle we drive and our comfortable home.

That night as we watched still more coverage of politicians, hubby said, "Wish I had a thousand dollars out of the millions these people (politicians) are spending on such foolishness. Just think what that man and his dogs could do with a thousand bucks."

My mother's message still rings clear after decades. Meeting that homeless man with dry bread in his pockets inspired us and reminded us that this world turns for everyone, not just the very wealthy and fiscally irresponsible politicians. We don't see everything of importance on TV. That homeless guy and his canine companions will stay in our minds long after the election has passed. We'll worry about him and pray for him and wonder if he made it safely to Illinois.

A good day for this writer......

2008-08-20T18:47:00.000-07:00

I rarely get invited to do a book signing or personal appearance anymore. That's mostly my fault because I don't get out and circulate or talk about my books. Plus, it's been awhile since my last book was released so people tend to forget. Out of sight, out of mind. Last month a surprise arrived in my inbox. A group of people who meet monthly for lunch at Clay County Hospital in Clay Center KS asked if I would be a featured speaker for their meeting in August. I was delighted, of course, and wondered how anyone in Clay Center knew about my books. I don't know anyone in Clay Center, but several group members had been reading and passing around two of my books.

Today was a perfect late summer day here in prairie land. We've had abundant rain this summer so the drive south to Clay Center presented bright green pastures and corn fields and healthy milo fields with fat brown milo heads in contrast against a clear blue sky. Sleek brown and black cattle grazed contentedly in fields along the roads. That "easy, peaceful feeling" extolled in a song came over me. Under ideal conditions, the rolling prairies of Kansas are beautiful.

Clay Center is a thriving town situated on Kansas Highway 15. We found the hospital with no problem and were most impressed. The small rural hospital has a wellness center complete with heated indoor pool, and the meeting room above it on the second floor has every modern pleasantry you could want. The staff was cheerful, friendly, and helpful. I had a good feeling about the day from the minute I walked through the door.

40 to 45 people attended the meeting. Most were senior citizens but several younger people attended. A tasty lunch was served and then came the time for my presentation. My talk was extemporaneous, not a prepared speech. I knew the attendees were most interested in
My Name is Esther Clara because the staff had told me that ahead of time. The group laughed at my stories in all the right places, and asked questions afterward. And numerous people wanted to buy copies of my books, although selling books makes me feel more than a little uncomfortable.

This day was nirvana for an unknown writer. Every writer should appear before an appreciative, attentive group like the one I met today. All in all, it was a very good day.

review of A Year and a Day by Michael Corrigan

2008-07-28T07:57:00.000-07:00

Enough about me and politics for awhile. Here is the review of the latest book by one of my favorite writers. It's not available on Amazon, unfortunately, so anyone interested in reading this fine book will have to order it through the Idaho State Univerity Press.

A Year and A DayBy Michael Corrigan
ISBN 0-937834-76-9
236 pages at 17.95 paperback + $3 s&h
Idaho State University Press
921 So. 8th Ave, Stop 8265
Pocatello ID 83209

Michael Corrigan personifies the romanticized vision of what an Irishman should be: musical, humorous, a gifted performer and wordsmith, blessed by the blarney stone and the love of his life. The last thing he expected was to lose his adoring wife, an accomplished professional and beautiful compassionate woman whose "bright light was blown out forever."

When Karen Lea Smith Corrigan died unexpectedly from a brain aneurysm in September 2005, life as he knew it ended. The day of her death he prays for lightning to strike and incinerate him. When that relief does not come, he continues as a grieving ghost -- stunned, numb, shattered, separated from reality, and alone in his grief. From that awful beginning of life without Karen, he embarks on a year and a day of traditional Irish mourning. His existence without her is all raw nerve endings and aches and pains. Somehow, he survives the early days of her loss. Corrigan returns to teaching at the University. He sees a grief therapist and begins a journal in hopes of helping others cope with such awful loss. With compelling honesty, he questions her death and struggles with memories:
"I wish her soul would return on All Souls Day, or any time. I would tell her I loved her and probably should have said it more often… She often mentioned that others admired her work and I think she expected me to say, "Yes, you are the consummate professional." I did believe that but never felt the need to say it. She didn't need validation for her gifts, or so I thought. Perhaps that was a mistake. After such sudden death, there is that "What if?" syndrome and the nagging question: Why didn't I praise her more or tell her the truth -- that I worshipped her this side of idolatry?
If at some time I found the ability to stare into the seeds of time and saw what was about to happen, I would have withheld nothing. Could any intervention have saved her? There is the possibility that Karen's fatal condition was inevitable…but knowing that any second could be our last together might have shaped how we lived."

You'll find no meaningless buzz words here, like "closure" or "healing" and no empty platitudes. Corrigan faces his losses head on and claws his way through because he believes his life with Karen is worth the grief. Each day is a struggle, a battle to celebrate her life and survive her death. This journal is Michael Corrigan's attempt to honor Karen's memory with his honest sharing of grief. Anniversaries, holidays, remembered rituals and joys, pain, regret, and panic are all laid out truthfully in a way he hopes will help others suffering from loss. Highly recommended to all adult readers, especially those reeling from the loss of someone they love.

So far, so good on Kindle

2008-07-26T18:44:00.000-07:00

Today I decided to see how my two books were faring on Kindle. To my total surprise, The Alley of Wishes has an 11,000 ranking!!! That means someone, or more than one someone, downloaded it to their Kindle reader. I don't know anyone who reads books on a hand held device, and I don't own one myself, but this modern age is amazing.

So far My Name is Esther Clara doesn't have a Kindle ranking. Poor Grandma. I guess people are more interested in reading the racier fare in The Alley of Wishes.

OK, it's safe to return to your normal routine again. Just thought I'd interrupt to announce the Kindle sale. The newness will wear off my excitement soon. I promise.

I've been Kindled.....

2008-07-10T13:05:00.000-07:00

To help take my mind off the hundreds of millions of dollars candidates are spending on the presidential campaign, my publisher decided to put The Alley of Wishes and My Name is Esther Clara on the Amazon Kindle reader. OK, truthfully, having my books "Kindled" didn't really wipe all thoughts from my mind about how swiftly our candidates can waste ungodly sums of money. I've rearranged my entire existence to renovate the family budget in ways that will offset increased gas and grocery prices. Everyone I know has done the same, so the spending habits of coddled politicians will never be far from mind. Still, having my books available on Kindle is a milestone that deserves at least a blog post.

Since my publisher's email about Kindle, I've entertained myself by imagining how intrigued my grandma would have been with this new technology. Esther Clara and her husband Herb read everything they could get their hands on -- books, magazines, newspapers. Both had curious minds and soaked up information of all kinds through reading. Grandma used to say they had an 8th grade education with a PhD in reading. Both would have been excited to know they were memorialized on a hand held reader like Kindle.

Yes, I know not many Kindle owners will be downloading my books to read on buses, trains, or airplanes. They'll be reading the New York Times or the latest best selling blockbuster. Most Kindle owners have never heard of me or my books, but it's possible someone might run across my titles.....somehow. Hmmmm. Maybe I'll surf on over to Amazon right not to see if my ranking has made it to less than one million.

pinhole glasses

2008-07-03T13:04:00.000-07:00

Sandy, the webmaster over at www.pinhole-glasses-direct.com asked me to check out the website and comment on it here. Let me say right up front that I have not worn the glasses and had not heard of them until today, but the info on their website is thought provoking.

Normally I can't follow through on requests made here to review or feature books, writers, websites, etc. I decided to check this one out because I've had poor vision all my life. The vision in my left eye has been highly impaired since birth. At age three, my eye doctor had me wear glasses with pinholes instead of a left lens. He thought that might help my clumsiness with walking and running into things. I wore that pinhole lens for a long time, along with other treatments he prescribed. By the time I started school, my clumsiness while walking was nearly gone. AND, at the age of five I was already a fast reader with good retention of what I read, despite my vision troubles.

According to the website, pinhole glasses will remedy vision problems related to myopia, cataracts, astigmatism, and Computer Vision Syndrome. After cataract surgery, Computer Vision Syndrome has been a real problem for me. I have tired, dry eyes from even a short time spent on the computer at home or at work. As a writer, poet, and reviewer, creating on the computer in the 21st century is essential. I wonder if pinhole glasses would help?

Make of this what you will, readers. I'm not trying to sell you pinhole glasses or endorsing the product, since I've not used it. But the premise interested me because of my history of wearing a version of pinhole glasses as a child and my current struggle with Computer Vision Syndrome. If you want to know more, check out their website.

Now, wasn't this better than my ranting about politicians?

2008-06-13T09:21:00.000-07:00

Well, let's see. So far I've had no comments on writing, no comments on politics, no comments on the environment. From that my agile mind deduces that either no one reads my blog, or no one cares what I think. Cool. I'll just continue entertaining myself then.

My friend Eric Burton at www.elburton.com said in today's blog that 4,000 people in France accessed his blog yesterday. Eric is a typical American conservative and an active blogger despite advancing retinitis pigmentosa. His thoughts are always interesting and thought provoking, whether readers agree with him or not. Today I'm taking a lesson from him and telling the world what I want from a president and our elected senators and congressmen. By the way, I am the opposite of Eric. I'm a bleeding heart liberal. Now, on to what I want:

I want our elected officials to have the same health care and retirement fund as the working stiffs. They've sneakily voted themselves free health care and a killer retirement for life, perks that will continue ad infititum whether they are in or out of office. Term limits for politicians will be meaningless unless voters strip them of all their self endowed entitlements. (Read more about entitlements later.) Since I doubt the congress and senate will willingly give up their perks, then I want all citizens to have the same health care and retirement as our politicians. Good luck on that, right?

I want our elected government officials to give the same importance to our nation's infrastructure, education, health care, and any program benefiting citizens as they do to fighting wars around the globe. Why is it that politicians are willing to spend hundreds of billions of dollars on war, yet they scream bloody murder when the needs of citizens is discussed. They throw up the "entitlements" smoke screen whenever any citizen mentions Medicare, Medicaid, VA care or education. OH, the dreaded "entitlements" are bankrupting the country. Of course, the politicians' entitlements are off limits and can't be touched because they've protected their own backsides in a thousand different ways. And a war the citizens did not vote for is NOT bankrupting the country?? Ahem.

I want our government to stop sending money overseas until they get America's budget back in the black. They expect us to save money, subsidize their perks, pay for our own health care, set and stay in a budget, and smile while they shaft us. They make jokes about low income people living in trailers buying lottery tickets, and yet their hopes for an endless stream of gifts and perks is acceptable because they're already rich. They need to live within a seriously limited budget and practice what they preach.

I want all campaigning politicians, whichever office they seek, to be common, everyday citizens instead of millionaires, billionaires, or sons of same. Why should they live a life of status and privilege while the citizens they supposedly serve struggle to survive? I often entertain myself by imagining what good might have been accomplished by the hundreds of millions spent by presidential candidates for this election. If they want us to believe their populist messages, refusing to waste that much money on an election might convince us that they're sincere.

I've talked too long and I'm not even halfway through my list. Maybe I'll continue at another time.

What should I stimu-late?

2008-06-07T05:09:00.000-07:00

Has your personal economy been stimulated yet? Is your check in the mail or the bank? Will you do your part and give the flagging economy a boost?

My husband and I discussed whether to be good citizens and run out to buy something. Our cookware is in serious condition in its ancient state. Our old TV is slowly fading away. We took a tour of Walmart recently to price said cookware and TVs but went away empty-handed. Prices have doubled or tripled since the last time we purchased either cookware or a TV. Hubby had his heart set on a new TV so he could indulge his addiction in hi-def splendor. Alas, the ones with screens big enough for our aging eyes to actually SEE were far more money than our "stimulus" check will be. The last TV we bought was under $300 for a 27" Sanyo. A similar size Sanyo now has one of those newfangled flat screens and costs close to $700. I'd like for my TV addict to have his new TV but.....we need to think about it for awhile. Cookware is a higher priority, but granted, not as romantic a purchase as television would be. Halfway decent cookware isn't cheap at Walmart anymore either. Nothing is cheap at America's largest chain store anymore, and there's the rub.

We're wondering if the economy will be stimulated if we just pay bills? Or maybe we could keep gas in our vehicle for a month? We're grateful that our budget has been stimulated, but with the price of gasoline and groceries, $600 won't do much nowadays for retirees on a fixed income.
Thanks, though, GWB. We've decided to stimulate our electricity provider this summer so we can afford to run the central air instead of gasping in the heat. Does that count?

The Democratic National Committee meeting June 30

2008-06-01T05:43:00.000-07:00

I lived in a town once where the ruling body made all its decisions behind closed doors. Citizens sat in council meetings twiddling their thumbs while council members discussed matters of importance out of voters' earshot. Once their decisions had been hammered out, the council proceeded to shove those decisions down the throats of taxpayers. Of course, that council did not even give the pretense of listening to dissenting voices, unlike the DNC members who reluctantly and grudgingly allowed statements that did not agree to their pre-arranged and pre-ordained decisions regarding the Michigan and Florida voters.

When the movers and shakers of the DNC took that "extended" lunch hour on June 30, I was reminded of the helpless, hopeless feelings citizens experienced during city council meetings. We registered voters of that one horse town knew instinctively that our voices did not count and our opinions were not important. Most decisions impacting that town didn't make it to the ballot. Clinton supporters in Florida and Michigan and around the country yesterday had the same sinking feeling.

That DNC meeting yesterday was an eye-opener for me. Now I understand why the Democratic party and our country is in such an awful mess. When the pundits say, "The voters have spoken." those words mean nothing. The voters are not allowed to speak on any level anymore. The decisions are still made in closed sessions, away from prying eyes. Those rooms may not be smoke filled anymore, but the results are the same -- shutting common folk and voters out of the process because the political hierarchy doesn't trust us to make the decision they want us to make.

Obama has no reason to be happy with this outcome despite it being in his favor. His party is a mess and all the "healing" and "coming together" in the world won't change what we saw yesterday on TV. I hope the DNC committee enjoyed their "long lunch hour" because, in this voter's opinion, it was an expensive one for the party. I'm probably not the only registered democrat who feels that way. The Democratic committee used the same bully tactics they so resent in the current administration. The only ones with any reason to rejoice over what happened yesterday are the Republicans.

Books I'm reading or anticipating.

2008-05-23T07:47:00.000-07:00

I decided to wash all thoughts political out of my hair. Nothing I say or think makes one whit of difference in the grand scheme of Beltway machinations. Reading good books and cleaning my house are much more productive in the short and long term.

I've had to cut back on the number of books read for review. A huge pile of books awaits on my reading table, and an equally large pile sits to my right on the computer desk waiting for reviews to be written. Since a thunderstorm is passing through right now, I need to finish this fast in case the electricity goes off.

