... I think it's an old 80s song by Heart. One that brings backs memories. Good and bad. Just like my dreams. Did you ever wake up and think, where the hell did that come from?
A dream. A story played inside your head as your body searches for rest and rejuvenation. I'm a vivid dreamer. Awake and asleep. When I sleep and dream, I often wake feeling as if I've worked all night long. The brain is a wondrous thing, isn't it? It keeps vast files on your life and weaves in a few of its own. I have many dreams about my children ... they can be at any age, and usually there's turmoil and I'm trying desperately to protect them.
Or there are the dreams of the house I grew up in. I swear this house was haunted. The dreams that stem from living in that house are never dreams I want to remember the next day. I have many dreams about tornados. And because of my fear of heights, any dreams where I'm falling ... I'll wake myself up. Usually.
Not all of my dreams are bad ... some are quite comical and I wish I could remember them. But usually, I forget all my dreams within the first hour after I wake up. That's a good thing, because I do have nightmares. The kind I scream in and my poor husband nearly has a heart attack.
I'd be a good case for a sleep analogy. Here's the thing ... unless it's a very good movie, I rarely watch horror movies. I don't read Sci Fi much. And I try to avoid news on TV that creeps me out. But I continue to dream wild and fantastic dreams ... every night. I'm sure some expert would have an answer as to why. But when it's half way through the day and I'm still trying to shake off the dream from the night before, do I wonder ... what did it mean?
I've always been like this. A dreamer. Many of my dreams, the few I remembered, have become parts of my stories. A few of my characters have actually introduced themselves to me in my dreams. I know -- crazy. There are those rare dreams, however, that have caused me to make decisions in my life based on the plot played in my head the night before. Other dreams just fade into the smoky abyss of morning and when I wake up, they're gone from memory.
I've seen the way people can react to a bad dream, or a dream that concerns them. Some folks believe they're seeing the future or are living in the midst of a dream. All I know is that this thing we do when we're asleep, this movie that plays in our heads ... is often too real as we sleep. What is it they tell us, that the brain only uses a small percentage of it's ability in your lifetime? So why did God put the whole thing in there, I wonder. Do you think possibly it's His way to communicate with us while we're sleeping?
Who knows? Right now, all I know is I worked too hard in the dreams I had last night ... I can't seem to wake up properly. Like I've been sawing logs ... literally.
These dreams I have need to transport me to someplace quiet tonight ... so I can sleep.
Blessings to you and yours.
www.pamelacable.com
www.southernfriedwomen.com
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Pie Pans of the Carolinas
This past Friday, Michael and I went to see the movie, Pirates of the Caribbean. A strong left turn, a deviation--if you will--from my normal enjoyment of stories about moonshine and/or magnolias. But a Southern gal's got to branch out every now and then. True, I've always found solace and comfort in the stories that are set in the South. Gone With The Wind, Steel Magnolias, Fried Green Tomatoes, and Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood ... are but a few. Coal Miner's Daughter, Cat On a Hot Tin Roof, and Cold Mountain are stories I have in book form and in my DVD collection. I could compile a list, but that's not what this blog entry is about.
My point is that although my favorite stories are set in the South, I also love to get out of Dixie and stretch my imagination to places and times I've never been. It's really a healthy thing to do.
Set in the days of primitive ocean voyages, Pirates of the Caribbean ventures into the sea ... taking with it the imaginations of those writers that no doubt descended from sailors who told the ghostly and ghastly tales of their voyages upon their return home. Possibly these tales were also passed down ... generation-to-generation.
The action is so packed with nail biting peril; it's often exhausting as you watch it. The story line takes a back seat to the one-liners of its characters and the special effects and magic of Hollywood.
This week, I was passing by a roadside stand and decided to stop in to buy a tote bag of peaches. The old codger behind the warped and wooden desk appeared as if he'd been picking in the sun way past his prime. He smiled a toothless grin that made me giggle and nod back politely.
"Got us a sale on ... tomatoes and cukes up front ... melons in the box out back. And they's some real purty pie pans the Missus is sellin' on them crates out front. She says they'll bake a cobbler better 'n any old glass pan ya got. She makes them pans hersef."
"Oh, really?" I asked.
"Yep," he said. "I let ya have two of 'em for the price of one."
I smiled and gathered my bag of peaches, after squeezing a few. "Well, okay ... peach cobbler sounds good. I'll take two of those pans. The blue one and red one."
He winked and bagged up my purchases. As I pulled my pie pans out of the bag after I got home, I turned them over. Made in China glared up at me. I thought of the old codger at the produce stand who reminded me of one of the pirates in the movie.
I'm thinking Disney might like my story ... Pie Pans of the Carolinas ...
Naw. I can't imagine a swashbuckling Johnny Depp saving any woman from buying an old man's pie pans at a roadside stand.
Blessings to you and yours.
My point is that although my favorite stories are set in the South, I also love to get out of Dixie and stretch my imagination to places and times I've never been. It's really a healthy thing to do.
Set in the days of primitive ocean voyages, Pirates of the Caribbean ventures into the sea ... taking with it the imaginations of those writers that no doubt descended from sailors who told the ghostly and ghastly tales of their voyages upon their return home. Possibly these tales were also passed down ... generation-to-generation.
The action is so packed with nail biting peril; it's often exhausting as you watch it. The story line takes a back seat to the one-liners of its characters and the special effects and magic of Hollywood.
This week, I was passing by a roadside stand and decided to stop in to buy a tote bag of peaches. The old codger behind the warped and wooden desk appeared as if he'd been picking in the sun way past his prime. He smiled a toothless grin that made me giggle and nod back politely.
"Got us a sale on ... tomatoes and cukes up front ... melons in the box out back. And they's some real purty pie pans the Missus is sellin' on them crates out front. She says they'll bake a cobbler better 'n any old glass pan ya got. She makes them pans hersef."
"Oh, really?" I asked.
"Yep," he said. "I let ya have two of 'em for the price of one."
I smiled and gathered my bag of peaches, after squeezing a few. "Well, okay ... peach cobbler sounds good. I'll take two of those pans. The blue one and red one."
He winked and bagged up my purchases. As I pulled my pie pans out of the bag after I got home, I turned them over. Made in China glared up at me. I thought of the old codger at the produce stand who reminded me of one of the pirates in the movie.
I'm thinking Disney might like my story ... Pie Pans of the Carolinas ...
Naw. I can't imagine a swashbuckling Johnny Depp saving any woman from buying an old man's pie pans at a roadside stand.
Blessings to you and yours.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
GEOGRAPHY Lesson
I can't take credit for the writing of today's keen insight. And I've not posted anything like this before, but this piece of prose ... I really liked. Kudos to whoever made it up. A little exagerated, but good, nonetheless.
GEOGRAPHY OF WOMEN
Between 18 and 22, a woman is like Africa, half discovered, half wild, naturally beautiful with fertile soil.
Between 23 and 30, a woman is like Europe, well developed and open to trade, especially for someone with cash.
Between 31 and 35, a woman is like India, very hot, relaxed and convinced of her own beauty.
Between 36 and 40, a woman is like France, gently aging but still warm and a desirable place to visit.
Between 41 and 50, a woman is like Great Britain, with a glorious and all conquering past.
Between 51 and 60, a woman is like Yugoslavia, lost the war and haunted by past mistakes.
Between 61 and 70, a woman is like Russia, very wide with borders now unpatrolled.
After 70, she becomes Tibet. Wildly beautiful, with a mysterious past and the wisdom of the ages....only those with an adventurous spirit and a thirst for spiritual knowledge visit there.
GEOGRAPHY OF MEN
Between 1 and 70, a man is like the USA. Ruled by a dick.
Blessings to you and yours.
GEOGRAPHY OF WOMEN
Between 18 and 22, a woman is like Africa, half discovered, half wild, naturally beautiful with fertile soil.
Between 23 and 30, a woman is like Europe, well developed and open to trade, especially for someone with cash.
Between 31 and 35, a woman is like India, very hot, relaxed and convinced of her own beauty.
Between 36 and 40, a woman is like France, gently aging but still warm and a desirable place to visit.
Between 41 and 50, a woman is like Great Britain, with a glorious and all conquering past.
Between 51 and 60, a woman is like Yugoslavia, lost the war and haunted by past mistakes.
Between 61 and 70, a woman is like Russia, very wide with borders now unpatrolled.
After 70, she becomes Tibet. Wildly beautiful, with a mysterious past and the wisdom of the ages....only those with an adventurous spirit and a thirst for spiritual knowledge visit there.
GEOGRAPHY OF MEN
Between 1 and 70, a man is like the USA. Ruled by a dick.
Blessings to you and yours.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Literal or Figurative?
I would hate to live in a world where I was constantly wondering if I were going to hell. A life that I constantly monitored as being perfect.
How miserable. As miserable to me as if you knew you were a serial killer or some sick lowest of the low person. I don't believe either world is healthy or happy.
But the Bible says, "Be ye perfect ..." Do you think God really meant for us to be PERFECT? It also tells women to not cut their hair. There's that old thing about interpretation again.
I think what I hate most is when one person or a group of people force their "interpretations" of the scriptures down the backs of our throats with no concern as to whether they've really thought this thing through. Just, "Yepper, by golly, that's what it says!"
Live, find happiness, and be the best person you can be. Keep it all in prospective and to hell with what everybody else has to say.
Find your own relationship with your creator. Don't get it off the TV or from any man or woman that stands in the pulpit or preaches to you in the comfort of your own livingroom.
