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?

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

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.

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

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

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

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.....

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?

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

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...

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....

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....

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

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...

• 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......

...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.....

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

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....

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

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.