Right now I'm reading Bye Bye Bertie, the second in the Ivy Towers Mystery Series by Nancy Mehl. These cosy mysteries are engaging and, yes, cosy. I'm waiting to read the third in this series. Hard telling what sort of trouble Ivy will encounter as this series progresses!!

Poet Burt Kimmelman agreed to exchange books. I got the best of the bargain when two of his books arrived in the mail the day after my book went out to him. Since the book of poetry featuring work by Stephen Sulik and me is no longer in print, I was lucky to have a copy on hand. Kimmelman's two books are The Pond at Cape May Point, featuring his poems and art by Fred Caruso, and Somehow. I've reviewed his work before and enjoyed his poetic style.

I received Llyn Clague's latest poetry book, Painting Sin, in the mail recently and will be starting that read soon. Clague is another poet whose work I review regularly and enjoy.

Also waiting on my reading table are two of my favorite journals, The Bellowing Ark and Ibbeston Street. These aren't journals to gloss over in a hurry. I savor them over a period of days or weeks. My own poetry has appeared regularly in The Bellowing Ark, but lately my muse has been on hiatus.

The thunderstorm is directly over me now so I need to publish this post before the electricity goes out again. Thank God blogspot saves drafts!

The Ant and the Grasshopper

2008-05-12T07:20:00.000-07:00

I've received numerous email forwards of the ant and the grasshopper forward. Political commentator Eric Burton even wrote about it on his blog. As I do with most politically-related topics, I've thought about this parable for a week and decided my take on it is different than those who forwarded it.

In the parable, the ant works hard all year long to ensure his survival. The grasshopper plays, hops about from here to there, enjoys the moment, and puts off any meaningful labor for some future time. Eventually winter comes and the grasshopper has no food or shelter while the ant is cozily cosseted in his home with a ready food supply. The grasshopper whines that it isn't fair that the ant is so safe and well fed while he must suffer with nothing. Outside agencies rush in to defend the poor grasshopper and force the ant to share his largesse.

I guess the grasshopper is supposed to represent lazy people who don't work and protect their own survival during tough times through hard work and planning. I have a different thought on the subject.

To me the ant represents taxpaying citizens who work hard, live frugally, and do their best with what they have -- a strong work ethic and realistic outlook on budgeting for survival. The grasshopper represents our politicians, who spend our money as if it were theirs and don't hold themselves to the same yardstick as they do taxpayers. WE have to save for our retirement and make do, struggling under the dark threat that social security and Medicare will run out in the near future. They have their retirement income locked in forever ad infinitum at no cost to themselves. WE have to purchase our own health care if we can afford it. They have their own special health care plan paid for by tax payers at no cost to themselves. WE have to live amidst a crumbling infrastructure that plays second fiddle to funding wars and support to other countries overseas, while they party in the rarefied air of the DC beltway. Shall I go on, or are you catching my drift?

Perhaps a politician started that parable circulating around the internet. The media says taxpayers are spoiled and can't pull together like we did in other wars. Commentators say we'd rather spend time at the mall than concentrate on solving our country's problems. I say the problems will never be solved as long as our politicians act like grasshoppers sitting on the throne awaiting their entitlements. I say they all give us short shrift and keep us focused on ourselves in hopes we won't notice our politicians' inability to manage a budget and plan for our future as a country.

I say, just who's the ant and who's the grasshopper here?

A review of My Name is Esther Clara

2008-04-28T03:40:00.000-07:00

My books are seldom reviewed, mostly because ONE, I don't ask people to buy my books, and TWO, I don't solicit reviews. Yes, I know that's a very poor technique for a writer to use. A tiny handful of fans read everything I write and post reviews in various places, the operative words here being "tiny handful." I'm always thrilled and amazed when anyone outside my fan base buys my books and makes the effort to write a review.

Recently, Eileen R. Tabios bought My Name is Esther Clara and wrote a review on her blogspot, Galatea Resurrects. Tabios is a writer and poet I admire. She sends me poetry books to review for every edition of GR, lest you might be wondering about our connection. That she bought my book, read it, and featured a review on GR was a pleasant surprise to me.

Follow the link below to read the review. And while you're there, check out her site for other surprises. Each edition is chock full of book reviews. You'll find the best of known and unknown writers and poets featured quarterly. (This is a blog I read regularly. I'd add Galatea Resurrects to my blogroll, if I could figure out how to do it.)

http://galatearesurrection9.blogspot.com/2008/03/publications-by-laurel-johnson-maureen.html

Mom and Grandma Part Two

2008-04-21T11:42:00.000-07:00

I had so many good comments on the last post that I'm entertaining myself by adding Part Two.

One lady emailed with the opinion that what worked for Mom and Grandma in the 1930s and 1940s probably would not work today. In many respects, she's right. Most of us don't buy 50# bags of anything packed in cloth feed sacks we then make into clothing. How many women OR men or children would wear clothes made out of feed sacks now? Not many, unless designer labels were sewn into the backs of them.

Most of us who live within the city limits of any size town can't raise our own chicken, ducks, or geese for eggs and food. Raising any sort of livestock is forbidden by most municipalities. What we CAN do is buy free range chickens or eggs laid by said chickens, but they cost a lot more so no saving money there.

What about cable TV, Satellite TV, internet access, and cell phones? Such modern technology was not available in "the old days" so Mom and Grandma didn't have to budget for such luxuries. Their TV access, when they finally decided to splurge, was through an antenna, either purchased or home made. It won't be long before frugal folks still gaining TV access through an antenna will be forced to change. The cable and satellite providers have seen to that with the aid of our politicians. Then they'll have a few more hold-outs to raise prices on every few months.

Gasoline was between five cents and a quarter a gallon in those olden golden days. Grandma and Grandpa thought that price was outrageous so limited their driving as much as possible. If they had to travel any distance to a funeral or other family function, they eliminated some non-necessity from their budget to help pay for the gas.

During the war years -- World War One and World War Two -- everyone had to do without certain things, such as sugar, butter, gasoline, rubber. And citizens were encouraged to grow their own vegetables in Victory gardens. I'm as guilty as anyone now when it comes to forced rationing. My generation and the ones younger than me want what we want when we want it because that's how it's been for us for decades. Still, we do have our forced rationing now. It's just handled differently than it was in Mom and Grandma's day. Prices today force us to limit what we buy. And our politicians can't pretend that we're all "in this together" like they did in the first half of the 20th century. The only ones in our current stew pot are middle and low income citizens, while politicians cruise along in the rarefied air they've created for themselves.

But, as another emailer pointed out, we do have options. No one so far is forcing us to have cable and satellite TV, internet access, or cell phones. It's not a requirement to buy designer clothes and shoes or shop til we drop in search of luxuries. We COULD grow our own veggies if we put our minds to it. Think about that for a second. If you grow your own veggies, you'll know where they came from and what additives might be on them. You can't say the same about vegetables you buy from supermarkets now.

I think that addresses the comments. One final thought: If the economy continues as it has been, we might have no choice but to do without, cut back, and return to living like Mom and Grandma did in less complicated times.

We need Mom and Grandma's advice.....

2008-04-15T15:15:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been thinking about Mom and Grandma. My grandparents raised four children through the Depression and Dust Bowl years. Grandpa helped, of course, but worked 12 and 16 hour days to support his family so most of the feeding and caretaking fell to Grandma. She learned to be a creative cook, to fix nourishing meals that would stretch and stretch to feed a hungry husband and children. The Depression was a struggle, but I wonder if it wasn't easier to survive then compared to now. They lived in town but raised a few chickens for meat and eggs. There were no laws then forbidding citizens from raising chickens inside the city limits, and the neighbors didn't complain because they were busy raising their own chickens or geese or ducks.
Grandma bought her flour and cornmeal from the local mill, a few pennies a pound. Since flour was cheap, she made her own bread and sliced it thick.

Beef steak, hot dogs, hamburgers, pork chops, veal and other luxuries were not on their menu. Digestible protein came in the form of navy beans and corn bread or chicken and home made noodles, or eggs fixed in ways most of us today have never eaten. Grandma and Grandpa dug dandelion greens for salad, sliced onion over that, then poured a tasty mixture of sugar, vinegar, and hot bacon grease over it.

Mom raised four kids mostly on her own after divorcing our dad in the early fifties. Even for several years before that she had to rob a few coins from his pocket at night to feed their children. She followed in her mother's frugal footsteps. Have you ever had creamed eggs on toast made from scratch?? Food for the gods. Her home made egg noodles or dumplings were the best I've ever eaten. Like her mother before her, she could stretch one fat hen and the broth forever, or so it seemed back then. Our protein was derived from the cheapest sources back then -- chickens raised in our own yard, eggs, navy beans, corn bread -- and our greens were from dandelions, onion tops, stinging nettles and leaf lettuce grown in the garden in season.

So I was thinking we should do that now, and we would, if eggs were not nearly three dollars a dozen and milk four dollars a gallon and corn meal and flour double what they cost a year ago. Thank God we don't have young children to feed. We can tighten and tighten and tighten our belts without harming anyone. Our cutting back on spending at the grocery store won't cause bankruptcy for the grocers and distributors who control the ever rising prices. But multiply us by a million, ten million, and grocers and distributors will begin to share the pinch started by gasoline prices.

Mom and her parents didn't whine. They just did what they could to keep their children fed. They sacrificed, back in the day when few people were rich, including politicians. We need their wise advice on cutting corners. If they were still alive, maybe President Bush or whoever follows him could appoint them to advise the struggling low income families who can't afford groceries at today's prices. They could teach people how to plant a garden, how to raise healthy chickens, how to harvest dandelion greens.

$40 million? $55 million? $20 million?

2008-04-03T15:14:00.000-07:00

I like warm fuzzies and having my heart warmed. Yeah, I'm a sucker for "Extreme Home Makeover" and "Oprah's Big Give." I enjoy seeing people and businesses put their money where their heart is, where their mouth is. "Pay it Forward" is one of my favorite movies because it follows a philosophy I learned as a child from a mother and grandparents who had generous hearts.

I'm struggling with the money collected and spent on political campaigns. I know Obama and Hillary Clinton did not invent the process. And yes, I know that money talks and everything costs big bucks nowadays. And I've been told that millions of dollars is merely chump change today. $115 million is chump change??

Look around you. What could that "chump change" do for people in your world? I see a woman struggling to survive cancer, living in a run down rent house poorly maintained by her landlord, with no insulation and no lock on her front door and no extra money to spare. I see a homeless man who lives in a city park winter and summer, with an occasional stay in a local motel thanks to the generosity of strangers, or thanks to a temporary job that doesn't bring in enough money for a rental. I see an elderly couple who take turns doing without their medicine so they can splurge once in awhile and have meat for supper. Multiply those people by a thousand and you'll get an idea of what paying forward $115 million would do. It would accomplish much more than an occasional twenty or fifty bucks from concerned citizens.

Oh I know. I'm ignorant to even think about campaign money. But I do. I wonder why the endless coverage politicians get on TV isn't enough to get their message out. I wonder why politicians of privilege receive such largesse and continue living their star-crossed lives while some of the people I see around me can't seem to get their heads above water. Archie Bunker would have called me a bleeding heart liberal, and maybe I am. Mea Culpa.

Easter 2008

2008-03-23T05:26:00.000-07:00

Easter was always a special time in our family. Back in the "old days" when Mom's four little urchins were still young, church gatherings were a large part of our family life.

Mom was a divorced woman who struggled financially to raise four children on wages that were tiny, even by 1940s and 1950s standards. Yes, we lived in poverty but didn't really know it. She saved up her pennies before Easter so her kids could have new shoes and clothes for church. This was not pride on her part, but an extension of the Easter message. Easter represents renewal, resurrection, new beginnings. So we all wore new clothes from the skin out on Easter to celebrate Christ's triumph over death. We all went to Easter services in patent leather shoes for the girls and brown oxfords for our brother. New socks, new underwear, new everything.

The celebration was not only spiritual. Mom enjoyed the secular aspects of Easter, too. We all had Easter baskets piled high with colored eggs and candy, little stuffed rabbits and chicks. She hid them around the house for us to find on Easter morning. But going to the old Methodist Church as a family, with Grandma and Grandpa beaming proudly beside us, was the essence of Easter for Mom and her brood.

Where did those days go? They lie buried in our memories today and we try to relive them every Easter. We gather as a family and still have Easter baskets, with one important difference. Mom is no longer here to share the day. Still, we are all the product of her nurturing and we haven't forgotten. HAPPY EASTER, MOM!! You still look beautiful in your Easter finery.

More random thoughts...

2008-03-14T04:30:00.000-07:00

The last blog post prompted emails from pet rabbits, housecats, gerbils, and dogs. The respondees shared the same concerns about their masters as Missy and Mary Hoppins and wondered if the girls had any advice for politically crazed humans. Unfortunately, at the moment, no advice will be forthcoming because the girls are sleeping off their breakfast.

Tom Parker over at his Dispatches from Kansas blog and Eric Burton at his personal website blog at www.elburton.com inspired me to think beyond the end of my nose this political season. Since I'm of an age where reminiscence is key to my concerns, here are my thoughts today:

One of the most famous TV commercials of all time debuted back in the early 1970s when Chief Iron Eyes Cody shed a tear for the environment. He paddled his canoe through heavily polluted streams, stood on dry land and looked at the litter scattered around him, and gazed at factory smokestacks in the distance belching smoke. That silent tear he shed at the awful mess this country had become spoke for a generation.

Today, 30-plus years later, not a lot has changed. Yes, civic groups have worked at cleaning litter off the roadsides and environmentalists have tried to impact lawmakers. New laws supposedly crack down on factories dumping toxic wastes into our atmosphere and water supplies, but all that did was encourage lawbreakers to figure out sneakier ways of dumping.

If that commercial could be remade today, instead of shedding that lone tear Cody would have to be weeping and wailing hysterically, throwing dirt and ashes on himself, chanting a death song. He could stand on a bluff in Minneapolis while the camera slowly pans to the collapsed bridge and crushed cars. Or he could visit that meat packing plant in California while sick cattle are tortured, killed, and processed into our food supply. He could walk potholed streets or highways, visit run down schools and ghettoes, visit homeless people by the thousands in their makeshift villages in urban alleys and under bridges. The opportunities for shedding tears are endless.

Whenever I see our politicians and presidential candidates talking about "change" I see Chief Iron Eyes Cody in my mind. That tear coursing slowly down his cheek represents questions no one asks our candidates. Such as, is it possible that the billions and trillions spent on war might have been better spent on renovating our country's infrastructure and ensuring a safe food and water supply? If it costs to much to repair bridges, roads, schools, to protect our food and water, why doesn't it cost too much to fund wars? If it's possible for presidential candidates to collect 50 million and 35 million in a week to fund campaigns, why isn't it possible to apply that fund raising ability to a higher purpose?