If He really wanted us to be perfect, then He wouldn't renew his mercies every morning ... now would He?
I'm tired of perfect people. And I mean that ... LITERALLY.
Blessings to you and yours.
How miserable. As miserable to me as if you knew you were a serial killer or some sick lowest of the low person. I don't believe either world is healthy or happy.
But the Bible says, "Be ye perfect ..." Do you think God really meant for us to be PERFECT? It also tells women to not cut their hair. There's that old thing about interpretation again.
I think what I hate most is when one person or a group of people force their "interpretations" of the scriptures down the backs of our throats with no concern as to whether they've really thought this thing through. Just, "Yepper, by golly, that's what it says!"
Live, find happiness, and be the best person you can be. Keep it all in prospective and to hell with what everybody else has to say.
Find your own relationship with your creator. Don't get it off the TV or from any man or woman that stands in the pulpit or preaches to you in the comfort of your own livingroom.
If He really wanted us to be perfect, then He wouldn't renew his mercies every morning ... now would He?
I'm tired of perfect people. And I mean that ... LITERALLY.
Blessings to you and yours.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Women Over 40
Yes, I do belong to this exciting group! And proud of it! It's also a group of businesswomen who network here in Greensboro. The group, formally called WOMAN, meets once a month for dinner at a quite nice restaurant here in town.
Last night's speaker was from the American Heart Association ... of course relaying tons of valuable information we all needed to hear ... but as I sat and watched the women at the tables, women from all walks of life, professions, race and ethnic background--I began to see (in my mind anyway) a melting away of differences and opinions. That when the going gets tough and you throw love and respect into the mix of the female vat of hormones ... what comes out of the pot is solidarity. One mighty fortress belonging to women.
I overheard so many conversations, expressing concern for the other. Whether sincere or contrived, it was still said. Words spoken that placed a healing balm on another woman's wounds, on her heart. My heart leaped, because I realized at the moment - that's a unique ability few men possess. To express love like that--through words--woman to woman.
Now, I've seen the back slapping men do. And I've been in churches and have witnessed the hugging between men of faith. I've also seen men cry. But what is it about the nurturing heart of a woman that I've heard, is the closest thing on earth you'll find to the love of God.
Especially from older women. Women who've experienced their share of hard times and disappointments. This group called WOMAN has the unique ability to immediately kiss your wounds and make things feel just a bit better, adding just enough hope for you to walk away from their meetings stepping lighter than when you came in.
I realized, last night, again as I sat there watching all these women share, that we're all the same. We have one beating heart. That although we wish to make great connections and network our abilities, we also scoop up any encouragement we can get, process it, and return it over and over again. Whether at the same meeting or future meetings.
It's quite an amazing thing to watch. These women over 40 know how to party, laugh, have fun, and are way past caring about the stuff in life that just doesn't matter a hill of beans. Most of these women have seen tough times and have come out swinging to the tune of starting new businesses and reinventing themselves ... thriving and most of all--surviving.
It's not been easy, and many faces reflect that ... but there's still a sparkle in their eyes. They've learned priceless lessons that frankly, would never have them trading places with any 20-year old.
Hmmpf. Life is good ... for women over 40.
Blessings to you and yours.
Last night's speaker was from the American Heart Association ... of course relaying tons of valuable information we all needed to hear ... but as I sat and watched the women at the tables, women from all walks of life, professions, race and ethnic background--I began to see (in my mind anyway) a melting away of differences and opinions. That when the going gets tough and you throw love and respect into the mix of the female vat of hormones ... what comes out of the pot is solidarity. One mighty fortress belonging to women.
I overheard so many conversations, expressing concern for the other. Whether sincere or contrived, it was still said. Words spoken that placed a healing balm on another woman's wounds, on her heart. My heart leaped, because I realized at the moment - that's a unique ability few men possess. To express love like that--through words--woman to woman.
Now, I've seen the back slapping men do. And I've been in churches and have witnessed the hugging between men of faith. I've also seen men cry. But what is it about the nurturing heart of a woman that I've heard, is the closest thing on earth you'll find to the love of God.
Especially from older women. Women who've experienced their share of hard times and disappointments. This group called WOMAN has the unique ability to immediately kiss your wounds and make things feel just a bit better, adding just enough hope for you to walk away from their meetings stepping lighter than when you came in.
I realized, last night, again as I sat there watching all these women share, that we're all the same. We have one beating heart. That although we wish to make great connections and network our abilities, we also scoop up any encouragement we can get, process it, and return it over and over again. Whether at the same meeting or future meetings.
It's quite an amazing thing to watch. These women over 40 know how to party, laugh, have fun, and are way past caring about the stuff in life that just doesn't matter a hill of beans. Most of these women have seen tough times and have come out swinging to the tune of starting new businesses and reinventing themselves ... thriving and most of all--surviving.
It's not been easy, and many faces reflect that ... but there's still a sparkle in their eyes. They've learned priceless lessons that frankly, would never have them trading places with any 20-year old.
Hmmpf. Life is good ... for women over 40.
Blessings to you and yours.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Service With A Smile
When did this old cliche' originate? Late 50s, possibly? It used to hold truth, nowadays ... it's just an old cliche'.
We have a favorite restaurant in High Point where we eat quite often. They're building chains of this Italian restaurant all over the Triad, all franchised and operated by different owners.
Michael and I stopped at a book signing in Kernersville tonight to support Dixie Land who wrote SECOND CHANCES and Lynette Hall Hampton with DUO OF OPPOSITES, both Sisters in Crime members and great writing friends. Hungry, we left there and decided to have dinner in Greensboro. Hungry, yet not starved ... you know the feeling ... just wanting a simple dinner, not wanting to take a lot of time--grab a quick bite and then head home.
So we stop at this new franchise, this new Italian restaurant, and get a good booth by the window. We order ... we wait and wait and finally ... Mike's sandwich comes out without tomatoes (he loves tomatoes) and my order was wrong. My order goes back to the kitchen and Mike proceeds to eat his tomatoeless sandwich, which he admits tastes pretty good. I just watch--because I have no food. But hey, the water was tasty. :-)
Then he discovers his fries are soggy, but after waiting again for tomatoes, ketchup for fries, and a refill on drinks ... he proceeds to finish his meal without me anyway ...
And I wait some more.
Finally, a half hour later ... the waitress comes over to admit it was her fault and offers to get me "some bread." She says she'll check on our order and huffs off. Just as Mike is putting the last bite of his 12 inch steak sandwich in his mouth, my order comes out. The waitress says, "I'm giving you a $2 coupon toward your next visit." No smile. Nothing.
I don't say a word ... just smile, as my husband--I know--is not going to settle for a $2 coupon. I look at my food, it's burnt on top and impossible to cut into. It's overcooked. I wonder, how can something I've been waiting on for nearly an hour be overcooked? The waitress says, "Wow, that looks overcooked." No sorry, no apology, just a comment.
I put my fork and knife down and hand her my plate. "Just bring us our check and take my meal off the bill," I say.
Finally, the owner comes out ... and to make a very unecessary story short ... gives Mike a free meal. He's very apologetic, and we smile, and say thank you and leave. We'll go back and give them another chance ... maybe.
I thought about ordering a pizza on the way home, but when I called and the person on the other end at Pizza Hut sounded like the female equivalent to Forrest Gump, I decided ... you know what? Maybe I could miss a meal tonight. It won't kill me. So I cancelled my pizza order.
Service with a smile? ... I smiled real wide as I served myself some peach cobbler when I got home ... at least I didn't miss dessert.
Blessings to you and yours.
We have a favorite restaurant in High Point where we eat quite often. They're building chains of this Italian restaurant all over the Triad, all franchised and operated by different owners.
Michael and I stopped at a book signing in Kernersville tonight to support Dixie Land who wrote SECOND CHANCES and Lynette Hall Hampton with DUO OF OPPOSITES, both Sisters in Crime members and great writing friends. Hungry, we left there and decided to have dinner in Greensboro. Hungry, yet not starved ... you know the feeling ... just wanting a simple dinner, not wanting to take a lot of time--grab a quick bite and then head home.
So we stop at this new franchise, this new Italian restaurant, and get a good booth by the window. We order ... we wait and wait and finally ... Mike's sandwich comes out without tomatoes (he loves tomatoes) and my order was wrong. My order goes back to the kitchen and Mike proceeds to eat his tomatoeless sandwich, which he admits tastes pretty good. I just watch--because I have no food. But hey, the water was tasty. :-)
Then he discovers his fries are soggy, but after waiting again for tomatoes, ketchup for fries, and a refill on drinks ... he proceeds to finish his meal without me anyway ...
And I wait some more.
Finally, a half hour later ... the waitress comes over to admit it was her fault and offers to get me "some bread." She says she'll check on our order and huffs off. Just as Mike is putting the last bite of his 12 inch steak sandwich in his mouth, my order comes out. The waitress says, "I'm giving you a $2 coupon toward your next visit." No smile. Nothing.
I don't say a word ... just smile, as my husband--I know--is not going to settle for a $2 coupon. I look at my food, it's burnt on top and impossible to cut into. It's overcooked. I wonder, how can something I've been waiting on for nearly an hour be overcooked? The waitress says, "Wow, that looks overcooked." No sorry, no apology, just a comment.
I put my fork and knife down and hand her my plate. "Just bring us our check and take my meal off the bill," I say.
