Merry Christmas!!!

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

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.....

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"

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

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???

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.....

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.......

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......

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......

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

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

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???

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!!

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....

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......

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

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

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.....

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

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?