Iron Eyes Cody knew the answers to hard questions and so do I. Weep. Quietly weep.

A non-political animal speaks....

2008-03-07T04:36:00.001-08:00

I like to be comfy so make a soft bed anywhere I find a likely spot. Mama says I'm getting old so guess that's why soft places appeal to me. Guess you might say I'm spoiled. I've always had a penchant for KFC. Chicken breasts are my favorite treat in the whole world.

My job description includes watching out the windows for birds and squirrels and hiding around corners waiting to ambush Mary Hoppins. Mary and I have been housemates for 13 years. She likes to play, but not with me. Mary's spoiled too. She only has three legs but you oughta see her run! Mary and I have to watch the house when Mama works. Daddy takes her to and from work sometimes. He says her nerves are too shot to drive. I'm not sure what that means, but we don't like it when both of them are gone.

Missy is the mean one and I'm the sweet one. I'm sure you can tell by looking how sweet I am. I like to lay with Daddy on the couch so he'll cover me up with the newspaper. My job description is to be Daddy's baby and to keep Missy in line. I'm the boss of this house, and Mama is the boss of me.

Missy and I get nervous when Mama or Daddy get upset. Lately we don't like it when they watch TV. They used to laugh while watching comedies, or quietly concentrate on crime shows. Now they watch something called CNN and you should hear Daddy cuss sometimes. Mama uses big words Missy and I don't understand and a tone of voice we don't like: "500 MILLION DOLLARS?? What an obscene waste of money on a political campaign!!" We don't know what that means but understand that "obscene" and "political campaign" must be something bad. Then Daddy grits his teeth and says, "That's bullshit!! Think what good that kind of money could do for the homeless or the equipment it would buy for soldiers in Iraq!! Those people should be ashamed of themselves!!"

Missy and I hide under the bed and wait for the coast to clear when Mama and Daddy watch CNN. Just as long as we get our tasty treats and good food to eat, I guess we'll be OK. We still have our soft beds and hiding places and clean litter boxes so life hasn't changed for us. Still, whatever this "political campaign" is, we can't wait for it to be over.

Missy's taking her bath and watching the snow. Guess I'll go take a nap. If anyone understands why Mama and Daddy get so upset about political campaigns, Missy and I would sure like to know.

my work from another perspective....

2008-02-17T09:34:00.000-08:00

Good Historical Fiction Books travel easily from reading chair to classroom

Good historical Fiction Books with a good plot and strong characters are one of the best ways to teach history. In The Alley of Wishes, Dandelion author Laurel Johnson serves as both a novelist and teacher by delivering a memorable picture of Europe during World War I.

Like Dostoyevsky, Dickens and Hugo, Johnson paints a large palette and subtly uses a historical setting to background for her plot. The two main characters in Alley, Beck Sanow and Cerise, come to life through her skillful rendering of their tender love story.

“Laurel Johnson’s work is much more than Les Miserables,” writes book reviewer and literary agent, Jeanette Lundgren. “If you believe in the ultimate triumph of love, faith and friendship, The Alley of Wishes is a book you should both read and cherish.”

“Laurel Johnson has penned a modern masterpiece. Her poetic words flow seamlessly, creating a story of incredible depth. Beck and Cerise become flesh and bone as the reader feels their pain and celebrates their triumph. "The Alley of Wishes is a book no one should miss--and no one will forget,” Nancy Mehl for MyShelf.com.

A past life experience? Perhaps; Johnson candidly admits she became obsessed with both story line and characters, as if they were writing the story for her. It is not surprising that Johnson’s next published book, My Name Is Esther Clara, was a biography of her grandmother, who was a character as vivid and colorful as the fictional Beck and Cerise. Note that Esther Clara’s last name was Sanow-Ford (notice the name “Sanow” appearing as an actual part of Johnson’s family tree!).

Although this work is a biography, Esther Clara could have been passed for one of the several historical fiction books that have been written about 20th century rural America.
“Laurel Johnson's latest book, is a living reproduction and tribute, a period piece typifying many grandmothers who settled on the Great Plains of the United States, writes author Christina Pacosz. “This is a book for the history buff, whatever age, to dig a little deeper into the events of that time told by one of the so-called little people, who drop-by-drop of sweat and blood, always make the world of their day.”

This article courtesy of Dandelion Books

Here I am.....contemplating my technical ignorance

2008-02-07T17:30:00.000-08:00

I haven't posted in awhile for several reasons. The main reason is I need to make some additions or changes to my blog and can't figure out how. The additions I need to make aren't included in the editing options of the template.

My publisher asked me to add an icon link to her new website and to my book link on Amazon. So far I haven't figured out how to do that.

Ever since changing from the pink background template no one liked to this plainer one, I lost my local weather link and hit counter. I'm still trying to figure out how to get those back. Blogspot is great but maybe I'm too backwards to develop my presence effectively.

I really need to develop a new look for my blog. I'll keep trying, and some day you'll come here and see the results......maybe.

An obscure writer's top ten moments of 2007...

2007-12-29T05:21:00.000-08:00

I started a part time job. This one is number ten because after seven months of working, whatever writing projects I had in mind have been buried beneath all the trappings that surround concentrating on a job. On the positive side, my boss is a delightful person who appreciates everything I do to simplify her life. Why did I return to work after a couple years of glorious and eagerly anticipated retirement? See number nine.
We moved to a new home on the outskirts of a small Kansas town. Bald eagles visit from a nearby aerie to perch in the top of our trees and watch for easy prey. We enjoy seeing our national bird up close, but keep our fingers crossed that the easy prey they find won't turn out to be our outdoor cats. The squirrels that frolicked in our trees when we moved here have disappeared, probably taken by hungry eagles. Bird watching here is a daily treat.
I lived through another summer in the plains. I've always hated summer -- the awful heat, the horrible insects -- so when fall and winter arrive I'm properly grateful.
We've had regular snows this winter. Snow is one of my favorite things in the world. It cleans and freshens the air and transforms dull gray and brown nature into a pristine wonderland. This year we also had icy rain that broke trees and power lines and left thousands of people without power. Ice is NOT one of my favorite things, especially when people with limited finances have to pay through the nose for electric companies to reconnect power lines to their houses. I'm grateful we were not without power, and that our electric company had the foresight to bury our power lines underground.
Despite less writing time and energy, I HAVE managed to have an occasional poem featured in online ezines or hard copy journals this year. The editors of Bellowing Ark and The Time Garden seem to like my style so I'm grateful for that blessing. These two editors are exceptional people and I'd say that even if they didn't accept my poetry and commentary submissions.
I reached the milestone age of 65. An eye-blink ago I was 40. Two eye-blinks ago I was 18 and starting nursing school. Those of you who think your eyes, teeth, muscles, joints and bones will always be strong have a huge shock in store! My grandma told me once when she was 89 that inside her mind she still felt 18. I'm beginning to understand what she meant by that.
My three books still sell occasionally online, on consignment, or from my personal supply at home. I'm always so pleased when strangers buy my books based on word of mouth or positive reviews. I've never been as aggressive as unknown writers need to be if they want to sell books. I could easily appear on major network programs with passionate pleas for viewers to share their largesse with humans or animals, or to derail politicians' gravy train. Convincing people to part with their hard-earned money for my books is not in my repertoire.
My sister Pam is 17 months past surgery for colon cancer with no recurrence of cancer. Every month of testing negative for cancer recurrence is a blessing. I often think the trillions of dollars spent on wars around the globe would be better spent on eradicating this awful disease.
My husband and I are relatively healthy, despite our advancing age. Mama always told me I had the constitution of an Army mule so maybe she was right. Thank God for good genes!!
My family and friends are surviving life's stresses, strong and smiling despite whatever comes their way. Nothing makes me happier than seeing the people I love find a small shred of joy in life to keep them going. May that continue through 2008.

So there you have it, my top ten for 2007. I wish for everyone I love to continue thriving through 2008 and to find unexpected blessings along the way. For those of you I don't know or have never met, I wish you the same. Happy New Year!

OH, the weather outside is frightful......

2007-12-22T09:35:00.000-08:00

...but the fire feels so delightful. There may still be unfortunate souls without electricity from the ice storm and snow we had more than a week ago. We lost many tree limbs, but were never without power during that ordeal. Today we have blowing and drifting snow. Not much accumulation so far because the snow blows away as fast as it falls.

We started our day today with the electricity going on and off. Fortunately, I managed to brew a pot of coffee before it went off and stayed off for a couple hours. Hubby had the kerosene stove primed and ready, but we didn't need it. We are blessed to have a very good and reliable electric company.

Living and surviving harsh winter weather without power is an adventure. While living in a mountainous region of Kentucky, we spent eight days without electricity one winter. I cooked and made coffee on our kerosene heater. That was the experience that taught me to always have a land line phone and non-electric clock that work whether we have power or not. I also learned to keep plenty of pillar candles and matches on hand for night time emergencies, and to stock our larder with soups, crackers, peanut butter at all times -- winter and summer.

My husband thinks he's trapped in living hell if the TV doesn't work. I lose touch with friends and family around the country and world when my computer doesn't work. We hear every day about how foolish humans are to be dependent of foreign oil for heating and gasoline. Personally, I think we are foolish to depend on electricity for our every day activities and even our survival. Today, I'm thinking perhaps our country needs to focus less on foreign involvements of varying kinds and spend the trillions frittered away on lost causes around the world on developing new forms of providing power. We are one of the families who would live "green" if we knew how and could afford it. Until that happens, we have to depend on kerosene stoves or wood burners when we lose power in the winter.

A Change of Pace.....

2007-11-24T12:17:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I cleaned house and caught up on laundry and watched Andy Hardy movies on TCM. Talk about your feel good movies!!

Maybe people like Judge and Mrs. Hardy and their son Andy never truly existed, but I was comforted to think life might have been like that at some lost, past time. Andy's teenage rebellions were mild, and always respectful, with no physical or verbal violence. His worries and anxieties resolved themselves painlessly through the support of family and friends. The Hardy home was warm and loving, the parents calm and nurturing. They taught their son by example how life should be lived. None of Andy's peers were suicidal or homicidal. None fancied themselves to be vampires, goths, or hit men. Nobody lived in fear of home invasions or car jackings.

Oh, I know the Andy Hardy series were only movies about imaginary people. What a blessed relief it must have been to go to movies back in those days, to enjoy well-adjusted people interacting in character driven plots without murders and explosions. Maybe it's my age creating such longings to live in softer times. Maybe children were never safe and life was not blithely peaceful. Or perhaps movie makers knew a secret then that their modern peers have overlooked: People like to feel happy and safe, nurtured and serene and accepted.

Thanks for yesterday, Andy Hardy, and for softening the edges of a chaotic world.

My thoughts on Tom Sheehan

2007-11-15T19:25:00.000-08:00

Tom Sheehan is the sort of writer and poet who comes along once in a reader's lifetime. He's one of the top five best writers in the world in my opinion. His work is stunning, powerful, humorous, shattering. So why isn't his name a household word? Why is mine the only review of this particular book on Amazon? Why hasn't he won the Pushcart Prize, despite several nominations? Sheehan has had well-deserved local and regional recognition, but not the attention his amazing work deserves. For this feature I chose A Collection of Friends for review.

A Collection of Friends
Short Stories by Tom Sheehan
ISBN-13: 978-1929763177
260 pages at 17.95 paperback
Pocol Press

According to one critic, Tom Sheehan is a "national treasure." After reading A Collection of Friends, I agree. This book is also a treasure. Sheehan writes with a kindly intimacy that welcomes readers into his life. His words are rich with cadence and imagery as he remembers the sounds, sights, scents, and ghostly voices from his years in Saugus, Mass. Several stories from his book were nominated for Pushcart Prizes and many more of them deserved to be.

In the Preface, Sheehan says of his friends: "Piecemeal, as entities, in my ear, clapping me on the back, giving me a push when needed, they have caused this book. I am indebted to them, those who have given my life all its savage joys." From a lovingly tended larder of memories, the author spins camera-clear stories of family, friends, war, town drunks, places and pleasures, long held sorrows. Each is a moving testimony to man's grit and pride or quiet acceptance of adversity. Every thing, every place, and every one become objects in Tom Sheehan's social laboratory. His experiences as a lad made him what he is today as writer in his eighth decade. He tells of hunger as if it were a living entity, and the "awful sense of exposure" borne of poverty. Sensory perceptions were absorbed in his youth like a sponge. Tragedies forgotten by others over time still live fresh in his mind and won't let go. Each story stands alone and is memorable in distinct ways. I give only a few examples due to space limitations

"The Dumpmaster's Boy" is one of several paeans to Sheehan's grandfather, who loved his fellow man, quoted Irish poets, wrote his own lyrical poetry, and longed to see his homeland Ireland one more time.

"Orion's Belt" is an unintended social commentary, a lesson in grace, strength, poverty, and snobbish cruelty with Sheehan's beautiful, dignified mother shining as a central figure.

"The Day Titanic Drowned", the memory of a powerful draft animal that drowned decades ago, is a standout. The day and the animal come alive through Sheehan's telling.

"Parkie, Tanker, Tiger of Tobruk" is a numbing account of desert survival circa WW 2, how one man escaped death in war only to die by inches for decades after his return to Saugus. (This one particular story has haunted me since first reading it and remains clear in my mind today.)

And "The Quiet, Empty Bedrooms of Saugus" was so beautifully written, so emotionally overwhelming that it must be read to fully comprehend.

Any words I write here are inadequate. Tom Sheehan treasures his memories. To quote the author, "The clarity stings the memory.... Somehow, inexplicably, it is soul deep, has pine aromas, the acrobatics of light, known temperature touching my face the way I recall the stand on a lone Korean outpost."

I've never been to Massachusetts, know nothing of Saugus or Tom Sheehan, but feel I know them well through A Collection of Friends. Any story or poem Tom Sheehan writes is exceptional and highly recommended.

New Works Review announces writing awards....

2007-10-26T05:48:00.000-07:00

Some of you know I'm the Review Editor at New Works Review. NWR is an online literary
e-zine that has rapidly gained an international following. Readers from around the globe visit the website and stay to read the work posted there; poetry, story, essay, and photography submissions reflect that diversity.

My role at NWR is to submit reviews of exceptional work by promising writers. In keeping with this series of posts about unknown writers and their work, today I'm pleased to report that NWR has established two new writing awards:

The Stanley Kunitz Award for Poetry -- Kirtland Snyder has been chosen for this award for his poem, "Funny How Much Sorrow Looks Like Anger."