Finally, the owner comes out ... and to make a very unecessary story short ... gives Mike a free meal. He's very apologetic, and we smile, and say thank you and leave. We'll go back and give them another chance ... maybe.
I thought about ordering a pizza on the way home, but when I called and the person on the other end at Pizza Hut sounded like the female equivalent to Forrest Gump, I decided ... you know what? Maybe I could miss a meal tonight. It won't kill me. So I cancelled my pizza order.
Service with a smile? ... I smiled real wide as I served myself some peach cobbler when I got home ... at least I didn't miss dessert.
Blessings to you and yours.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Thrilled
I've updated my APPEARANCES page on my web site. Check it out! www.pamelacable.com. I'm getting the invitations and the bookings to speak ... selling books is an amazing process, and grueling - all at the same time. When "people" in the industry tell you to build your platform ... they literally mean it ... one brick at a time. I feel as if I'm carrying this bag of cement on my back and as my publicist hands me a brick, I slap the cement on and firm up my foundation yet a little more.
I'm wondering, as I look at the career of other authors, (at least as far as I can see through the pages of the Internet), if they possess some of the same feelings and pressures I'm experiencing. Sometimes, they all sound so calm, cool, and collected when I read their interviews, opinions, and "hear" them eloquently speak to their interviewer. I wonder, do they really talk that way when they're not being "interviewed?"
Does the world of publishing ever overwhelm some of these MFAs? Do authors with several books under their belt feel less pressure than authors like me, with a first book trying to push its way to the front? Do they find time to really work on their next book, or are they consumed with marketing their work?
I've been invited to speak and sign at the Southern Festival of Books in Memphis. I wonder if the other authors that attend, feel as elated over their invitation as I do ... or are they getting used to being invited to book events of this magnitude?
In my truly humble opinion, I don't think I'll ever get used to it. I'm thrilled and I think I'll stay that way. At least for a long, long time.
Blessings to you and yours.
I'm wondering, as I look at the career of other authors, (at least as far as I can see through the pages of the Internet), if they possess some of the same feelings and pressures I'm experiencing. Sometimes, they all sound so calm, cool, and collected when I read their interviews, opinions, and "hear" them eloquently speak to their interviewer. I wonder, do they really talk that way when they're not being "interviewed?"
Does the world of publishing ever overwhelm some of these MFAs? Do authors with several books under their belt feel less pressure than authors like me, with a first book trying to push its way to the front? Do they find time to really work on their next book, or are they consumed with marketing their work?
I've been invited to speak and sign at the Southern Festival of Books in Memphis. I wonder if the other authors that attend, feel as elated over their invitation as I do ... or are they getting used to being invited to book events of this magnitude?
In my truly humble opinion, I don't think I'll ever get used to it. I'm thrilled and I think I'll stay that way. At least for a long, long time.
Blessings to you and yours.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Fireworks!
All day we looked forward to enjoying our first fireworks in years! Mike's cousin, Beth, even stayed over one more night to enjoy an evening of celebration, fun sitting around in lawn chairs, and a brilliant display of snap, crackle, and POP!
We had endured heat and humidity all morning as Mike and Beth worked in the garden, I ran to the store later with Beth for beer, watermelon, peaches (a great combo or what?) And I discovered our first big, fat June bugs flying into the side of the house by noon.
Looking forward to the fireworks all week ... we had made plans with Mike's sister, Bette Lou, and her best friend, Judy, to all meet up here at the house. We'd gather our chairs, blankets, bug spray and head to Cook Out for milkshakes. Next, we would stake our claim (patch of grass) at the CVS on the corner ... that way it'd be easier to get out with our cars afterward.
Mike packed up his camera, tripod, and decided he'd take some great shots of these "blockbuster boomers."
Dinner came and went, Mike's mom's chili dogs were awesome as usual, and then we waited.
For dark.
Long about 9:15, the sky grew darker but not from the setting sun ... from thunderclouds. God decided to hold a show of his own. The wind came, and we thought we'd head on over anyway. "Maybe, this'll jus' blow over, what cha' think?"
And then came the rain.
By the time we had our milkshakes in our hands, the rain was spitting across town. We parked in the CVS parking lot and I sucked down my peanut butter fudge shake under the shelter of my Honda.
But finally, the fireworks started ... despite the weather.
Seeing them from a slight distance, in a lit up parking lot, standing under the perscription pickup awning ... wasn't the same thrill as seeing them in the dark, on a blanket, while they go off over your head.
But hey, the milkshakes were yummy.
Blessings to you and yours.
We had endured heat and humidity all morning as Mike and Beth worked in the garden, I ran to the store later with Beth for beer, watermelon, peaches (a great combo or what?) And I discovered our first big, fat June bugs flying into the side of the house by noon.
Looking forward to the fireworks all week ... we had made plans with Mike's sister, Bette Lou, and her best friend, Judy, to all meet up here at the house. We'd gather our chairs, blankets, bug spray and head to Cook Out for milkshakes. Next, we would stake our claim (patch of grass) at the CVS on the corner ... that way it'd be easier to get out with our cars afterward.
Mike packed up his camera, tripod, and decided he'd take some great shots of these "blockbuster boomers."
Dinner came and went, Mike's mom's chili dogs were awesome as usual, and then we waited.
For dark.
Long about 9:15, the sky grew darker but not from the setting sun ... from thunderclouds. God decided to hold a show of his own. The wind came, and we thought we'd head on over anyway. "Maybe, this'll jus' blow over, what cha' think?"
And then came the rain.
By the time we had our milkshakes in our hands, the rain was spitting across town. We parked in the CVS parking lot and I sucked down my peanut butter fudge shake under the shelter of my Honda.
But finally, the fireworks started ... despite the weather.
Seeing them from a slight distance, in a lit up parking lot, standing under the perscription pickup awning ... wasn't the same thrill as seeing them in the dark, on a blanket, while they go off over your head.
But hey, the milkshakes were yummy.
Blessings to you and yours.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Gone But Never Forgotten
I think I can say that about many things in my life. But the past four days have been yet another collection for my memory books.
From all corners of the country, members of the Samples Family gathered at Mick and Donna Samples farm in Strange Creek ... lovingly called, McDonna farm. Second cousins to me, this beautiful couple know how to throw a party. In the middle of earth and sky, gospel and blue grass music floats through the trees and into every soul who steps out of their vehicle and onto this property that has been hewn out of forest and mountain.
As you know, I was mesmerized last year after having attended my first reunion. But this year, Michael and I traveled back and brought our son, Aaron. It was good to have my young'un there with us. A country boy, I knew he'd fall in love with the place. And he certainly did. Of course Daddy was there, sitting among the elders, swapping stories, remembering the old days, and sharing pictures from albums full of Samples relatives now passed on. Four wheelers roamed through the countryside and creeks and toured the places you can't get to by car or truck.
Sandy (who Daddy calls "Smiley") and her husband James Samples, greet family and friends with hugs and the sign-in book. Sandy records family members who show up every year, and that's a good thing. For a family reunion this size to go on every year, as this one has existed since the 1940's, records must be kept. It concerns me that the younger children I see roaming about, understand that this is not just a picnic they attend to make their grandparents happy. This is about family. Knowing who you are and where you came from.
So next year, the plan is to take more pictures, and have large family tree charts hanging where you can see how you fall into the tree. Possibly a quick history lesson about the Samples Family that goes back to the Revolutionary War. It may give you a sense of place and pride and knowing that the fellow you just met isn't a stranger anymore. He's your grandma's sister's second son. You see, it's all "relative." And if you have the least bit interest in your family, or even your state and the history of this country ... you have a clearer picture of where you fit in.
Well, this year I went back ... to Widen. If you've read the last story in my book, SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN, you'll read about Widen and the violent coal strike in 1952 and '53. Though my story in the book is truly a love story woven amidst the violence, it rings of truth and peril for some who were there. I talked to many this weekend who vividly remember being there. Hearing the gunshots, witnessing the devastation that resulted.
One family member implied there are still folks seeking a healing, as that coal strike continues to separate some families in the area. Maybe my story will help. That and a little prayer may be the balm needed on those old wounds.
Widen is not the town I recall leaving as a child. Most of the buildings are gone now. Just a handful of families exist in the holler that was once a thriving coal camp. Daddy pointed out where the tipple used to be, the railroad, the Grille, and the bank. Just the cement steps of the YMCA are left. The rest is tall grass and weeds. There is no smell of coal and the gob piles are gone. I made Michael stop the truck and I got out and stood at the top of Widen hill. My eyes filled with tears as I imagined the strikers and their sons cutting off the only road in and out of the town.
When I stepped out in front of my grandma's old house, the houses around it are gone now. The wooden gate is gone, the road in front is paved, and the street is quiet. I closed my eyes and I stepped back in time. The pavement turned to dirt, the smell of burning coal penetrated my nostrils, and the sounds of old trucks and children playing in the streets made my heart leap. I heard the gate spring shut and slam its post. I imagined the time when the Casto's lived next door and we played in the coal dust roads catching fireflies until after dark. I remember when I could stand in front of Grandma's house and look all the way down the road to my Aunt Emogene's house.
But many roads in Widen are virtually gone now. Grown over with plant life native to the area. The sights and sounds of a town that once boomed and supported over 3,000 people is not only gone ... it's as if it never existed. I cried. How do we allow these towns to die? Who's going to tell our children what happened here?
Widen is a town gone ... but not forgotten.