The Georges Simenon Fiction Award -- Tom Sheehan received this award for his short story, "The Man Who Hid Music."

Snyder and Sheehan will also be nominated for the Pushcart Prize.

NWR is allowed six nominations for the Pushcart Prize, and will submit the following writers and work:

Pushcart Nominations for Poetry

Stanley Kunitz Funny How Much Sorrow Looks Like Anger
Liz Rosenberg Becoming a Father
Alicia Ostriker Insomnia

Pushcart Nominations for Fiction

Tom Sheehan The Man Who Hid Music
Irv Greenfield The Game of Bling
Michael Corrigan Free Fall

Alicia Ostriker is the featured poet in the current edition of NWR. Tom Sheehan's Pushcart-nominated story is also in the current edition along with an essay by Michael Corrigan. If you'd like to learn more about these exceptional writers, go to www.new-works.org.

Confessions of a Shanty Irishman

2007-10-16T17:40:00.000-07:00

Confessions of a Shanty Irishman was Michael Corrigan's first book. He's written several since, and all are well worth reading. In all his stories and novels, Corrigan uses his Irish history to great effect. He mixes a smattering of truth, a dash of fiction, then laces everything liberally with blarney and Irish spirit. From my first reading of his first book, he's been a favorite writer of mine.

Confessions of a Shanty Irishman
by Michael Corrigan
ISBN 978-1591292289

Michael Corrigan has a gift to share. From the erin green covers to the morsels of his memories within them, the author serves himself up to the reader like a meat and potatoes stew. Alternately dark with pathos, then light with sudden bursts of humor, this story lives. The author's way with words is purely Irish, through and through.

His San Francisco home is shared by an old country grandfather who worked hard and proud to make America his home; a calm and sensible grandmother who unfailingly nurtures all three men she loves; and a handsome father who works and pays the bills despite his losing battle with the demon drink. Moving in and out of the Michael's life are kinfolk who are all apples off the same Irish tree, each with their own personality and contribution to the author's childhood memories. A mother who abandoned her Irish Catholic husband and infant in search of fun is an occasional visitor, a mystery throughout the author's life.

Mr. Corrigan cooks up a fine, rich broth with his memories. I was intrigued by his family, his lifelong friends, the nuns who taught him as a child, and the priests who took him from innocent altar boy to a manhood full of doubt about his faith. A genetic love of drink plagues him from early on. His struggle with the Irish Catholic faith is honestly relayed through thoughts or spoken words. And his appreciation of the fair sex is sometimes humorous or sad. But it was the author's relationship with his father that, for me at least, put the shine on this novel. His father dies young, a dissipated remnant of the once darkly handsome, charismatic man who raised his son without a mother. The author's memory of that day haunts me:

"The old days of Irish wakes with ice lifted off the corpse for drinks had passed. Now it was only a rosary, and relatives listened to the priest reciting before the open coffin. I wondered if the Vikings weren't right to put the body on a ship and riddle the vessel with fire arrows, rather than lay the body out for morbid viewing. I couldn't accept that plastic-looking empty husk as my father. Thomas. It was too much of a contradiction, a furious denial of what he had been in life. Where was the person who took the wheel of his brother's boat and waved at the home movie lens? When would we hear that warm baritone again with its Bing Crosby resonance?"

Confessions of a Shanty Irishman is selling well and finding an audience. Deservedly so. Michael Corrigan's voice is strong, resonant. I like to think he inherited that resonant voice from his father, and that somewhere in the afterlife, Thomas Corrigan is proud.

Harp All Made of Gold by Klyd Watkins

2007-10-05T05:14:00.000-07:00

Klyd Watkins calls himself "The Time Gardener" and maintains a poetry-related website at www.thetimegarden.com. I discovered The Time Garden and Klyd Watkins quite by accident a couple years ago and liked what I saw. The diversity of poets appealed to me. To my delight, I found some of my favorite poets and their work in Klyd's garden. Sharon Doubiago, Eve Hanninen, Christina Pacosz, CarrieAnn Thunell, David Pointer, Charles Potts, Charles Ries, and Joel Waldman visit TTG from time to time. I also discovered poets previously unfamiliar to me, who create their poetry in a variety of styles. In short, The Time Garden offers an eclectic mix of poetry and also features wide open discussions and commentaries that keep my brain cells active.

Watkins is a renaissance man: poet, musician, publisher with a history of creativity reaching back into the 60s. Time Barn Books publishes exceptional small books with glossy covers. ThunderShack produces Watkins poetry-spoken-to-music CDs and features some of Nashville's finest musicians as background. The featured review today is of Watkins' latest CD.

Harp All Made of Gold
CD of spoken poetry by Klyd Watkins with music by the Watkins family & friends
ID # 3447934019
CD with 9 tracks at $10 USA
Thundershack Production
529 Barrywood Drive
Nashville TN 37220-1636
www.thundershack.net

The spoken words in this CD were originally the narrative poem titled "Jack," by Klyd Watkins. With Watkins' commanding voice accompanied by talented Nashville musicians and haunting Appalachian vocals as background, Harp All Made of Gold becomes an exceptional tour de force. In this allegory based on the fairy tale "Jack and the Bean Stalk," Watkins takes the story of Jack further, brings it to life with incredible depth and emotion.

Jack's desire is for the golden harp to sing for him in daylight instead of haunting his dreams at night. He desires this beyond reason. Accompaniment of fiddle, guitars, bass, drums, keyboards, and harmonica delivers a sensual, penetrating power as the golden harp teases Jack with memories of "fee fi fo fum" and the giant. Background vocals and musical styles reflect the shifting topography of Jack's fears and fascinations. Musicians segue from rock to bluegrass to southern gospel to dulcet, and driving each transition is the resonant voice of poet Klyd Watkins. Each track is verbally and musically strong and hypnotic but I must admit the poet's bluegrass-style rendition of "Tourmaline" on track eight gave me goosebumps.

Nothing Klyd Watkins does in the way of poetry is ordinary and this CD produced by Bob Watkins for Thundershack is extraordinary in every way. The talented Watkins family and their Nashville friends have entertained delighted fans worldwide for years with their CDs. They're deserving of that loyal fan base. If you enjoy poetry and music, Harp All Made of Gold is highly recommended.

Eileen R. Tabios' latest book......

2007-09-27T19:08:00.000-07:00

I'm always pleased when Eileen Tabios sends me her latest book for review. Her range as a poet is amazing, everything from free form to experimental, poignantly expressive to humorous. Always, her work is imaginative and thought provoking. This latest book is vintage Tabios, with the added treat of stunning prose as a bonus. Tabios has gained a huge internet following through blogger. You'll find her hanging out at http://galatearesurrects.blogspot.com.

The Light Sang as it Left Your Eyes
Our Autobiography
By Eileen R. Tabios
ISBN 978-0-9792416-2-8
366 pages at 19.95 paperback
Marsh Hawk Press
P.O. Box 206
East Rockaway NY 11518

Eileen R. Tabios is one of the best avant garde and experimental poets alive today. Her poetic explorations -- scumbling, ekphrasis, Hay(na)Ku -- demonstrate a zest for words and meanings as she shapes poems that reflect her world. Black sorrows, bright hopes, harsh injustices, a poisoned environment, new poetic forms, and boundless love share equal time on each skillfully crafted page published. In this latest book, Tabios proves that she has mastered prose equal to her exceptional poetry.

In April, 2006, Eileen Tabios’ father died. Filamore B. Tabios, Sr. had fled the Philippines with his family when Ferdinand Marcos came to power. He was an old world father, patriarchal and strong-willed in his dealings with an equally strong-willed daughter. In this book, as she spends time in the hospital at her dying father’s bedside, the boundaries and divisions between them soften. The journal she shares in this book is a remarkable psalm to life. Consider this excerpt from the opening poem -- “Sentences” -- to understand the poet’s heart:

The same book you read to excavate me is a fiction I sculpted to soften
my marble core, as if -- and I still don’t know -- words can save me from
myself.

The same poem you are feeling your way through is a thin, blue vein dug
out from beneath my flesh for the color of a sky breaking into scarlet to
set words afire.

Somehow, those dying days in April clarify the poet’s vision and understanding. She makes sense out of her sorrow by identifying with Marcos’ daughter, Imee. In “What Can a Daughter Say?”, Eileen Tabios acts as surrogate for Imee Marcos and both daughters learn what their fathers were, and were not:

The palace of one’s childhood
-- for even those who could afford
the bricks to obviate metaphor --
is usually constructed from memory.

Ms. Tabios and her peers have perfected the art of Hay(na)Ku, a poem comprised of six words and three lines. Tabios edits and writes, writes and edits as she struggles through the reality of losing her father to cancer:

The poem cannot
be pure.
Sound

never travels unimpeded
by anonymous
butterflies.

Her father‘s dying does not soften Eileen Tabios‘ reflections on injustice. “April in Los Angeles” is a 120 verse contemplation on love, grief, horror, exhaustion and regret that zeroes in on the cost cutting cruelty practiced by modern hospitals. Tabios fans will discover that sorrow has neither blurred her outlook on world politics or injustice, nor smothered her passionate love of friends, family, and literary excellence. This autobiography in poetry and prose is typical Tabios -- intensely personal yet international in flavor -- with translations by and collaborations with her peers from other lands. Highly recommended.

Review by Laurel Johnson for Midwest Book Review

a series begins about books and writers.......

2007-09-18T06:25:00.000-07:00

As a book reviewer, I review books by relatively "unknown" poets and writers. I promised to introduce you to a few of these and today begins that series. The writer today is Charles Foertmeyer. Foertmeyer lives and works in Cincinnati and tells his stories with unusual twists. I enjoy reading the mysterious and unusual so Foertmeyer's award nominated books intrigue me. He publishes all his books through iUniverse. The book reviewed today is Badr:

Badr
By C.H. Foertmeyer
ISBN 0-595-43857-1
170 pages at 13.95 paperback
iUniverse
2021 Pine Lake Rd. Ste. 100
Lincoln NE 68512

C. H. Foertmeyer's stories are always a pleasing surprise. Each of his twelve novels has a suspenseful plot with intriguing twists, real-life characters -- common folk struggling against overwhelming odds -- and an underlying message of hope. I probably say this in each review of Foertmeyer's latest book, but I mean it with all sincerity: Badr just may be his best book yet.

Marlin Goldburg is a quiet, sensible man who enjoys the solitary peace of working in his gardens. As the book begins, Marlin fears he may be losing touch with reality. Odd visions come and go unpredictably while working in the garden, during breakfast, even while driving on the interstate that cuts through Cincinnati. Without warning, Marlin is transported to another time and place. He sees tan hands and a forearm marked with a distinctive tattoo. The hands are digging in sand, burying bombs. Marlin and his wife Anne research the tattoo because they feel it is key to his visions. The tattoo is a red Star of David pierced by a black scimitar. The mystery of his visions dies with Marlin in an accident on the interstate on May 13, 1986.

Badr is born in Iraq on May 13, 1986. As soon as he is old enough to think for himself, Badr hates Americans and American Jews in particular. As a young man he funnels that powerful hate into surreptitious acts of violence against the American soldiers occupying his land. He avoids joining jihadist groups and works alone, earning the name Lone Wolf. Neither the soldiers nor his people know Lone Wolf's true identity. Badr masquerades as a friend to the Americans, earning their trust. His goal is to move to America, become a citizen, and sacrifice himself in one horrendous act. From childhood, Badr has been haunted by frightening visions of pale-skinned hands digging in rich dirt, planting flower bulbs.

Marlin's God and Badr's Allah work in mysterious ways. Badr does reach American soil with his hate and plans intact, but is Allah on his side? Does Allah honor a young man with murderous hate in his heart? That's where several delicious, suspenseful plot twists come in. You'll have to read the book to learn the answer. If you enjoy a suspenseful story, well told, Badr is highly recommended.

Charles Foertmeyer's books can be found at www.amazon.com, www.iuniverse.com and on his website at www.foertmeyer.com.

9/11/07 -- a day of contemplation

2007-09-11T05:37:00.000-07:00

Just as my parents and grandparents never forgot where they were when Pearl Harbor was bombed, my generation will always remember where we were when planes loaded with Americans crashed into the twin towers, the Pentagon, and that Pennsylvania field. On 9/11/01 I was on the job in a long term care facility in Beatrice NE. Walking down a resident hall, I heard the sound of soft weeping from several patient rooms and went to investigate. One elderly man said while blowing his nose, "They'll never learn. No matter what becomes of them, they'll never learn." I asked him what he meant. He held a handkerchief against his eyes to blot the flow of tears and gestured towards the TV. I saw the New York City skyline and the smoking towers. "This time the sonsabitches brought it to our doorsteps."

I sat for several minutes with my arm around his shoulder before proceeding to the lobby. Patients and employees huddled together there. The nursing home owner said quietly, "The towers won't stand up under such heat. Pretty soon that steel will melt and they'll fall." We all waited until they fell. Employees comforted patients forced to relive Pearl Harbor Day. Patients comforted employees watching this attack on American soil live and in color. Everyone cried for the passengers on each plane and for the poor working stiffs trapped in burning, collapsing buildings. Later we cried together again for the Pentagon employees, and again for the plane forced down in that field by passengers determined to prevail against armed terrorists. Our minds could barely absorb what we were seeing and hearing.

The ensuing years have introduced us to the many heroes who died that day -- or did their jobs despite the possibility that they might die -- the firemen, police officers, military, and common everyday citizens who rallied to save lives at Ground Zero. We remember politicians who showed us what they were made of by either striding those streets bravely, soot covered and choking, through clouds of smoke and burning fuel, or hiding in safe places. And we knew that day was a turning point of sorts, one that would impact the entire world because someone attacked Americans on their own soil.

I'm an American who holds strong opinions but rarely voices them. For example, I think countries should take care of their own people first and foremost. Education, health care, a healthy national budget, and infrastructure should come first, ahead of war and subsidies to other countries. I DO believe in a strong military in place to protect our own soil. And I DO believe that any country with the poor judgment to attack us on our home ground should have that favor returned in spades. Yes, someone will tell me I can't have it both ways. I can't have a protectionist philosophy and a "paybacks are hell" mentality at the same time. Well, yes I can hold such schizophrenic thoughts today, thinking back.

Maybe tomorrow I'll be better. For today, we'll fly our flag here on the Ponderosa and I'll drive to work with my car lights on. That will be my small way of honoring that day six years ago, of respecting the memory of those who died then and the thousands who have died in war since. And I'll say a special prayer for the "angry giant" awakened on Pearl Harbor Day -- the giant not allowed to sleep or rest since -- and for the cowardly attackers who plot from hiding.

Email, granddaddies, spiders -- OH MY!!