Back at the reunion, I relayed my thoughts to some of the family. All of them have stories quite similar to mine, I found out. And though they may not have lived in Widen, they had their own hometown stories. Some still live in the towns they grew up in, others have moved north to Ohio, or south to Virginia. Or to other parts of the country and started over.
But every year, these people, this group of kin called the Samples Family, gathers yet one more time to remember. This year, Scott Lewis, son of Ocie Samples Lewis passed away during the festivities. It caused the reunion to understandably close early. Scott's homegoing was devastating to his precious wife, Velvie, and immediate family. Our hearts went out to them.
Scott and his wife stood in line in front of Michael and I earlier in the day as we gathered to fill our plates. His sweet wife mentioned that she remembered coming to my house at Christmas when I was a little girl. Then Scott put his arms around his wife and smiled and said, "this is my better half." He was with his family, his friends, and went from one reunion on earth to the next reunion in glory. I'm sure his mama all the Samples that had gone on before -- greeted him ... Michael, Aaron and I extend our deepest sympathy to the Lewis family.
Scott Lewis may be gone, but he will never be forgotten.
This reunion has given me a sense of belonging like nothing else I've ever experienced. These people of the mountains of West Virginia, men and women who worked the land, the coal mines, and the lumber mills ... have a place in my heart and will remain forever family. I'll be back again next year, to that patch of earth and sky and music in Strange Creek ... a place where time stands still and the members of the Samples Family come together once more to remember ...
Blessings to you and yours.
From all corners of the country, members of the Samples Family gathered at Mick and Donna Samples farm in Strange Creek ... lovingly called, McDonna farm. Second cousins to me, this beautiful couple know how to throw a party. In the middle of earth and sky, gospel and blue grass music floats through the trees and into every soul who steps out of their vehicle and onto this property that has been hewn out of forest and mountain.
As you know, I was mesmerized last year after having attended my first reunion. But this year, Michael and I traveled back and brought our son, Aaron. It was good to have my young'un there with us. A country boy, I knew he'd fall in love with the place. And he certainly did. Of course Daddy was there, sitting among the elders, swapping stories, remembering the old days, and sharing pictures from albums full of Samples relatives now passed on. Four wheelers roamed through the countryside and creeks and toured the places you can't get to by car or truck.
Sandy (who Daddy calls "Smiley") and her husband James Samples, greet family and friends with hugs and the sign-in book. Sandy records family members who show up every year, and that's a good thing. For a family reunion this size to go on every year, as this one has existed since the 1940's, records must be kept. It concerns me that the younger children I see roaming about, understand that this is not just a picnic they attend to make their grandparents happy. This is about family. Knowing who you are and where you came from.
So next year, the plan is to take more pictures, and have large family tree charts hanging where you can see how you fall into the tree. Possibly a quick history lesson about the Samples Family that goes back to the Revolutionary War. It may give you a sense of place and pride and knowing that the fellow you just met isn't a stranger anymore. He's your grandma's sister's second son. You see, it's all "relative." And if you have the least bit interest in your family, or even your state and the history of this country ... you have a clearer picture of where you fit in.
Well, this year I went back ... to Widen. If you've read the last story in my book, SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN, you'll read about Widen and the violent coal strike in 1952 and '53. Though my story in the book is truly a love story woven amidst the violence, it rings of truth and peril for some who were there. I talked to many this weekend who vividly remember being there. Hearing the gunshots, witnessing the devastation that resulted.
One family member implied there are still folks seeking a healing, as that coal strike continues to separate some families in the area. Maybe my story will help. That and a little prayer may be the balm needed on those old wounds.
Widen is not the town I recall leaving as a child. Most of the buildings are gone now. Just a handful of families exist in the holler that was once a thriving coal camp. Daddy pointed out where the tipple used to be, the railroad, the Grille, and the bank. Just the cement steps of the YMCA are left. The rest is tall grass and weeds. There is no smell of coal and the gob piles are gone. I made Michael stop the truck and I got out and stood at the top of Widen hill. My eyes filled with tears as I imagined the strikers and their sons cutting off the only road in and out of the town.
When I stepped out in front of my grandma's old house, the houses around it are gone now. The wooden gate is gone, the road in front is paved, and the street is quiet. I closed my eyes and I stepped back in time. The pavement turned to dirt, the smell of burning coal penetrated my nostrils, and the sounds of old trucks and children playing in the streets made my heart leap. I heard the gate spring shut and slam its post. I imagined the time when the Casto's lived next door and we played in the coal dust roads catching fireflies until after dark. I remember when I could stand in front of Grandma's house and look all the way down the road to my Aunt Emogene's house.
But many roads in Widen are virtually gone now. Grown over with plant life native to the area. The sights and sounds of a town that once boomed and supported over 3,000 people is not only gone ... it's as if it never existed. I cried. How do we allow these towns to die? Who's going to tell our children what happened here?
Widen is a town gone ... but not forgotten.
Back at the reunion, I relayed my thoughts to some of the family. All of them have stories quite similar to mine, I found out. And though they may not have lived in Widen, they had their own hometown stories. Some still live in the towns they grew up in, others have moved north to Ohio, or south to Virginia. Or to other parts of the country and started over.
But every year, these people, this group of kin called the Samples Family, gathers yet one more time to remember. This year, Scott Lewis, son of Ocie Samples Lewis passed away during the festivities. It caused the reunion to understandably close early. Scott's homegoing was devastating to his precious wife, Velvie, and immediate family. Our hearts went out to them.
Scott and his wife stood in line in front of Michael and I earlier in the day as we gathered to fill our plates. His sweet wife mentioned that she remembered coming to my house at Christmas when I was a little girl. Then Scott put his arms around his wife and smiled and said, "this is my better half." He was with his family, his friends, and went from one reunion on earth to the next reunion in glory. I'm sure his mama all the Samples that had gone on before -- greeted him ... Michael, Aaron and I extend our deepest sympathy to the Lewis family.
Scott Lewis may be gone, but he will never be forgotten.
This reunion has given me a sense of belonging like nothing else I've ever experienced. These people of the mountains of West Virginia, men and women who worked the land, the coal mines, and the lumber mills ... have a place in my heart and will remain forever family. I'll be back again next year, to that patch of earth and sky and music in Strange Creek ... a place where time stands still and the members of the Samples Family come together once more to remember ...
Blessings to you and yours.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Headin' To The Hills
This weekend is our big family reunion ... in West by-God Virginia. Literally, the place where we all meet, is so far removed from civilization, you wonder if you should leave a trail of breadcrumbs. Saturday night is the bon-fire, lots of blue grass, storytelling, and a bit of moonshine tipping. Sunday afternoon is dinner on the grounds. At my cousin Mick's place. My daddy loves it. He's one of the elders now. His mother, my grandmother, was one of the original Samples. And this ... being the Samples Reunion ... gets us in the "door."
The reunion started many years ago, with James Curtis and Savina Samples. They were the parents of Grant, Anis, Cora, Osa, Gussie, Lanty, Walter, Russell, and Corbitt. Gussie was my grandma. They're all gone now ... Lanty, the youngest, passed away at an old age just last June. Their offspring consists of over 200 members ... including my children and me.
This year, my son Aaron is going to this reunion for the first time. Which I'm glad ... he can keep an eye on Daddy this year, make sure he ain't tippin' a bit too much shine. It's a once a year ritual, among relatives, earth, sky ... and music. So far up in the mountains, you've never been that close to God, I'm sure. The land is leveled off where we meet on these camping grounds. So many of the folk come from all across the country, with their tents and campers and literally hook up to Mick's electric for a week. Mick's a good ole' boy ... and obviously loved for carrying on this old tradition.
Getting to Strange Creek is no laughing matter, but the beauty that surrounds you in the trees, the mountain laurel and vegetation makes you want to curl up in the midst of it and pretend you're in heaven. Being equal with the clouds, you wind your way off the interstate and into the hill country ... land of my ancestors. Following the river you eventually come to the end of paved roads. When you arrive where the dirt road ends, you're "home."
Sitting on my cousin's front porch, if you look way across the dirt road from her house, you'll see a rather rocky and winding trail, just barely wide enough for your vehicle ... it goes practically straight up the side of the hill. That's the beginning of the trail leading to the Sample Family reunion. Lots of the old folk like to gather on her front porch a few days before the official "fun" begins. We're heading up early, taking a side trip to Widen, and then meeting Aaron before we head off to find my dad ... hopefully sitting on the front porch ... chewing the fat with his kin.
When I called my cousin, Denise, the other day to discuss what I should bring ... (by the way, you've never in your life eat food like this ... chicken and dumplings to die for ... peach cobbler and peanut butter pie that will absolutely melt in your mouth ...) anyway, Denise was saying "there's a pesky black bear that's been seen around lately and the deer is thick this year ..." I had to laugh to myself. That's just normal for those people, bear and deer ... the wildlife they enounter is commonplace. Just like all the traffic and noise of suburbia and the city is to the rest of us.
For me, it's all about the storytelling and soaking up the blue grass. This life, these people, run so rich in my veins that I get tingly all over when I think about it. Though some of their views differ from my dad's and my own, they're family ... and we put all that aside for this gathering of Samples. A reunion to remember all those that lived and died before us.
I wonder if the original members of this group look down and smile a bit. I'm sure they thought it'd die off when they did and we'd end up like the rest of the world's population, blown to the four corners of the world, never knowing who we were related to.
But thankfully, somebody had the notion to keep the fire burning ... and this year ... it'll be burning back at Mick's place again, as all the Samples gather one more time.
Blessings to you and yours this independence holiday.
The reunion started many years ago, with James Curtis and Savina Samples. They were the parents of Grant, Anis, Cora, Osa, Gussie, Lanty, Walter, Russell, and Corbitt. Gussie was my grandma. They're all gone now ... Lanty, the youngest, passed away at an old age just last June. Their offspring consists of over 200 members ... including my children and me.
This year, my son Aaron is going to this reunion for the first time. Which I'm glad ... he can keep an eye on Daddy this year, make sure he ain't tippin' a bit too much shine. It's a once a year ritual, among relatives, earth, sky ... and music. So far up in the mountains, you've never been that close to God, I'm sure. The land is leveled off where we meet on these camping grounds. So many of the folk come from all across the country, with their tents and campers and literally hook up to Mick's electric for a week. Mick's a good ole' boy ... and obviously loved for carrying on this old tradition.
Getting to Strange Creek is no laughing matter, but the beauty that surrounds you in the trees, the mountain laurel and vegetation makes you want to curl up in the midst of it and pretend you're in heaven. Being equal with the clouds, you wind your way off the interstate and into the hill country ... land of my ancestors. Following the river you eventually come to the end of paved roads. When you arrive where the dirt road ends, you're "home."
Sitting on my cousin's front porch, if you look way across the dirt road from her house, you'll see a rather rocky and winding trail, just barely wide enough for your vehicle ... it goes practically straight up the side of the hill. That's the beginning of the trail leading to the Sample Family reunion. Lots of the old folk like to gather on her front porch a few days before the official "fun" begins. We're heading up early, taking a side trip to Widen, and then meeting Aaron before we head off to find my dad ... hopefully sitting on the front porch ... chewing the fat with his kin.
When I called my cousin, Denise, the other day to discuss what I should bring ... (by the way, you've never in your life eat food like this ... chicken and dumplings to die for ... peach cobbler and peanut butter pie that will absolutely melt in your mouth ...) anyway, Denise was saying "there's a pesky black bear that's been seen around lately and the deer is thick this year ..." I had to laugh to myself. That's just normal for those people, bear and deer ... the wildlife they enounter is commonplace. Just like all the traffic and noise of suburbia and the city is to the rest of us.
For me, it's all about the storytelling and soaking up the blue grass. This life, these people, run so rich in my veins that I get tingly all over when I think about it. Though some of their views differ from my dad's and my own, they're family ... and we put all that aside for this gathering of Samples. A reunion to remember all those that lived and died before us.
I wonder if the original members of this group look down and smile a bit. I'm sure they thought it'd die off when they did and we'd end up like the rest of the world's population, blown to the four corners of the world, never knowing who we were related to.
But thankfully, somebody had the notion to keep the fire burning ... and this year ... it'll be burning back at Mick's place again, as all the Samples gather one more time.
Blessings to you and yours this independence holiday.
Monday, June 26, 2006
The Call Of The Wild
I'm feeling wild today ... ready to dig into my work with a vengeance. It's been crazy since the launch ... getting out press packets and sending books to all four corners of the country ... but I'm itching to get back to my real job. Writing ... creating ... editing ... writing some more.
The experience of putting your head down and plowing through a story is hard to describe. I remember watching the boys play football. Tackling their opponents and keeping their heads down ... concentrating on the play, their next move, their adrenalin pumping ... I feel that way as I dig through this manuscript.
Wildly, I contemplate my strategy. I suit up with my imaginary gear. I shove my protective mouth guard in to keep me from answering the phone, lace up my shoulder pads in case I hit a wall and can't think of a better way to write the sentence, and jam my helmet on to ward off blows from banging my head against the wall when I can't think of a word. It's a tough game, but I'm deep into the fourth quarter and the clock is running. I'm fourth and goal, with no time-outs.
Looks like I'm going to be wild and crazy for a while ... look out!
Tomorrow I'll be sore all over ...
Blessings to you and yours.
The experience of putting your head down and plowing through a story is hard to describe. I remember watching the boys play football. Tackling their opponents and keeping their heads down ... concentrating on the play, their next move, their adrenalin pumping ... I feel that way as I dig through this manuscript.
Wildly, I contemplate my strategy. I suit up with my imaginary gear. I shove my protective mouth guard in to keep me from answering the phone, lace up my shoulder pads in case I hit a wall and can't think of a better way to write the sentence, and jam my helmet on to ward off blows from banging my head against the wall when I can't think of a word. It's a tough game, but I'm deep into the fourth quarter and the clock is running. I'm fourth and goal, with no time-outs.
Looks like I'm going to be wild and crazy for a while ... look out!
Tomorrow I'll be sore all over ...
Blessings to you and yours.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Clarification
I got to thinking this morning, that we can't put everybody in one box. Just as there are some evil people out there disguising themselves as "Christians" ... there are many good-hearted, honest, and truth-seeking evangelicals among them. We can't lump all evangelicals into one heap ... nor can you do the same thing with the rest of the world's population. That includes new age thinkers and races and religions of all kinds.
God is God ... I see Him in move in the minds and lives of all races and religions ... Let's let Him figure out who His true followers are. Sometimes we try to do His job, and we end up with bigotries and prejudices of all kinds floating upward like vapors, stinking in His nostrils.
Just wanted to clarify my thinking ... that there is good, bad, and ugly in all classes of people, groups, and denominations. And this is also good in all of the same.
It is not my position or yours to judge ...
On a much lighter note ... I've just finished my Speaker's Press Kit with my publicist, and it's awesome! 20 packets will be in the mail Monday morning ... I'm praying for some wonderful opportunities to share my work with the region at large.
The book is selling well. I get orders every day ... I'm thrilled with the responses!
Blessings to you and yours.
God is God ... I see Him in move in the minds and lives of all races and religions ... Let's let Him figure out who His true followers are. Sometimes we try to do His job, and we end up with bigotries and prejudices of all kinds floating upward like vapors, stinking in His nostrils.
Just wanted to clarify my thinking ... that there is good, bad, and ugly in all classes of people, groups, and denominations. And this is also good in all of the same.
It is not my position or yours to judge ...
On a much lighter note ... I've just finished my Speaker's Press Kit with my publicist, and it's awesome! 20 packets will be in the mail Monday morning ... I'm praying for some wonderful opportunities to share my work with the region at large.
The book is selling well. I get orders every day ... I'm thrilled with the responses!
Blessings to you and yours.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Evangelical America Can Be A Dangerous Place To Live
Sometimes the business side of writing and publishing just sucks the creative side right out of me. I've spent too long, since finishing SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN, working on press kits, giving interviews, and reorganizing my office. I'm itching to get back to the work I love. Though I find time to blog, read, and write short snippets of story from time to time ... my first love is in writing and editing my novels.
Although I certainly have cleaned out a bunch of clutter. (i.e. no more reading tons of Internet sites, blogs, and cut down on email time.) There comes a time when you've just got to trust yourself, and move in the direction your spirit leads you.
But, I have been meeting some interesting people lately. I made a new friend yesterday. She contacted me upon reading my work somewhere. Our backgrounds are quite similar, as her fundamentalist religious background mirrors my own. We sat and drank coffee and ate breakfast together ... chatting the morning away. These times are refreshing to me ... sharing notes on all those church services we sat in ... laughing about the stuff we lived through. Although quite painful at the time, laughing about it now is part of that healing process. Unless one experiences manipulation to this magnitude, you can't understand how a body can be swept up in it.
I often get asked, "How could that happen to someone like you?" It's a question I've often asked myself. But when you come out of it ... it's like being cured from cancer. You wonder how it started and how you got through it. It's the best way to explain it, I suppose.
My poor husband, who's never experienced that type of mind control, sits and shakes his head. He can't understand the types of conversations I have with people who have been rescued, or broke out of church cults. The man has had his own personal relationship with his creator all his life, and has never depended on any ministry for answers. Lucky duck.
But, here's where we need to clarify. Do I believe in attending church? Yes, absolutely. If you can find one that won't take away all your freedoms. I think people need to be taught, guided, and if the Shepherd is any good, he won't lead his flock into legalism. He will encourage them to seek God for themselves. Do I believe in one denomination over another? No. I know they all have their own way of practicing their faith, but in the end ... I believe that God is neither Catholic nor Baptist. That's all fluff to me.
Personally, when one has been so bruised and battered by pastors, teachers, prophets, apostles, reverends, etc. who are raging wolves in sheep's clothing, then I would suggest you do what I do ... worship in the safety of your home. Guard your heart ... but mostly ... guard your new open mind. There will be lots of leftover residue to wade through and shake off. Your mind is vulnerable and you need to find your own way first, before getting swept up in yet another church or mega ministry. Evangelical America can be a dangerous place to live. Don't kid yourself. Guard your soul, folks.
I have seen the dark side of evangelism. I know the evil that lurks in the minds of those that cannot be reasoned with. But I have also experienced the smiles on the faces that have come out of it. The laughter that takes over as a result of living through it. The laughter at ourselves, our plight, our journey. Once you have been through that kind of experience, I've realized (just lately) that it becomes a part of you. You can never get rid of that past. So you learn to laugh about it ... and you find comfort in those with similar paths.
I was reminded of the scripture, yesterday ... "Touch not my anointed ..." It made me wonder why there are so many wolves out there touching their anointed sheep and ruining their lives. For so long, we were led to believe that scripture was just about "anointed pastors." Can't God anoint all of us? The scripture also tells us "God is also not a respecter of persons."