2007-09-02T07:53:00.000-07:00

I've lost control of my email. More than one long term email friend has reminded me lately that my correspondence has fallen off dramatically in direct proportion to my writing of poetry and prose. Since returning to the work force in May, I've lost control of everything.

During my brief retirement, my daily routine was set around household chores. In my case, a clean, uncluttered house produces a focused, uncluttered mind so daily housecleaning was priority one. Of equal importance was keeping in touch with friends and family via email. All that changed in May. I still think about and care about my email friends, just can't seem to focus on writing anything, including an email. So if anyone out there is wondering -- I stopped doing creative writing in favor of catching up on your emails as often as I can think straight enough to do it.

My days are full from before daylight til my nine p.m. bedtime. I spent the last two early mornings, for example, putting water seal on our deck. The granddaddies I saw inside and outside the house served as a warning that winter might come early and harsh. At eye level I could see dozens of granddaddies hunkered down in protected places. Even a large woman wielding a chemical-saturated paint brush didn't intimidate them. I had to physically transplant them to another location. My grandpa always warned that killing a granddaddy caused bad luck so each one had to be moved gently via a piece of cardboard. I hold no such reverence for spiders. Spiders of any size or type scare the hell out of me. But these past two days spent at eye level with spiders taught me a worthwhile lesson. Every spider I saw, large or small, was scurrying towards a hidey hole dragging other bugs wrapped in webs. Storing up winter food supplies maybe. One very large spider took over an hour to drag its burden awhile and rest awhile, before disappearing down a hole ten feet away from where I was working. Outside spiders are safe; spiders with the poor judgement to come inside my house meet swift ends.

Oh, that lesson I learned from the spiders is that the time has come to stock our pantry for winter, just in case we can't get out to buy groceries. We've lived in places where we went without electricity or heat for 7-8 days at a time. I've learned to cook and make coffee on our kerosene stove during such times, and to always have a land line telephone not dependent on electricity to function. It's time to lay in a supply of fat chunky candles just in case. If the spiders and granddaddies are right, the winter will be early and long here. They understand priorities better than we humans do -- food, shelter, warmth. Everything else is a luxury we take for granted.

Kansas Notable Book Award

2007-08-11T03:16:00.000-07:00

"I'm ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille." has segued to what non-winners always say: "It was an honor to be nominated."

My Name is Esther Clara didn't make the list of winners for the 2007 Kansas Notable Book Award. My publisher and devoted fans were shocked and disappointed. Fortunately, my heart had not been set on winning. After all, I AM a native Kansan and know the state slogan means exactly what it says. AD ASTRA PER ASPERA -- To the stars through difficulty -- personifies life in general and the writing life in particular. This wasn't the first, or even largest, award my books have failed to win and if I keep writing it probably won't be the last.

So don't despair, friends and fellow travelers. I'll simply keep doing what I do until the next award nomination comes along. For now, check out the list of books and writers who DID win the Kansas Notable Book Award. I've copied and pasted them below from the Kansas Center for the Book website:

2007 Kansas Notable Books
Ashworth, William Ogallala Blue: Water and Life on the High Plains
Bertels, Alice S. John Steuart Curry: The Road Home
Brandsberg, George Afoot: A Tale of the Great Dakota Turkey Drive
Carter, Ally I’d Tell You I Love You, But Then I’d Have to Kill You
Dean, Virgil (editor) John Brown to Bob Dole: Movers and Shakers in Kansas DeArment, Robert Ballots and Bullets: The Bloody County Seat Wars of Kansas History
Eickhoff, Diane Revolutionary Heart: The Life of Clarina Nichols and the Pioneering Crusade for Women’s Rights
Hind, Steven The Loose Change of Wonder
Hoy, James Flint Hills Cowboys: Tales of the Tallgrass Prairie
Johnson, Stephen T. My Little Yellow Taxi
Jost, Lora & Dave Loewenstein Kansas Murals: A Travelers Guide
Lerner, Ben Angle of Yaw
Low, Denise Words of a Prairie Alchemist
Miner, Craig Next Year Country: Dust to Dust in Western Kansas,1890-1940
Pickard, Nancy The Virgin of Small Plains
Pitzer, Susanna Not Afraid of Dogs
Ruby, Lois Shanghai Shadows
Taylor, Rudy Light on Main Street

Life on the Ponderosa.....

2007-08-01T06:35:00.000-07:00

July was an eventful month and August promises to be the same. Readers of this blog who think I'm not as gabby as usual, you're right. Working a part time job since May has shattered my concentration related to writing, whether it be emails, blogs, or any form of creative writing.

Living here on the Ponderosa DOES inspire me from time to time. That inspiration takes various forms. One hot afternoon, half grown fawn stood and watched us filling one of our bird baths. His ears twitched side to side as he cocked his head, not ten feet away from us. Maybe he was thirst. This was the first deer we've seen since moving here in January. After a few minutes he bounded off into the woods, leaping over the tree that went down during a spring wind storm. Birds, cats, and raccoons drink out of our bird baths but that was our only deer sighting so far.

Two recent poems inspired by life on the Ponderosa have been or will be published in Bellowing Ark. I'm always surprised and pleased when any journal wants to publish my work. The editor of Bellowing Ark also maintains an ongoing conversation with readers about our modern life and seeks suggestions about solving problems with politics, the environment, health care, and the mess created by patriarchal power. He frequently publishes my commentaries to his conversations. Bellowing Ark sparks my thought processes and fans the fluttering flame of creativity. In the world of literary journals BA is unique so I'm happy editor Robert Ward includes my work from time to time. Writers and poets unfamiliar with Ward's philosophy have wondered at the name of his journal. It comes from a Dylan Thomas quote: "Look, I build my bellowing ark to the best of my love as the flood begins..."

OK it's off to work for me.

A day in history......

2007-07-18T04:58:00.000-07:00

65 years ago today, I was born. July 1942. The U.S. had joined the Allies in battles against Nazi Germany and Japan. The attack on Pearl Harbor was recent history. My Grandma's favorite actor was Franchot Tone. Anyone remember him? My mother's favorite actor was Clark Gable, destined to be replaced in a year by that young upstart Robert Mitchum. Dad was soon sent off to the Pacific and my Uncle Kenny sent to Europe to do their part in the war.

Except for my grandpa and youngest uncle, the early infancy and toddler years were spent in the company of females. Mom, Grandma, Aunts, and their female friends were my daily role models. Mom and Aunt Maxine raised chickens for eggs and food. Grandma and Grandpa raised a huge Victory Garden and canned the vegetables. All family members at home shared in that bounty. Those were years of rationing -- gasoline, butter, sugar -- because our soldiers needed the rationed items worse than those of us who were safe at home. Citizens in our small town had to be practical and frugal in those times or go hungry. The wage earning men were gone to war. Most women did not work outside the home. So the women in my family did the best they could to keep everyone healthy and fed until their men returned from war.

65 seems old, but in the grand scheme of life it's but the blink of an eye. More than six decades have passed so swiftly I can scarcely believe it. Today I will celebrate those years in contemplation, thinking about the loved ones who are long gone from my life -- Mom, Dad, two sets of grandparents, Aunt Maxine, Uncle Kenny, Uncle Jerome. They made my history what it is today. I'll also give thanks for the family members still with me because they are a large part of my history also.

Happy birthday to me!!

An era has passed......

2007-07-13T04:36:00.000-07:00

William Screech died today at 7 a.m. UK time. Unknown to most of the world, William made a rather large impact on my life. We had been email friends for several years.

William was born with cerebral palsy and lived in a nursing home. He had a fine, curious, interesting mind living inside that frail body. He eagerly followed British, American, and international politics. He fought injustice from his wheelchair or his hospital bed. Despite his own health problems and struggles, he figuratively rode the white steed of advocacy, a knight in shining armor writing wrongs through articulate emails to the news media and politicians.

I'll miss William's emails, his spirit, and his commentaries on the world. He was a strong-willed, outspoken man who didn't allow his his physical afflictions to diminish his intelligence. I admired that about him.

William was a Christian who grieved for those who did not follow the teachings of Jesus. He believed in Heaven. Today William's crippled body is free of earthly bonds. His muscles are no longer spastic and stiff. His legs are strong. He has no pain. William's spirit is free. He's joyful in his new home, as he always knew he would be.

I'll surely miss your interesting emails, William. I'll miss your presence in my life but will not wish you back. I know where you are today, you're finally happy. Give God a wave for your American friend while striding the streets of Heaven.

Book sales and a new work schedule

2007-07-10T14:30:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted to my blog in awhile. Summer is here with all its attendant weeding and watering, picnics and other social activities that must be sandwiched into my new work schedule. My job is interesting and my boss a delightful woman, but I'm having trouble getting back into a routine after several years of retirement.

Two writing projects have been on hold for months now. The research I had started when this job materialized is still lying dormant in the storage container. How did I ever manage to write three books and co-write one book while working? It's a mystery to me!

The Alley of Wishes recently sold a couple or three copies on Amazon. I hadn't checked sales there for awhile so was pleasantly surprised to find a 200,000-plus ranking a week or so ago. I recently attended a neighborhood picnic where people asked me about my published books. Talking about myself and my books one-on-one is not a strong suit with me. I envy people who can get right out there and hustle their work. Book readings and signings are a different story. In front of a crowd I turn into a HAM who delights in the discussion.

Sales of My Name is Esther Clara have waxed and waned and is currently in a wane cycle. It's being considered for a Kansas Notable Book Award this year. I'd like to see it get the award because that would honor the protagonists, my maternal grandparents, but the realist in me has doubts. I'll know soon.

Ireland -- a dream of mine

2007-06-17T04:46:00.000-07:00

Continuing with the discussion of my interests, Ireland is near the top of that list. My father's side of the family came from Eniskillin Ireland. One "black Irish" lad married a Cherokee woman. That pairing produced my paternal grandmother. I've always wanted to visit Ireland, to stand on a rocky cliff and feel stiff winds blowing in off the sea. Photos from friends in the UK, and Michael Corrigan's visits to Ireland are the closest I will ever get to visiting the Emerald Isle.

Corrigan recently visited Ireland, the home of his ancestors. Knowing my love of Ireland and the sea, he graciously sent me this picture. It sparked my imagination and almost jump-started my lagging desire to write. He's standing on an ancient stone fort, Dun Aonghasa on the Isle of Inis Mor in the Aran Islands. I can only imagine the view from this watch fort, built before the birth of Christ. If these time-worn stones could talk, imagine the stories they would tell us!! Think of the sturdy Celts who lived and fought there, and how the sea must have looked in every season.

I'm hoping many stories develop as a result of Michael Corrigan's visit to his ancestral home. He has that special way with words Irish writers seem to have. Perhaps he will spin a tale of Inis Mor, ancient stone forts, and the sturdy Celts who fought against a steady onslaught of invaders. Or maybe he will write about the sea winds and storms that have shaped the coasts of Ireland. I'll hope for that, to see Ireland vicariously through his prose.

Everything you ever wanted to know.....

2007-06-02T12:07:00.000-07:00

I've had some emails about my blog recently that need answering, questions about me, my interests, people and writers I'd like to meet. One person does not like my new blog template because it does not have the current weather where I live icon and the hit counter. When I switched from the original template, those two things did not make the transition. I can't explain why. Maybe some day I'll figure it out. I was disappointed too.

MY INTERESTS

I enjoy taking photographs of the natural world around me. I do NOT enjoy the great outdoors in any season but winter because bugs and insects of all kinds freak me out. Boston Legal, the original CSI in Las Vegas, and Dancing With the Stars are my favorite TV shows. Family gatherings are my favorite activity, and I enjoy having lunch with friends. Old time rock and roll is my favorite kind of music, but I will listen to country CDs if they are by Willie Nelson or Brooks and Dunne.

PEOPLE AND WRITERS I'D LIKE TO MEET

I'm not very star struck. I'd love to meet friends I correspond with in the UK. None of my favorite writers are famous. I'd enjoy meeting Eric Burton, author of $oft Money, because his book is one that didn't get lost in my reviewing shuffle. Ditto Michael Corrigan, author of Confessions of a Shanty Irishman; The Irish Connection; and Byron. Ditto again Elizabeth Lucas-Taylor, whose book Unfinished Business was one of the sexiest, savviest ones I've read in that particular genre. I'd like to meet the editor and publisher of two of my books, Carol Adler of Dandelion Books. I'd like to meet Nashville poet and musician, Klyd Watkins, because his spoken poetry to music CDs are addicting. I have a huge list of poets and writers on my list of favorites. Maybe I'll write about them another day, give them a brief turn in the spotlight.

Until then, I've answered the email questions. If you want to know anything else, just ask.

Remembering in writing.....

2007-05-24T16:21:00.000-07:00

Recently, Dandelion Books, the publisher of two of my books, asked me to write an article explaining why I wrote a memoir about my grandparents. The hope was to inspire others to write similar books about their ancestors. It seemed to be a perfect article in celebration of Memorial Day. My grandparents loved Memorial Day, but always called it Decoration Day. They loved the USA but were quite outspoken about politics, taxes, and government programs. Following is the article that can be found on the Dandelion website at www.dandelionbooks.net.

=======================================================

Treasures in the Attic of Memories

When my uncle suggested an interesting writing project might be a book about my maternal grandmother’s life, I hesitated. Granted, my grandma and grandpa lived through pivotal periods of the 20th century -- World War I, women’s suffrage, the Great Depression, World War II, the Korean War, women’s liberation, and the Vietnam War. They saw the advent of electricity, the automobile, radio, and television. And yes, their love story was touching, funny, and engaging. Grandma’s marriage to the only man she ever loved, her gangly Kansas farm boy, lasted more than sixty years. So much of their history was lost when my grandparents died, I doubted my ability to tell such a story in ways readers would enjoy.

I knew many of their experiences from stories they told of early life on the farm and the struggles they endured trying to raise five children at a time when almost every American was poor. In way of encouragement, my uncle sent me audiotapes and videotapes of Grandma telling stories of her childhood and youth. Within those tapes I found treasure, and the framework on which to build the creative non-fiction novel, My Name is Esther Clara.

I’m still surprised at the response this book received. I’m not accustomed to such attentions:

The editor at Dandelion Books loved it. I had expected just the opposite;

A TV producer in Pennsylvania loved the book and scheduled an interview with me. This twenty minute interview featuring me and my book was shown twice -- once live and once in rebroadcast;

Libraries and gift shops in my home state scheduled readings and signings;

Relatives I’d never met discovered the book in various ways and called the publisher to get my contact information and to order copies of the book. Long lost relatives scheduled a reunion so they could meet me;

Fans of my earlier books said this might just be my best book yet;

Strangers who did not know Grandma or me related to her strength, her feisty personality and outspoken ways. One woman said she had read the book four times because she admires my grandma so much;

And, the book is under consideration for the Kansas Notable Book Award this year.