You see it's all in how it's interpreted. And who's right? You can't boldly proclaim your authority over interpreting scripture when God has the ability to reveal Himself to any one of us.
That's why I worship at home, never push my beliefs on anyone, respect those of others even if I don't agree, and in the process ... I have found peace. Easy way out? Maybe. Do I want my ears tickled? You bet I do. I've sat through enough hell, fire, and brimstone to last me a lifetime. Evangelicals can shout and scream at each other all they want in the confines of their glass walled churches ... I'll enjoy my peaceful worship ... at home.
Blessings to you and yours.
Although I certainly have cleaned out a bunch of clutter. (i.e. no more reading tons of Internet sites, blogs, and cut down on email time.) There comes a time when you've just got to trust yourself, and move in the direction your spirit leads you.
But, I have been meeting some interesting people lately. I made a new friend yesterday. She contacted me upon reading my work somewhere. Our backgrounds are quite similar, as her fundamentalist religious background mirrors my own. We sat and drank coffee and ate breakfast together ... chatting the morning away. These times are refreshing to me ... sharing notes on all those church services we sat in ... laughing about the stuff we lived through. Although quite painful at the time, laughing about it now is part of that healing process. Unless one experiences manipulation to this magnitude, you can't understand how a body can be swept up in it.
I often get asked, "How could that happen to someone like you?" It's a question I've often asked myself. But when you come out of it ... it's like being cured from cancer. You wonder how it started and how you got through it. It's the best way to explain it, I suppose.
My poor husband, who's never experienced that type of mind control, sits and shakes his head. He can't understand the types of conversations I have with people who have been rescued, or broke out of church cults. The man has had his own personal relationship with his creator all his life, and has never depended on any ministry for answers. Lucky duck.
But, here's where we need to clarify. Do I believe in attending church? Yes, absolutely. If you can find one that won't take away all your freedoms. I think people need to be taught, guided, and if the Shepherd is any good, he won't lead his flock into legalism. He will encourage them to seek God for themselves. Do I believe in one denomination over another? No. I know they all have their own way of practicing their faith, but in the end ... I believe that God is neither Catholic nor Baptist. That's all fluff to me.
Personally, when one has been so bruised and battered by pastors, teachers, prophets, apostles, reverends, etc. who are raging wolves in sheep's clothing, then I would suggest you do what I do ... worship in the safety of your home. Guard your heart ... but mostly ... guard your new open mind. There will be lots of leftover residue to wade through and shake off. Your mind is vulnerable and you need to find your own way first, before getting swept up in yet another church or mega ministry. Evangelical America can be a dangerous place to live. Don't kid yourself. Guard your soul, folks.
I have seen the dark side of evangelism. I know the evil that lurks in the minds of those that cannot be reasoned with. But I have also experienced the smiles on the faces that have come out of it. The laughter that takes over as a result of living through it. The laughter at ourselves, our plight, our journey. Once you have been through that kind of experience, I've realized (just lately) that it becomes a part of you. You can never get rid of that past. So you learn to laugh about it ... and you find comfort in those with similar paths.
I was reminded of the scripture, yesterday ... "Touch not my anointed ..." It made me wonder why there are so many wolves out there touching their anointed sheep and ruining their lives. For so long, we were led to believe that scripture was just about "anointed pastors." Can't God anoint all of us? The scripture also tells us "God is also not a respecter of persons."
You see it's all in how it's interpreted. And who's right? You can't boldly proclaim your authority over interpreting scripture when God has the ability to reveal Himself to any one of us.
That's why I worship at home, never push my beliefs on anyone, respect those of others even if I don't agree, and in the process ... I have found peace. Easy way out? Maybe. Do I want my ears tickled? You bet I do. I've sat through enough hell, fire, and brimstone to last me a lifetime. Evangelicals can shout and scream at each other all they want in the confines of their glass walled churches ... I'll enjoy my peaceful worship ... at home.
Blessings to you and yours.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
What Matters?
Come and go with me to my Father's house, to my Father's house, to my Father's house
Come and go with me to my Father's house ...
I'm not sure who wrote this old song ... I find it documented as an old Negro spiritual as well as arranged and sung by different artists ... so I'm not exactly sure to whom to give this credit to ... but I remember singing it. Over and over again.
Oh yes, we Pentecostals sang it loud and long ... the words were a bit different to what I find online. Come and go with me to my Father's house where there is peace ... sweet peace.
Father's Day was this past Sunday. I wonder how many of us think about the Father of all Father's. If you're a believer, if you have the smallest ounce of faith, and if you believe in that "Higher Power" you know ... there's a Father of us all. A creator. A divine one who mastered the universe and according to the Bible, "hung the world upon nothing."
I love it. Hung the world upon nothing. Awesome. Ever think about it?
I think about God a lot. I believe in Him. I'm not trying to be politically correct, nor am I trying to sway you to the left ... or to the right ... that's all fluff anyway ... if you're a believer.
Look up into the night sky ... tell me how it got that way.
When we get down to the end of the road, when our world comes to an end ... it's nice to believe in a place where your soul goes to your Father's house. Will the civilization we encounter be similar to the one we're in? Do you ever wonder what heaven is really like? Well, don't fret, because this life is all too short, folks. One day you wake up and your kids are grown, you're middle aged, and life has whizzed by you so fast you think you're dreaming.
Do you fear death? Should you? I suppose it depends on what you believe. If I were an agnostic, or an atheist ... and all I believed is that we just die and nothing happens ... I think I would fear that most of all. Of course, I also believe in hell ... whatever God has chosen that to be.
But most of all ... my spirit tells me there's a place beyond the horizons ... a place where the soul never dies ... a dwelling place of eternal peace and yet, a society where God reigns.
Makes you wonder, doesn't it?
In the meantime ... we're here. Humans, struggling to get along. Finding our way amidst the everyday trials of life. Wondering what is our purpose ... what is it we're supposed to do with our lives, and why do we lament so about every ... little ... thing that doesn't go our way. What matters? How selfish can we be and still make heaven?
But then if you don't believe ... I suppose you can live however you want ... there are no consequences, are there?
I will still sing it for you though ... come and go with me to my Father's house ... become a seeker, at least.
Blessings to you and yours.
Come and go with me to my Father's house ...
I'm not sure who wrote this old song ... I find it documented as an old Negro spiritual as well as arranged and sung by different artists ... so I'm not exactly sure to whom to give this credit to ... but I remember singing it. Over and over again.
Oh yes, we Pentecostals sang it loud and long ... the words were a bit different to what I find online. Come and go with me to my Father's house where there is peace ... sweet peace.
Father's Day was this past Sunday. I wonder how many of us think about the Father of all Father's. If you're a believer, if you have the smallest ounce of faith, and if you believe in that "Higher Power" you know ... there's a Father of us all. A creator. A divine one who mastered the universe and according to the Bible, "hung the world upon nothing."
I love it. Hung the world upon nothing. Awesome. Ever think about it?
I think about God a lot. I believe in Him. I'm not trying to be politically correct, nor am I trying to sway you to the left ... or to the right ... that's all fluff anyway ... if you're a believer.
Look up into the night sky ... tell me how it got that way.
When we get down to the end of the road, when our world comes to an end ... it's nice to believe in a place where your soul goes to your Father's house. Will the civilization we encounter be similar to the one we're in? Do you ever wonder what heaven is really like? Well, don't fret, because this life is all too short, folks. One day you wake up and your kids are grown, you're middle aged, and life has whizzed by you so fast you think you're dreaming.
Do you fear death? Should you? I suppose it depends on what you believe. If I were an agnostic, or an atheist ... and all I believed is that we just die and nothing happens ... I think I would fear that most of all. Of course, I also believe in hell ... whatever God has chosen that to be.
But most of all ... my spirit tells me there's a place beyond the horizons ... a place where the soul never dies ... a dwelling place of eternal peace and yet, a society where God reigns.
Makes you wonder, doesn't it?
In the meantime ... we're here. Humans, struggling to get along. Finding our way amidst the everyday trials of life. Wondering what is our purpose ... what is it we're supposed to do with our lives, and why do we lament so about every ... little ... thing that doesn't go our way. What matters? How selfish can we be and still make heaven?
But then if you don't believe ... I suppose you can live however you want ... there are no consequences, are there?
I will still sing it for you though ... come and go with me to my Father's house ... become a seeker, at least.
Blessings to you and yours.
Monday, June 19, 2006
...Gone To Ohio For A Big Wedding
I have to laugh. It was sign on the door of a wallpaper store here in town a couple years ago. It didn't just say ... CLOSED. It said ... CLOSED, GONE TO RALEIGH FOR A BIG WEDDING. Not just a wedding ... a BIG wedding.
Well, that's how I felt when we left last Friday ... I was CLOSED. Gone to Ohio for a big wedding. Took the weekend off! Michael and I spent a hot day in Ohio, temperature in the low 90s, but definitely ... the wedding of the century.
Sarah, my daughter's childhood friend, college roomie, and lifelong best fried, was married Saturday, June 17th to Doug ... her sweetheart for the past eight years. (A real hottie.) The wedding, held at Congress Lake Country Club took place outside by the lake, but the reception was inside (thank goodness.) Despite the heat, Sarah was by far, one of the most beautiful brides I've ever laid eyes on. Her dress was gorgeous. A floating sea of satin folds, strapless, pink sash, diamond waist broach ... unbelieveable. She gave all Southern belles a run for their money, I can tell you that much.