My grandparents were not rich or famous. Neither am I. If you’ve ever considered writing a memoir about your parents or grandparents, now is the time to start. The courage and determination of common everyday citizens in past generations made this country great. Their stories should be told.

Blogs that make you think??

2007-05-18T04:49:00.000-07:00

THINKING BLOGGER AWARD. I tried to post the icon here but all that showed up is html that would not transform itself to the thinking blogger icon. You'll have to use your imagination here. Evidently my thinker is not working up to speed.

That space rascal Aston West nominated my recent posting "May Day Memories" for the Thinking Blogger Award. Thanks Aston! Obviously, I'm not a thinking blogger all the time because I'm supposed to add an icon to my sidebar linking to the post he nominated and.....I don't have a sidebar, can't figure out how to GET a sidebar on this new template, so readers will have to rough it and just scroll down a couple posts.

As part of the award, I'm supposed to list five blogs that make me think, so here goes:
http://elucas-taylor.blogspot.com Elizabeth Lucas-Taylor dedicates a large portion of her time providing helpful information for writers, authors, and freelancers. I visit her blog often to learn the latest tips and hints. Any of her posts qualify for the Thinking Blogger Award.
http://dispatchesfromkansas.blogspot.com Tom Parker's thought processes never cease to amaze me. He is the thinking person's writer par excellence but I'm nominating "Under the Shadow of the Potential" for this award. His thoughts on tornadoes, lives lost, and homes destroyed will definitely make readers think.
http://ackworthborn.blogspot.com I'm devoted to reading Gerald England's blog because he lives in an area of the world that interests me. His post "Windmere, or What's in a Name" contained information both interesting and informative.
http://evansonevans.blogspot.com John Evanetski combines multiple elements to create his blog. "A Lifetime Journey to Self-Realization" is the exceptional post I recommend to thinking bloggers.
http://tismoreblessed.blogspot.com In the post "Shyness" Gary shares his struggles with being shy. As a person who has battled shyness all her life, this post made me think beyond the end of my nose.

OK, my work is done here. Now it's up to my five candidates to pass on the mantle of the Thinking Blogger Award to others.

Waxing and Waning

2007-05-09T05:04:00.000-07:00

My life has waxed and waned so often, sometimes I'm dizzy from the effect. This is especially true in the literary aspect of life. From the moment my first book was released, for example, sales have occasionally waxed but mostly waned. I say that with my sense of humor securely intact. That they sell any copies at all is a blessing for an unknown writer.

The Grass Dance was published in 2001. It is not my best book but received glowing reviews and continues to sell regularly. The inception of my modest but vocal fan base came as a result of this first book. I've never understood the appeal of this non-fiction book but am surely grateful that most readers continue to embrace the message. Not everyone loved the book. Yes, it's had an occasional bash but continues to sell steadily, especially on Amazon.

The Alley of Wishes hit the bookstores in 2003. I'd been working on this fictional book for more than 20 years as the story and characters evolved and my interest in it waxed and waned. Some readers connected with this story of unconditional love in incredible ways. Others thought the writing style "too literary." The most helpful feedback I've received as writer came from this book. This is the book of my heart. Die hard fans adored it and beg for a prequel or sequel, but my interest in writing has waned. This is the one book I expected to outsell all others I've written.

My Name is Esther Clara was released in 2006, another non-fiction book, the first person rendition of my maternal grandmother's life. I received more media attention for this book than any other but didn't see a remarkable spike in sales as a result of such publicity. If I had to choose, this is the book I'd want to succeed because my grandparents were so dear to my heart. Fans were less enamored of this book than they were the first two, probably because The Alley of Wishes was a tough act to follow in every respect.

Color of Laughter, Color of Tears was a book of poetry released in 2005, written with Stephen R. Sulik, a Texas cop. Unfortunately, this book is no longer available because the publisher went out of business. Anyone curious about my poetry will have to remain curious. Sulik originally wanted the poetry to represent "harsh and soft" -- an interplay of male and female. He soon discovered that my work represented harsh, stark realities and was in no way soft so he had to regroup. We were so proud to have a book of poetry published and regret our publisher's demise.

Will I add more books to my list of accomplishments? I hope so. The book I'm working on now will be different than all the others.....if I can make it work and do the subject matter justice.

May Day Memories

2007-05-02T05:52:00.000-07:00

I spent the day yesterday thinking about what May Day meant when I was a child. Mom loved May Day and threw herself into celebrating it with the same gusto she assigned to every other holiday. For several days before May 1st, she assembled gaily colored construction paper, glue, scissors and lacy paper trim. Mom didn't have much money for such frivolous purchases, so bought her May basket makings at the five and dime a bit at a time for weeks in advance.

All four of her kids sat around the kitchen table with Mom, constructing May baskets. She encouraged us to use our imaginations. Mom was a master at such encouragement. Even the clumsiest attempts at creativity were praised to the high heavens. Some of the baskets were works of art, others barely recognizable as baskets. Just as long as they were sturdy enough to hold flowers, candy, or cookies, Mom's goals were met.

The evening before or the morning of our basket deliveries, we kids picked flowers. In those days by May first, we had blooming forsythia, lilacs, and spirea in our yard. Each basket featured Mom's home made goodies and a cheery nosegay of flowers. Grandma and Grandpa were always our first recipients. The fun of May Day was that the baskets should be a surprise, delivered in secret. I doubt if it was much of a secret, four chubby munchkins sitting May baskets on their porch while giggling and scrambling to run off before being seen. But we carried out our deliveries enthusiastically.

Mom made a list of those who received May baskets. Her list included relatives, neighbors, teachers, and friends. We kids ran all over town delivering our gifts, thrilled with the task and proud to be brightening the day of people we knew.

Mom said the purpose of May Day baskets was to bring joy to both the givers and the recipients. I miss our May Day activities. Do people deliver home made May baskets today? I haven't seen one since childhood. But every year on May 1st, I feel an overwhelming need to make and deliver baskets. The child in me surfaces and a little spark of joy sneaks in. Just about everyone I love is scattered around the country now. I'd love to magically transport myself to their doors, deposit a basket of joy then run away to hide and watch their faces when they discover the gift.

I hope you enjoy the nosegay of flowers I put on your grave, Mom. It was a combination birthday and May Day present. It was sister Jeanne's idea because she remembers May Day too. We all do.

Happy Birthday, Mom

2007-04-29T03:24:00.000-07:00

88 years ago today, my mother was born. She presented to the world as a chubby, pink bundle with wispy brown hair. Her parents named her Verla Mae. Those were the days of home births. Pre and post natal care did not exist; no footprints were taken; no lab work was done.

Mother grew to be a beautiful young woman with green eyes shining in a heart shaped face. She married her childhood sweetheart. Their first child, me, was conceived just before Dad left for basic training in World War Two. I was almost two years old when he returned at war's end. Between 1946 and 1951, our little family grew by three more children.

Mom's creativity took many forms. Halloween was one of her favorite times. She made our costumes and applied face paints or make up before we kids went trick or treating around town. And for years I kept the elephant costume she made when I played the mastodon in a high school play. She made our Easter outfits and every other creation on an old treadle sewing machine.

Mom loved every holiday, but Christmas was her favorite time of year. She baked Christmas cookies so wonderful that even little kids hated to eat them. Santa heads were decorated with fluffy icing beard and chocolate chip eyes. Christmas trees iced with green frosting and candy baubles looked as festive as the real thing. Every raindeer was Rudolph with a red icing nose and a jaunty look. Candy canes, angels, stars -- all were decorated with different color frostings and so tasty that I can still remember the first bite. A dab of icing stuck each cookie to a paper lace doily. Beautiful, appealing to the eye, and special because of the effort put into it. Mom's cookies signified to everyone what she was as a person.

Mom divorced our father when my brother was a baby. From that point on she became a master at creating something out of almost nothing. Yes, we were poor as the proverbial churchmice but did not realize it then. She fed us nourishing food, made every holiday special, and took any job she could find to support her little brood.

Mom died more than twenty years ago, but I still remember life when she was in it, baking cookies, simmering chicken and noodles or navy bean soup. So I just wanted to say Happy Birthday, Mom. The older I get, the more I miss you.

Strange Bedfellows?

2007-04-22T05:26:00.000-07:00

Garage sales and gusting prairie winds are the bedfellows of which I speak. My mother used to say, "People will buy a piece of paper if it's priced right." That might have been true in her day, but not today. Maybe we've all watched too many episodes of The Antiques Road Show or Cash in the Attic. We're all looking for that ten thousand dollar treasure, bought for a nickel.

Box after box of treasures accumulated by three families made their way to our garage from pick up trucks. Unloading and arranging said treasures was a royal pain with a stiff wind blowing sand and dust in our eyes. Anything weighing less than five pounds blew off the tables, keeping the young, strong legs of my nephew busy chasing down the wind-blown treasure. Shoppers persevered with mostly good humor and high spirits. Folks from Kansas, Nebraska, and even Colorado cruised the tables while holding to their hats or skirts, grinning a greeting, "What a beautiful day!" Yes, the sun was shining in a clear blue sky, and people living in the heartland of our country take the wind in stride.

Those pieces of paper of which my mother spoke would not have lasted long yesterday. Pillows and curtains blew down a slope into our woods. One departing woman lost a stuffed animal purchase. We found it rolling in the driveway after she left, pushed along by the wind. Two of my husband's treasured green glass canning jars blew off the table onto concrete, but did not break. The day was interesting but draining. I ended my day covered with grit and wind-blown to distraction.

The third bedfellow added to the mix is my writing. I'm not inspired right now, but keep working at it. A short story submitted to the Kansas Voices contest didn't make the winners' list. But a poem submitted to Bellowing Ark fared better. The editor said it was one of my best poems in his opinion, even though my customary sturm und drang were missing.

That's my garage sale in rural Kansas report. I'll spend today recuperating and regrouping from the excitement and the wind.

Has anybody seen my Muse?

2007-04-14T06:05:00.000-07:00

Writers and poets speak frequently about their Muse, the ethereal spirit that inspires our work and whispers sweet words into our ears. My Muse has been missing for quite some time and I can't give you a good physical description of her. At one time she was a strict taskmistress, a glowing alter ego, a top notch idea advisor. My personal Muse inhabited the joy in my smile, the light in my eyes, the electrical impulses in my brain. She pulled my random thoughts together and transformed them into poetry or prose. She memorialized my mother and grandparents and created flesh and blood people out of fictional characters. She left as suddenly as she came. I miss her, especially now, when the world is providing such pithy grist for writers and poets.

One of my favorite poets, Christina Pacosz, writes breathtaking poetry about the Iraq situation, Afghan women, and the plight of suffering humanity everywhere. Her work is pertinent to the times, beautiful and touching. A long-time favorite novelist, C.H. Foertmeyer, just had his 12th book published. Badr -- an intriguing, imaginative, surreal story of an Iraqi and an American -- just may be his best book yet. Pacosz and Foertmeyer express well their shocks, fears and hopes for a shaken world.

Without my Muse, my literary tongue is silenced. Even my thoughts are hogtied. Maybe I took her for granted. Maybe I ignored her nudgings and she finally gave up on me. Or maybe she's simply on vacation, regrouping because I worked her too hard for several years. Wherever she is, I miss her and wish she'd come home.

Happy Easter!!

2007-04-08T05:50:00.000-07:00

Our morning here on the Ponderosa dawned sunny and cold with a clear blue sky. Today I commemorate the occasion with thoughts of my mother and grandparents. Mom was a woman of limited financial means but struggled to celebrate each holiday in memorable ways for her four children.

All four of her little munchkins always had an Easter basket on Easter morning, filled with colored eggs and chocolate rabbits and marshmallow chicks. Sometimes when she could afford it, a stuffed animal graced each basket. But Easter was more than treats in our family. We all had some semblance of a new Easter outfit for church -- new shoes and white anklets with ruffles for the girls, a new bow tie for our brother, sometimes new dresses Mom sewed on her machine. We walked as a family to the old Methodist Church down by the city park, looking spiffy and feeling grand. I'm sure we all had wide grins as we slid into the pew to sit with Grandma and Grandpa for Easter services.

We all knew the Easter story from the time we were toddlers. We learned that message in church. And Christ's message of love was taught daily by our mother and grandparents. Love and sacrifice was their message to four little kids who'd had a hard upbringing but did not realize it then. That message will not be lost as long as we remember those early times of innocence. When people wonder why I write so often about my mother and grandparents, that is the reason. They loved and protected us, corrected our missteps firmly, and lived the Easter message in their daily lives.

A report from the Ponderosa

2007-04-05T04:59:00.000-07:00

My brother calls our new place "the Ponderosa." Two acres does not quite qualify for Ponderosa status, but those acres do seem to grow incrementally when it comes to yard work.

Life in the Land of Oz has its excitements and unexpected shocks. An eagle or large hawk took one of our outdoor cats. That's what we think since she simply disappeared and her remains have not been found anywhere on or around our property. Such a loss was not on our wish list. Then, our famous Kansas winds blew a strip of shingles off our roof. Reroofing the house was also not on our list of things to do. We planned to plant a garden, trees, and rose bushes this week, but that project will have to be postponed awhile because temps in the 70s and 80s swiftly plummeted into the 20s at night and 40s by day. Plainsdwellers often joke that we have to run our furnace in the morning and the air conditioner in the afternoon. That joke loses a bit of its humor when those wide temp variations start in MARCH.

Meanwhile, inside my climate controlled house, I'm working on a new writing project. I enjoy writing and the creative process involved, but it's darn hard work that, for most writers, produces very few rewards. My writing technique is that I don't write for fame or money. Unknown writers are better served if they don't have grand expectations. My writing projects are outcome oriented. I strive to create interesting stories, written in a distinctive style. Once that is accomplished I hope for a publisher willing to at least look at my work. I don't query agents because several very good writers I know are worse off now than they ever were before finding an agent. But thinking about publication is a moot point until this latest writing project is completed.

All in all, life is good here. Brightly colored songbirds flit from tree to tree around our house. Cardinals, bluejays, and woodpeckers swoop down to snag the bread I put out for them each morning. Except for the occasional trilling bird song or squawking of bluejays, life is quiet on the Ponderosa. This cold snap will end. Warm weather will arrive and stay until late fall. The trees will leaf out and our plantings will eventually grow, flower, or produce food. And barring any unforeseen complication. my latest writing project will bear fruit.

Thoughts on a Rainy Day

2007-03-27T06:09:00.000-07:00

Rain is almost always a blessing in the plains. We rarely have daily rains and flooding, usually the opposite with day after day, week after week of hot dry weather. By July and August, every living thing droops with the stresses of such weather. Any time rain falls, I'm thankful. I can look out the south facing windows in my computer room and see a forsythia bush blooming yellow and a yet-to-be-identified fruit tree with white blossoms, soaking up the moisture.

I'm particularly happy to see that mature forsythia bush growing on our new property. Mom loved forsythia bushes. When we were kids, seeing the ones in our yard bud and bloom brought a smile to her face. She often cut sprigs to brighten up the house or share with Grandma. For Mom, more than any other flowering plant, forsythia was the bellwether of spring. I'm thinking of planting a row of forsythia bushes along the road in front of our house. I'll call it "Verla's garden" in my mind and dedicate my labors to her.

Mom also loved flowering crabapple trees, the ones that bloom rosy pink in spring. I make a point of planting at least one every place I live. My husband thinks less is more when it comes to planting trees because it's such a hard job, but I think MORE is more. We'll compromise. I'll plant at least two flowering crabapple trees in bare areas to the south of our house. Then next year I'll have two more visions of spring to brighten my view.

The Joys of Spring

2007-03-21T05:08:00.000-07:00

I love winter best of all, no matter where I'm living at the time. Wind howling in from the north and blankets of snow transport me to childhood winters of snow forts and snowball fights and Mom's hot chocolate. But the arrival of Spring in a place surrounded by budding trees is a joy to behold.

This spring at our new home will be an adventure. Each new plant pushing through the soil will be a surprise. Checking for mushrooms in the woods will be a daily sortie for awhile. Raking the accumulated thatch of years to make room for new grass is a hard job, but rewarding. Planting trees and rose bushes will be labor rewarded for years to come. Setting up watering and feeding stations for a variety of birds will be, perhaps, our greatest challenge. Our neighbors across the roads have cats who visit our outdoor cats regularly so protecting native songbirds will be a high priority.

We are tree people and bird watchers. We believe there can never be enough trees surrounding us. One of our favorite relaxations is sitting in the garage watching rain fall in the woods behind our house. We don't have a porch for sitting yet so make our observations from the garage. Watching redbirds, bluebirds, woodpeckers, and the occasional oriole flit from tree to tree is a joy. Behind our property, to the east, a sprawling field hosts the musical song of meadowlarks and the raucous calls of crows. Our days and evenings will be blessed by such sights and sounds.

Yes, I guess we are easily entertained. Such entertainment is free for the taking this spring, and we don't have to travel to exotic places. All we have to do is go outside, listen, and look around us. For an added bonus, we get to breathe air fragrant with the scents of rich earth and new growth.

Pea soup fog, awards, and housewarming gifts

2007-03-08T05:02:00.000-08:00

One of the joys I miss most from our years of living in Kentucky is fog. We loved sitting on the porch morning and evening, watching fog creep up the hollers and swirl around us ghostlike. Through some quirk of nature, Kansas and Nebraska have been enjoying such fogs in recent months. Yesterday afternoon I watched out my kitchen window watching fog roll in across the field behind our property. This morning we woke up to thick, white, swirling fog. Fog is dangerous for folks traveling the highways and byways, but a beautiful phenomenon for those safely cocooned inside the house.

My admiration for writer and journalist Tom Parker is no secret to those who read this blog. I often struggle with the reality that writers like Parker do not receive the recognition they deserve. Well, now I can rejoice. Tom Parker won TWO first place awards in the Kansas Press Association's 2007 Awards for Excellence. Parker has a weekly column in the Washington County News, maintains a blog at http://dispatchesfromkansas.blogspot.com, and wrote a book of short stories by the same name. (The News also won several awards. I was especially pleased with the award for their Opinion page, which is one of the best and most interesting I've ever read in any newspaper, thanks to Editor Dan Thalmann.) If you have not followed Tom Parker's blog, you're missing a treat. Who woulda thought that living in Kansas would be so exciting??

Another of my favorite writers is Elizabeth Lucas-Taylor. Her first book, Unfinished Business, just literally blew my mind. She's a woman who can write sizzling romance and intrigue as well as or better than any big name best selling writer. Her talents are many and varied, including crochet work. She crocheted and sent me a lovely throw as a housewarming gift, to keep me warm on cold Kansas nights. Taylor has too many credentials to list here, and dedicates much of her time to helping other writers. She's also a woman of strong opinions, which she shares at http://elucas-taylor.blogspot.com. To learn more about her, visit her blog.

Personally, I plan to snuggle under my warm throw on this foggy morning and read Parker's latest column in the Washington County News.

Poet and cartoonist Ed Galing

2007-02-21T09:55:00.000-08:00

A year or so ago, the editor of a poetry journal sent me Ed Galing's chapbooks to review. I was immediately charmed by the man and favorably impressed by the depth of his poetry.

Galing is almost 90 years old, a typical American of his generation. He served in World War 2, raised a family, and was married to the same woman for more than six decades. He's wanted to be a writer all his life, but poetry and prose does not put food on the table and pay the bills for most writers so he placed that calling on hold until retirement.

Ed Galing has had regional recognition for years. He's the Poet Laureate of Hatboro PA for example. It's only been in recent years that Ed has begun to receive wider recognition. That recognition is long overdue in my opinion. He brings to his poetry and cartoons a lifetime of watching the world around him. He zeroes in on human strengths and foibles as well or better than any poet or artist you can name, living or dead.

Ed does not have a computer. All letters and submissions are either hand written or typed on a manual typewriter. The lack of a computer does not hamper him in any way. Many of the best hard copy journals today feature his work.

If you want to learn more about this amazing man and his work, poet Doug Holder has created a blog for Ed. There you will see samples of his poetry and his bio. Holder has done a great service with this blog. The world needs to discover Ed Galing.

http://edgaling.blogspot.com is where you will find him. Thanks, Mr. Holder, for sharing an American icon with the public.

At last, I'm back.

2007-01-31T05:04:00.000-08:00

Here is our new home. It sits on two acres just outside the city limits of Washington KS. A couple days after we moved our furniture in, we had a lovely snow. The move was two weeks ago today. My new internet provider was activated yesterday so this is my first blog in my new home. On clear nights I can see the stars. We're still adjusting to the quiet that surrounds us. No trains, no barking dogs, no screaming neighbors. The donkey across the road brays occasionally, or a passing vehicle breaks the silence. Most sounds are softened by the thick shelter belt of pine trees that grow north of the house. Birds of every kind and color flit from tree to tree. North and east of the house and garage are wide, open fields. I wonder if the peace and quiet will inspire me?

If I were a tourist, Washington County Kansas and the small towns therein would be my preferred destination. Washington is the county seat with a courthouse presiding over the town square. Good food and plenty of it can be found in numerous restaurants, cafes and taverns. So far I've eaten at the Longhorn Bar and Grill in Washington, Our Daily Bread in Barnes KS, and Ricky's Cafe in Hanover KS. All serve generous portions of food like Grandma used to make. Northeastern Kansas is a tapestry of rivers, riparian shelter belts, rolling prairies and pastures, rocky outcroppings, and grain fields, not the flat featureless landscape tourists imagine it to be. The air is fresh, and no bluer skies exist anywhere else I know of. Meadowlark songs sound suddenly from fields. The scent of sweet clover in summer stirs on the wind. The people are friendly and open because they live, work, and thrive in clean, safe surroundings.

I was born and raised in a town twenty miles from here and my brother's family lives here, so Washington is a familiar place to me. Our new home is clean and comfortable, a very pleasant place to be so far. I'm happy to be here and back online. I switched to ATT/SBC Global DSL as my internet provider. Everyone associated with ATT/SBC -- from the folks at the other end of my telephone to the workers who came to my house -- has been helpful and kind. Life has been very good lately. May that continue.

A MOVING Testimonial.....

2007-01-11T18:20:00.000-08:00

Every time we move, we swear it will be the last time. We pinky swear, "Never again!!" What dolts we are. Perhaps moving is the shape our spirit of adventure takes. Some people cruise to the Caribbean. Others climb mountains or bunjee jump. We move....and move and move and move and move. Eight times at last count, or is it nine? I forget.

Our soon-to-be ex-home is comfortable, peaceful and pleasant. Not "house beautiful" material but OK. When we moved the last time my one request was to have a house with two bathrooms. We have a lot of company and enjoy visitors. Two bathrooms just seemed a luxury to me. This old house has one so we and our guests made do.

Several months ago the almost ideal place materialized. We'd been looking for a small acreage for a couple years. This one has two acres just outside the city limits of a small Kansas town. The ranch style home has 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. And the huge garage has room for two vehicles AND my husband's garage sale treasures.

Within the next few days we will move our furniture and embark on our latest adventure. It's all happened too fast for me to absorb. These days I'm a slow plodder instead of the over-achieving workaholic I used to be. Slowly but gradually our new house will be turned into a peaceful, pleasant home -- one with two bathrooms!! :)

Michael Corrigan and the male grief process

2007-01-04T05:25:00.000-08:00

Several years ago I discovered the writing of Michael Corrigan when I reviewed his book Confessions of a Shanty Irishman. I enjoyed and admired Corrigan's writing style, his use of humor and blarney, his expression of deep felt emotion at the death of the father who raised him. That first book was swiftly followed by
The Irish Connection and later by Byron. Corrigan is the quintessential Celtic writer -- gifted with a humorous take on life and blessed with the words to express himself. His writing can be playful, deadly serious, and occasionally stunning.

As sometimes happens, Corrigan and I maintained email contact after the reviews were written. As fellow writers we compared our successes and failures. I lived my rather humdrum life vicariously through him and his wife Karen and their travels to places I will never visit -- Spain, Ireland, San Francisco. The blow of losing his father, grandparents, and mother was softened, always, by Karen's joyous presence in his life. The sum of their marriage is expressed in the photo above.

On September 12 2005, Michael lost Karen to a brain aneurysm. His brief email saying Karen was in the hospital, not expected to live, chilled me to the marrow and broke my heart because I knew he had lost his anchor, his raison d'etre in life. Although we'd never met, I knew Karen and Michael Corrigan well. How could he survive the loss of his bright and shining girl, the respected business woman and activist? How could he give sorrow words in a world that had "turned black before his eyes" as Dylan said in a song?

After more than a year of solitary living, a life without Karen, Michael's introspective grief is reaching out to comfort others. He worries about men in particular because males rarely express their grief or seek the counseling they need. Weekly counseling has helped him survive the black emptiness of life without Karen. In the winter edition of an online literary journal, New Works Review, Michael Corrigan tells his story of grief and loss and reaches out to other men suffering as he is. His journey through shock, despair, and grief is beautifully written and helpful.

I encourage everyone, male and female, to read Corrigan's essay, in which he truly does "Give Sorrow Words." Karen would be so proud to know her death became a catalyst to help others. If even one person benefits from Michael's words, Karen's legacy will continue. Share the link with anyone you know who might benefit from Michael Corrigan's experience. http://www.new-works.org/9_1corrigan/sorrow.htm

Winter in the Plains of America

2006-12-31T09:22:00.000-08:00

A friend from central Nebraska called to say the power had been out in her area since six p.m. Saturday night. Due to freezing rains followed by snow and wind, trees and limbs were down taking power lines with them. We were luckier here in southeastern Nebraska. We had slow soaking rains for a couple days with snow starting today.

When Arctic winds blow out of the North bringing snow and dangerous wind chills, I think of a story my grandma used to tell. It's one of my favorite stories, paraphrased from the book of her life, My Name is Esther Clara. It puts in perspective what little inconveniences we have today when winter winds howl around the house and snow drifts level with our porch.

In the early 1920s, Grandma and Grandpa set out from Kansas for a road construction job in Minnesota. America's roadways were sparse in those days. Cross country traveling and trucking were as rare as the roads. Americans were just beginning their love affair with motorized vehicles then, but wanted good roads to travel instead of rutted cowpaths.

Grandpa had been lured to Minnesota with the promise of good wages and "sturdy housing" if he was willing to work in winter. The phrase "sturdy housing" conjured up visions of a cozy little cabin where his family would be warm and safe. They arrived in a blizzard and were given a canvas tent to erect -- their housing for the winter -- and a small coal burning stove for heat and cooking. That they did not immediately return to Kansas is a testament to their determination, and their desperate need for decent wages.

Grandma, Grandpa, and their two toddlers spent most of that awful Minnesota winter living in a canvas tent. Wind blew so hard it ripped tears in the tent and Grandma kept the holes patched by sewing sheets over them. Her job was to get coal every morning from the company storage shed, to cook and wash their clothes by hand, and keep their kids warm. Grandpa's job was to work 12 hours a day, snow or shine, daylight or dark, in below zero wind chills to clear the woods for a roadbed. The workers got four breaks a day on schedule. Grandma kept quilts by the stove to warm her young husband at each break. She wrapped him in warm quilts, gave him coffee with milk and sugar and hot soup to heat his innards, and fed him fat sandwiches on home made bread for energy. Somehow they survived and thrived.

So today, when the snow blows and wind howls around my warm house, I'm thankful. Even if the electricity goes out, our kerosene stove is a handy source of heat and means of cooking. I don't have to patch holes in a drafty tent, and I don't have to live in the throes of winter with fragile shelter. Could I survive while roughing it today, like they did then? I doubt it. I'm two generations removed from coal stoves and life without electricity. And it's doubtful that I have their courage and resourcefulness. Modern life is a blessing that has spoiled me.

Christmas Memories Part 4

2006-12-21T03:43:00.000-08:00

This will be the final chapter of my Christmas reminiscences. We lived in a different world when I was a child. My memories will take you back in time to an era I consider to be warmer, safer than the one we know today.

I don't have any pictures of the whole gang gathered for Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Their house was small so we had to pack ourselves into it in separate areas and the only time we were all together in one space was at mealtime. Otherwise, the women were cooking, the men out hunting or gabbing in the living room around the tree, and the children in various rooms or outside depending on the weather.

Togetherness ruled in Grandma and Grandpa's world. None of their family questioned where they would be on Christmas day. Everyone would be together, rubbing elbows in small spaces, surrounded by laughter and familiar voices.

World War Two was still a recent memory then, so Uncle Kenny Ketchell shared war stories or tales of the shell shocked veteran who lived with them. Homeless veterans were rare in those days because family or friends took them in out of respect and concern. We kids never tired of Uncle Kenny's stories, told proudly from a well of patriotism and amazing courage.

Grandpa and Uncle Don Ford took great delight in teasing and joking. No one escaped their mischief -- especially the children -- and they kept it up until Grandma silently intervened by giving them the dreaded "straight mouth." When Grandma pursed her lips together, even Grandpa hunkered down and took a break from mischief. Uncle Don was not so easily intimidated, but switched from teasing to intellectual challenges to appease Grandma.