But then, my Jilly was a pretty sweet ticket. Jill was a bridesmaid, as well as all Sarah's other close friends, Beth and Heather. They're all truly the Monica, Phoebe, and Rachel of Columbus, Ohio ... FRIENDS.
Prime rib, china and stemware, open bar, a live band, cake to the ceiling, and a few hundred guests dressed to the nines. A memorable evening, a new young married couple, and dreams my Jillian can put under her pillow ...
Blessings to the happy couple.
Well, that's how I felt when we left last Friday ... I was CLOSED. Gone to Ohio for a big wedding. Took the weekend off! Michael and I spent a hot day in Ohio, temperature in the low 90s, but definitely ... the wedding of the century.
Sarah, my daughter's childhood friend, college roomie, and lifelong best fried, was married Saturday, June 17th to Doug ... her sweetheart for the past eight years. (A real hottie.) The wedding, held at Congress Lake Country Club took place outside by the lake, but the reception was inside (thank goodness.) Despite the heat, Sarah was by far, one of the most beautiful brides I've ever laid eyes on. Her dress was gorgeous. A floating sea of satin folds, strapless, pink sash, diamond waist broach ... unbelieveable. She gave all Southern belles a run for their money, I can tell you that much.
But then, my Jilly was a pretty sweet ticket. Jill was a bridesmaid, as well as all Sarah's other close friends, Beth and Heather. They're all truly the Monica, Phoebe, and Rachel of Columbus, Ohio ... FRIENDS.
Prime rib, china and stemware, open bar, a live band, cake to the ceiling, and a few hundred guests dressed to the nines. A memorable evening, a new young married couple, and dreams my Jillian can put under her pillow ...
Blessings to the happy couple.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Hurricanes
... they lost ... (not the weather kind) the North Carolina hockey team kind.
My step-son, Christopher, LOVES the NC Hurricanes. Although he stood for the entire game in his Arizona livingroom and bit his nails ... the canes still lost.
They're in the play-offs. If they could just squeak out one more win, then they win the Stanley Cup and Christopher will be in hog-heaven.
That makes me happy. That makes his daddy happy. Chris may live in Arizona, but his heart (as far as his sports teams go) is back home in NC. He's a huge Tar Heel, Panther, and Hurricane fan. Although he's been acquiring a taste for the Arizona Suns, Chris has been following NC teams for a long, long time. The man lives and dies for sports. And his sweet wife, Nicole.
But somehow, I think even Nicole takes a back seat with the Canes are in the play-offs.
That's okay, Nicole ... it's a nice bargaining chip.
So ... Christopher is sitting on the edge of his seat waiting for the next game in the series ... and hopefully with the next win, NC wins the Stanley Cup!
Go CANES! ... we can't wait for the next puck off!
Blessings to you and yours. And Happy Birthday, Michael! Please give me another 54 years!
My step-son, Christopher, LOVES the NC Hurricanes. Although he stood for the entire game in his Arizona livingroom and bit his nails ... the canes still lost.
They're in the play-offs. If they could just squeak out one more win, then they win the Stanley Cup and Christopher will be in hog-heaven.
That makes me happy. That makes his daddy happy. Chris may live in Arizona, but his heart (as far as his sports teams go) is back home in NC. He's a huge Tar Heel, Panther, and Hurricane fan. Although he's been acquiring a taste for the Arizona Suns, Chris has been following NC teams for a long, long time. The man lives and dies for sports. And his sweet wife, Nicole.
But somehow, I think even Nicole takes a back seat with the Canes are in the play-offs.
That's okay, Nicole ... it's a nice bargaining chip.
So ... Christopher is sitting on the edge of his seat waiting for the next game in the series ... and hopefully with the next win, NC wins the Stanley Cup!
Go CANES! ... we can't wait for the next puck off!
Blessings to you and yours. And Happy Birthday, Michael! Please give me another 54 years!
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
We're Celebrating
Oh my ... I've just re-read my blog from yesterday. I think it must've been those hot-flash hormones talking. You know, the time of the month when all middle-aged women turn into Cruella Deville. EEEK!
On a lighter note ... it's raining today. Once in a while, I love a good soaking. It replinishes the garden, my flowers, makes the yard pretty. A day to stay curled up inside with a good book, and maybe cook something special for dinner. Have a glass of wine. Rest.
But not today! The errand list is long and tomorrow is Michael's birthday. So tonight ... we're celebrating!
Presents, balloons, party favors, the traditional birthday tiara, and birthday barbeque! We'll order out, bring in a bakery cake, and celebrate. It's how we handle getting older around here. We don't let the years roll by quietly. No way. The man gets better looking as the years roll by ... typical male progression. Women ... well, we just deteriorate over time. What can I say. Write blogs like the one I did yesterday. EEEK, again.
But maybe, when you think about it, after you turn 50 ... you should celebrate every day. Every day you wake up is a good day. Celebrate life by doing what you want ... loving every minute you're with those who make you happy ... giving of yourself in some way that fulfills that philenthropic part of you. Whatever reason you can find to celebrate ... just do it.
Happy Birthday, Mikey!
Blessings to you and yours! (I guess that would be me!)
On a lighter note ... it's raining today. Once in a while, I love a good soaking. It replinishes the garden, my flowers, makes the yard pretty. A day to stay curled up inside with a good book, and maybe cook something special for dinner. Have a glass of wine. Rest.
But not today! The errand list is long and tomorrow is Michael's birthday. So tonight ... we're celebrating!
Presents, balloons, party favors, the traditional birthday tiara, and birthday barbeque! We'll order out, bring in a bakery cake, and celebrate. It's how we handle getting older around here. We don't let the years roll by quietly. No way. The man gets better looking as the years roll by ... typical male progression. Women ... well, we just deteriorate over time. What can I say. Write blogs like the one I did yesterday. EEEK, again.
But maybe, when you think about it, after you turn 50 ... you should celebrate every day. Every day you wake up is a good day. Celebrate life by doing what you want ... loving every minute you're with those who make you happy ... giving of yourself in some way that fulfills that philenthropic part of you. Whatever reason you can find to celebrate ... just do it.
Happy Birthday, Mikey!
Blessings to you and yours! (I guess that would be me!)
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Bite Me
I was asked about dieting last night. About the money Americans have wasted on it, and I went overboard on my comments. Boy, does this subject strike a sour note of discord with me!
I refuse to spend another dime on diet crap. I realized a long time ago that one can lose weight without buying the latest QVC ab machine. God save us from yet another skinny diet expert’s book on how to lose weight. And please, no more low-carb, low-fat, low-cal cookbooks that confuse the hell out of us! (God, I love Paula Deen!)
There's only one way to really lose weight. Eat less, exercise more. Duh. Every fat person in America already knows that.
Barring any physical disorder (i.e. thyroid, which nobody can seem to regulate mine anymore) you can shrink without spending thousands of dollars.
I have blown enough $ over the years to probably pay cash for a couple nice cars. And then some. But never again. I've inhaled, digested, and slapped on my share of diet drinks, potions, lotions, and pills. (And I don't just mean over-the-counter. I remember the 70s when every diet doctor in town doled out black beauty’s like they were candy.)
I've worked out at Curves, Gold’s gym, with Oprah's trainer (memorized the book), spent lunch hours with that famous kickboxing guy on TV (wasn’t that famous, huh?) and graced the smelly, sweaty locker rooms --after busting my butt-- at numerous other local health clubs, including Bally's and the memorable Vic Tanny.
I have sweat to the oldies with Richard Simmons until my knees buckled under me, jumped in place in aerobic classes all while hoping not to pee my pants, laughed through yoga, nearly slipped a disk during Pilates, pulled muscles I didn’t know I had during weight training, lived through a near-death experience on a stair-stepper, and wasted tons of time rocking back and forth like a lunatic on Body-By-Jake. I’ve walked to the moon and back, and nearly killed myself on a treadmill--total burn out. Hurt my knees mountain climbing and have kept more food journals and exercise progress charts than you can shake a stick at.
I've followed Atkins to the letter, along with S. Beach, Hollywood, Dr. Phil., Optifast, Suzanne Summers, Susan Powter, Deal-A-Meal, Denise Austin ... you name it … their food regimens have been on my table. Studied E-diets suggestions, Tony Robbins lectures, and Fergie’s famous royal weight loss testimony, as well as hundreds of other “success” stores … took notes, lost a little, and put it all back on … and then some.
Watched all season of The Biggest Loser. Fat chance of that happening for me. You need to be healthy to begin with!
I've gone to Weight Watchers, Physicians Weight Loss, Nutri-system, and Overeaters Anonymous, just to name a few. I’ve lost it all right along with Oprah, except I didn’t have her money to hire the cook, trainers, and TV cameras so the world could watch me stay motivated.
Hell, I've been hypnotized. Didn't work. Been prayed for … had hands laid on to lose weight. True story. All while the faith healer weighed more than me. I remember seeing a spot of gravy (probably from his Sunday fried chicken dinner) on his tie.
Tried to smoke to lose weight. Hated it. Never resorted to mind-altering drugs or alcohol … although it crossed my mind a time or two. As an adult, I've been a size 6 and a size 26. I've been laughed at, made fun of, and also whistled at. All in the same year.
I've yo-yo'd from one extreme to the other for over 30 years. It's not fun. It messes with your head. My self-esteem has ballooned and then popped. More than once.