Before we gathered for our meal, Uncle Jerome Lueers sang "Bless the House" as our family prayer. His beautiful Irish tenor voice penetrated every room from corner to corner, ceiling to floor, touching hearts and spirits. Stresses fell away and anxieties departed because his voice soothed and healed.

So many of the participants of our gladsome gatherings are gone now. I remember them with fondness today because they are a part of the tapestry that is my life: Grandma and Grandpa Ford; Mother, Verla Ford Smith; Aunt Maxine Ford Ketchell, Uncle Kenny, and their sons Randy and Keith; Uncle Jerome Lueers and daughter Nancy. I miss their presence and their gifts.

We epitomized the American family in those days, relatives who enjoyed every nuance of Christmas and made no apologies for it. We were a family who believed in God, a family that prayed together and took comfort in the Christ Child's message, who put angels on our trees and creches in our yards. This Christmas I will celebrate those times, envision those familiar faces, and fond memories will put a smile on my face. Merry Christmas!

Christmas Part Three

2006-12-16T04:09:00.000-08:00

The old Methodist Church in Marysville Kansas was a large part of our social life back when I was a kid. Even practicing for the Sunday School Christmas play and carol sing was a thrill, back in the days before television dominated our lives. And all we Sunday School children knew that if we were good, if we played our parts and sang our carols well, Santa Claus would visit church after the Sunday service nearest Christmas.

After church, some of the people went outside to smoke. Others, ladies mostly, went downstairs to begin serving pot luck dinner. Mom and Grandma always brought fried chicken and some sort of dessert. Everything was made from scratch in those days. No KFC or deli cole slaw, no store-bought cakes or pies. Mom often made mayonnaise cake -- a rich, chocolate cake with fudge frosting. Grandma's old standby recipe was her world famous frosted molasses creams. I always made sure to sit with Grandpa. He knew ALL the best things to eat. He'd help me fill my plate, starting with Mom's or Grandma's fried chicken because he said theirs was the best. Finally, he'd say, "That oughta hold me over for awhile." That was the familiar signal to take my empty plate to the kitchen and go sit with Mom and Grandma. The most exciting part of the day was at hand. Santa Claus would soon arrive!!

The Methodist Church Santa was a tall man with twinkling blue eyes. He called all the children by name while handing out bags of candy, nuts, apples, and oranges. The genuinely happy sound of his laugh, the deep timbre of his voice, and the smell of his whiskers was comforting and familiar. When it came my turn to sit on Santa's lap and tell him my secret Christmas wishes, I wanted to snuggle in against him and take a nap. Mom always whisked me away before I could nod off.

Guess I was too young back then to realize why Santa seemed so familiar and comforting to me. Grandpa Ford was the quintessential Santa. He played his part to perfection and loved Christmas as much as any child. My grandpa loved Christmas and playing Santa almost as much as he loved me.

Christmas Part Two

2006-12-12T04:21:00.000-08:00

I've often been told that whatever shred of creativity I have came from my mother. Mine just took a different form than hers. Mom took colorful, creative handiwork to a level beyond my capabilities. Holidays shined because of her imagination, especially Christmas.

Mom wasn't born with a silver spoon in her mouth and neither were her children, but she didn't let that lack dampen her enthusiasm. Every Christmas package she wrapped became a work of art so beautiful that even children hated to destroy her creations. No matter how mundane the content might be -- socks, overboots, even the dreaded underwear -- came packaged like the rarest treasure. She labored hours over each package. Using glue and glitter she created snow scenes with reindeer, laughing Santas, angels on heavenly clouds, baby Jesus surrounded by Mary, Joseph, wise men, shepherds, and lowing cattle. I've often wished that even one of those packages had survived intact so I could brag about her talent today. Mom's inspired art deserved to be framed and hung on my walls because I understand now that such handiwork was an extension of her love.

No Christmas season was complete without trays loaded with Mom's decorated cookies. Like her wrapped packages, cookies were transformed to high art with Mom's special touches. Flat cookies formed by cookie cutters became a three dimensional finished product. Even her four little cookie monsters hated to bite into them, at least until they'd been properly admired from every angle. Santas and reindeer, snowmen and angels took on a vibrant life of their own. Mom spent hours coloring bowls of frosting to just the right hues. My personal favorite was Frosty the Snowman, complete with gaily colored stocking hat, scarf, happy smile and carrot nose all carefully formed from frosting to accent his white roundness. My second favorite was Santa. Shredded coconut atop white frosting transformed his beard to a believable reality. Our classes at Lincoln Grade School eagerly anticipated a tray of Mom's decorated cookies each Christmas. Each cookie sat on its own paper lace doily and seemed too wonderful to eat.

One year in particular stayed firmly in my memory. Our house was heated by a warm morning stove with isinglass doors. A howling blizzard knocked out the electricity but our house stayed warm and cozy, thanks to our gas stove. Bitter winds drove temperatures down below zero. Mom bundled me up in a snow suit and sent me across the street to our neighbors, who heated with electricity, and said to tell them our house was warm if they wanted to come over. Before long our living room was packed with people, laughing and talking while their kids ran and played and jostled each other. That day had started out as cookie baking day. One tray had been completed with individual rows of Santas, angels, snowmen, and reindeer. When that tray of treasures was knocked to the floor by careless children, the entire house went silent. Then Mom cried while the neighbor ladies tried to rescue a few unbroken cookies from the fractured mess. Mom said, "No, I'll just start all over in the morning." And she did. I don't remember how long our neighbors stayed with us that day, but Mom's broken cookies were a loss that silenced all the jabber and play.

Christmas memories Part One

2006-12-06T04:46:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was sunny and breezy, with high wispy clouds in a bright blue sky, a perfect winter day. I sat on my back porch and watched the clouds awhile, overcome with imprinted sensations from another place and time. I was a child again, bursting with excitement, walking to Grandma and Grandpa's house. Cold air bit at chubby cheeks and knees. I wanted to break loose and run, but Mother firmly held my mittened left hand. I skipped and chattered at her side, hoping Santa Claus would greet me at their door, asking Mom if Santa visited everyone or just Grandma's house. My memories of past Christmases may not be on a par with IDEALS magazine, all beautiful in their perfection, but they're mine and I want to start the season by sharing them.

In December 1945 I was three going on four. The world war was winding down, but I knew nothing about war in those days. What I DID know for certain was that Grandma's house was bright with shiny decorations and a fat cedar tree with piles of gaily wrapped packages under it. My child's mind reasoned that a fair number of those presents would be mine! I had been a very good girl, nice not naughty, so Santa surely had not forgotten me as he flew around the world with sleigh and reindeer.

Grandpa met us at the door that day, smiling ear to ear. He picked me up and swung me around the living room, then held me high so I could touch sweet Angie the Christmas Tree Angel at the top of their tree. The air inside their house was moist and fragrant with scents of a baking turkey and dressing. Piled high and colorful along the buffet in their dining room, Grandma had arranged home made cookies, pies, candy, and frosted molasses creams. Now if there was anything I loved better than presents, it was food, especially desserts. Grandpa knew that, so after he piled my coat, hat, and mittens on the bed in their back bedroom, he snuck two cookies from the pile. He had a colorfully decorated snowman and I had a reindeer. Grandpa was the absolute BEST at sneaking goodies behind Grandma's back so I learned that technique from a master.

That year Santa brought me a doctor kit, a gift I put to immediate use. Uncle Don and his friend Earl Elliott ate too much and needed doctoring. Uncle Don crashed on the couch, moaning and groaning and rubbing his full stomach. Earl sprawled on the floor beside the couch, swearing he would die at any moment. Lucky for them, a fledgling doctor/nurse was on the scene to administer emergency treatment. With the little stethoscope around my neck and a fake plastic thermomenter in my hand, I listened to their hearts and lungs and gurgling tummies, then took their temperature. Both patients lived and are still alive today as a testament to my skill in 1945. No need to thank me now, Don and Earl. I was just doing my job.

One of these days soon another memory will take hold. Stay tuned until then.

A Kurdistani nurse and me......

2006-11-30T04:37:00.000-08:00

I've lived a rather humdrum life with only rare occasions readers would consider out of the ordinary. But recently, a wondrous and unusual opportunity presented itself in the form of a Kurdistani counterpart. A delightful woman / nurse / writer from Kurdistan emailed asking to interview me. She hoped to translate the interview into her language and submit it to regional nursing magazines and poetry journals. I'm not certain how or why she chose me after searching the web for female nurses who are also writers, but I'm so pleased she did. I do not mention this fine woman's name in my blog because I forgot to get her permission for that. She did, however, give her enthusiastic permission to write about our interview.

I'd heard of the Kurds, of course, and knew that they are a people with a rich history, culture, and roots in ancient times. Kurdistan today is a large region that covers northwestern Iran, northern Iraq, northeastern Syria, southeastern Turkey, and a portion of Armenia. At this point in time, it's a region and not a country, but Kurdistan has its own language and its own flag.

She captured and held my interest immediately with one sentence in her first interview question: "I think doctors and nurses must tenderize themselves with literature." What an amazing thought!! That one sentence opened up a dialog that freed us both to be ourselves, to talk as friends and fellow travelers, to share an honesty rare between our cultures. During our interview, we spoke of many things: our work as nurses, our love of poetry and prose, the sorrows humans of all cultures experience in times of war, our cultural differences and human similarities. She contacted me in early October 2006 and the interview ended this week.

As a free lance journalist, my Kurdistani interviewer is very skilled at framing pertinent questions and understanding her subject. She opened her heart and spirit to me, an American, and shared pieces of herself. She knows and understands our culture far better than I do hers. And now, I'm blessed with a new friend. We may live on opposite sides of the world, but our similarities as humans far outstrip our differences. The experience of knowing this woman has been a gift.

Random thoughts

2006-11-27T03:34:00.000-08:00

I'm still giddy because a major online bookseller finally has my two Dandelion-published books for sale. The Alley of Wishes was released in 2003 and My Name is Esther Clara early in 2006. Neither had been available for purchase from that bookseller until recently. The mysterious ways of booksellers boggle the mind. Most brick and mortar bookstores don't carry my books unless I place them there on consignment, so people hoping to purchase my work must buy from the publisher, amazon.com, or me. Amazon.com has always featured all my books as soon as they're available, so I'm grateful for that.

I've mentioned Tom Parker's blog, Dispatches from Kansas, more than once. Anyone who has not been following his serialized journey to the desert southwest needs to hop on over to his blog immediately. Parker's writing style is amazing. That old Colorado country boy turned Kansan tells a compelling story. Go to http://dispatchesfromkansas.blogspot.com and read for yourself. Parker has a book out with the same name and I'm hoping a sequel will soon follow.

No one writes a humorous story better than Kansas author Max Yoho. His latest book, The Moon Butter Route, received the Kansas Notable Book Award for 2006. What exactly is moon butter? Well, think delicious fresh-churned butter blended with moonshine and other tasty ingredients. If you think Kansas and Kansans are boring, Max Yoho's characters will convince you otherwise. You may even want to MOVE to Kansas for the fun.

The Christmas season is upon us. Just in case book lovers on your list are bored with the same old formulaic books, maybe it's time to think outside the New York Times bestseller list and go for hidden gold with a book by Tom Parker or Max Yoho.

Laura Sanow, HELLO!!

2006-11-23T17:19:00.000-08:00

I was so pleased to see your post about the Sanows. But I wish you had left your email address so I could communicate with you. Next time you visit my blog, please leave your email address. I'd love to meet more of the Lawrence Sanow and August Sanow relatives.

My trip to Iowa in October was a wonderful experience. I got to see the Sanow homeplace and take pictures of it, and met some really nice relatives. Wish you could have been there.

Stay in touch. We can swap Sanow stories.

Drum Roll Please.......

2006-11-21T03:52:00.000-08:00

Did you miss me? Were you bored with my blog about agents and publishers? Well, you'll have to take the bitter with the sweet. I'll try to redeem myself today. Today's info is sweet because a couple pleasant happenings occured in my world.

First, this past week I discovered my two Dandelion-published books are now available on Barnes and Noble website. The Dandelion edition of The Alley of Wishes was published in 2003 and has never been available for purchase on barnesandnoble.com. My Name is Esther Clara was released in January 2006 and was also unavailable....until recently. I can't explain why BN did not make them available when first released. That's one of life's writing related mysteries. But I'm happy they're available now and grateful to my publisher for making that unexpected miracle happen.

Second, we may be moving soon. We've moved many times in the last 40 years and swear that each time will be the last. Moving is not an easy task and gets less easy, less an adventure, the older we get. Still, if all goes as planned we will be moving to another town soon. I'll keep you informed as we progress.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Agent and publisher queries

2006-11-12T05:01:00.000-08:00

Several writers contacted me in recent weeks hoping I could advise them on either agent or publisher queries or both. Most writers I know consider finding a reputable agent and "name" publisher necessities. Unfortunately, I'm not much help in that arena.

Twenty-five years ago I had a New York agent who snagged a reading for an early version of The Alley of Wishes with Knopf. For reasons I won't go into here, that placement was not pursued to final acceptance or rejection. When I revised TAOW early in the 21st century, I queried Knopf. Their reply was swift and professional. I received a small manila envelope containing my query, uopened, and a letter explaining their action: Due to the threat of anthrax prevalent at that time, Knopf was not opening unsolicited mail. So I self-published TAOW and several months later Dandelion Books asked to re-publish it. I happily agreed.

I've never queried a New York publisher since. Dandelion published My Name is Esther Clara, also, and I'm thankful for that blessing.

In the last six years, I've queried two agents. Both read the first two chapters of TAOW and gave two different critiques. One agent took a pass, said I TOLD her about the characters instead of SHOWING them. The other agent said I did a wonderful job of SHOWING her the characters, but since the book did not fit into any particular genre niche, she had to take a pass.

So there you have it in a nutshell, writers and readers, why I'm a poor one to advise anyone on agents and New York publishers. Between writing, reading books for review, and living a normal everyday life, I don't have the time, energy, or patience for such games. It isn't rejection I fear, it's wasting months of precious time.

Every person has different goals and dreams. I write my books for reasons that have nothing to do with money or fame so the way I've chosen to publish my books works well for me. My way is not acceptable to writers who prefer the New York route to publication. Whichever way you choose, good luck!!

Surprise, surprise......

2006-11-08T14:19:00.000-08:00

The gas prices that had dropped so dramatically before the election jumped a dime after the election. At least that's what happened in my neck of the woods. I doubt if the price increase will stop with a dime.

Maybe the increase in gasoline today is an amazing coincidence. Maybe the decrease in prices before the election was another coincidence.

Maybe I'm just too suspicious.