Both of my middle-aged sisters are a hundred sizes smaller. Never been what I call over weight. Not for a day. Have a tiny daughter, size 8 friends, and a wardrobe of clothes I swore I’d never wear again. But yet … here I am … wearing fat clothes again. Shorts? Not on your life. Bathing suit? Not for a million bucks. Frustrating, you ask? You don’t know that half of it. If I never see another pair of black pants in my lifetime, it’ll be too soon.
I’ve heard it all … “be happy with your body, no matter your weight.” Are you laughing? Me too. All those heavy women on TV claiming to love their overweight bodies … get real. Who do they think they’re fooling?
Do I want to be stick thin? Hell no. I honest-to-God don’t give a damn about being 125 pounds anymore. Even 135. It’s even more than “being healthy” to me.
It’s about feeling good in a pair of pants, or a nice suit. It’s about not hating having your picture taken. Not being self-conscious of your nakedness. It’s about growing old gracefully… and looking decent. Not bloated and obese. It’s about not being tired all the time. Not aching in my hips and knees.
I’ve heard my family say … “she put it all that weight back on … AGAIN! What’s wrong with her … why can’t she stop eating?”
What they don’t know is I’ve done that too. Stopped eating. Several times. Ever go on a fast? Ever feel so desperate to be loved that you deny yourself food?
Never again.
I REFUSE to spend another dime or any more of my time on something that doesn't work. Last time I lost weight, it was in 2000. I lost over 50 pounds. It was hell. It was not fun. I hated every minute of it. Did everything short of having my stomach stapled. (Except I did have liposuction and a tummy tuck in 2001 after losing 50 pounds.)
You still think fat people are lazy, don’t want to look nice in clothes, can’t control themselves? Fat people are some of the most productive people in the world. They have some of the strongest will power you could ever imagine. Their dreams and goals, I’m willing to bet, are far superior to anything you could make up.
Am I angry? Hell, yeah, I’m pissed off. More at myself than anything. I’ve seen how women especially, suffer unspeakably with pounds of unwanted fat.
At my age, I've done it all. Seen it all. I don't care to kill myself again loosing weight. I’m tired of being miserable while I lose, and while I try to keep it off. I want to enjoy my life. I want to taste wine and chocolate and cheese and breads. I can’t live on daily helpings of rice cakes anymore! I want to eat out and not think about calories. And I’m not talking about gorging … just simply eating … like normal people.
Trouble is, not caring will kill me too. I think about it this every day of my life. I’m letting you in on the “dark side of me.” This pain of aging, this trying to understand how some women eat twice as much as I do and weigh nothing … trying to understand why 1,200 calories a day adds weight on me … how come it takes six months of rigorous exercise for me to lose a few inches … all these questions have consumed me.
Wonder why some of us “fatties” are cranky? Think it’s all mind over matter?
Yeah? Bite me.
Let me throw the first stone (or boulder) at the hecklers, the people who say, “just do it,” the experts that squeeze out our last dime on the next breakthrough in diet crap. To quote Forrest Gump, "Sometimes, there aren’t enough rocks."
Feel free to quote me too.
Blessings on you and your fleshy behind.
I refuse to spend another dime on diet crap. I realized a long time ago that one can lose weight without buying the latest QVC ab machine. God save us from yet another skinny diet expert’s book on how to lose weight. And please, no more low-carb, low-fat, low-cal cookbooks that confuse the hell out of us! (God, I love Paula Deen!)
There's only one way to really lose weight. Eat less, exercise more. Duh. Every fat person in America already knows that.
Barring any physical disorder (i.e. thyroid, which nobody can seem to regulate mine anymore) you can shrink without spending thousands of dollars.
I have blown enough $ over the years to probably pay cash for a couple nice cars. And then some. But never again. I've inhaled, digested, and slapped on my share of diet drinks, potions, lotions, and pills. (And I don't just mean over-the-counter. I remember the 70s when every diet doctor in town doled out black beauty’s like they were candy.)
I've worked out at Curves, Gold’s gym, with Oprah's trainer (memorized the book), spent lunch hours with that famous kickboxing guy on TV (wasn’t that famous, huh?) and graced the smelly, sweaty locker rooms --after busting my butt-- at numerous other local health clubs, including Bally's and the memorable Vic Tanny.
I have sweat to the oldies with Richard Simmons until my knees buckled under me, jumped in place in aerobic classes all while hoping not to pee my pants, laughed through yoga, nearly slipped a disk during Pilates, pulled muscles I didn’t know I had during weight training, lived through a near-death experience on a stair-stepper, and wasted tons of time rocking back and forth like a lunatic on Body-By-Jake. I’ve walked to the moon and back, and nearly killed myself on a treadmill--total burn out. Hurt my knees mountain climbing and have kept more food journals and exercise progress charts than you can shake a stick at.
I've followed Atkins to the letter, along with S. Beach, Hollywood, Dr. Phil., Optifast, Suzanne Summers, Susan Powter, Deal-A-Meal, Denise Austin ... you name it … their food regimens have been on my table. Studied E-diets suggestions, Tony Robbins lectures, and Fergie’s famous royal weight loss testimony, as well as hundreds of other “success” stores … took notes, lost a little, and put it all back on … and then some.
Watched all season of The Biggest Loser. Fat chance of that happening for me. You need to be healthy to begin with!
I've gone to Weight Watchers, Physicians Weight Loss, Nutri-system, and Overeaters Anonymous, just to name a few. I’ve lost it all right along with Oprah, except I didn’t have her money to hire the cook, trainers, and TV cameras so the world could watch me stay motivated.
Hell, I've been hypnotized. Didn't work. Been prayed for … had hands laid on to lose weight. True story. All while the faith healer weighed more than me. I remember seeing a spot of gravy (probably from his Sunday fried chicken dinner) on his tie.
Tried to smoke to lose weight. Hated it. Never resorted to mind-altering drugs or alcohol … although it crossed my mind a time or two. As an adult, I've been a size 6 and a size 26. I've been laughed at, made fun of, and also whistled at. All in the same year.
I've yo-yo'd from one extreme to the other for over 30 years. It's not fun. It messes with your head. My self-esteem has ballooned and then popped. More than once.
Both of my middle-aged sisters are a hundred sizes smaller. Never been what I call over weight. Not for a day. Have a tiny daughter, size 8 friends, and a wardrobe of clothes I swore I’d never wear again. But yet … here I am … wearing fat clothes again. Shorts? Not on your life. Bathing suit? Not for a million bucks. Frustrating, you ask? You don’t know that half of it. If I never see another pair of black pants in my lifetime, it’ll be too soon.
I’ve heard it all … “be happy with your body, no matter your weight.” Are you laughing? Me too. All those heavy women on TV claiming to love their overweight bodies … get real. Who do they think they’re fooling?
Do I want to be stick thin? Hell no. I honest-to-God don’t give a damn about being 125 pounds anymore. Even 135. It’s even more than “being healthy” to me.
It’s about feeling good in a pair of pants, or a nice suit. It’s about not hating having your picture taken. Not being self-conscious of your nakedness. It’s about growing old gracefully… and looking decent. Not bloated and obese. It’s about not being tired all the time. Not aching in my hips and knees.
I’ve heard my family say … “she put it all that weight back on … AGAIN! What’s wrong with her … why can’t she stop eating?”
What they don’t know is I’ve done that too. Stopped eating. Several times. Ever go on a fast? Ever feel so desperate to be loved that you deny yourself food?
Never again.
I REFUSE to spend another dime or any more of my time on something that doesn't work. Last time I lost weight, it was in 2000. I lost over 50 pounds. It was hell. It was not fun. I hated every minute of it. Did everything short of having my stomach stapled. (Except I did have liposuction and a tummy tuck in 2001 after losing 50 pounds.)
You still think fat people are lazy, don’t want to look nice in clothes, can’t control themselves? Fat people are some of the most productive people in the world. They have some of the strongest will power you could ever imagine. Their dreams and goals, I’m willing to bet, are far superior to anything you could make up.
Am I angry? Hell, yeah, I’m pissed off. More at myself than anything. I’ve seen how women especially, suffer unspeakably with pounds of unwanted fat.
At my age, I've done it all. Seen it all. I don't care to kill myself again loosing weight. I’m tired of being miserable while I lose, and while I try to keep it off. I want to enjoy my life. I want to taste wine and chocolate and cheese and breads. I can’t live on daily helpings of rice cakes anymore! I want to eat out and not think about calories. And I’m not talking about gorging … just simply eating … like normal people.
Trouble is, not caring will kill me too. I think about it this every day of my life. I’m letting you in on the “dark side of me.” This pain of aging, this trying to understand how some women eat twice as much as I do and weigh nothing … trying to understand why 1,200 calories a day adds weight on me … how come it takes six months of rigorous exercise for me to lose a few inches … all these questions have consumed me.
Wonder why some of us “fatties” are cranky? Think it’s all mind over matter?
Yeah? Bite me.
Let me throw the first stone (or boulder) at the hecklers, the people who say, “just do it,” the experts that squeeze out our last dime on the next breakthrough in diet crap. To quote Forrest Gump, "Sometimes, there aren’t enough rocks."
Feel free to quote me too.
Blessings on you and your fleshy behind.
Monday, June 12, 2006
A Day In The Sun With Cats And Southern Women
Dena Harris, fellow writer and friend extraordinaire, and I shared booth space yesterday at Wayneck Medical Center for the annual GODDESS MARKET. The place was covered with new age gurus, faeries, belly dancers, and of course vendors of all sorts. Jewelry, skin care, flowers, Indian cuisine, even a reader and advisor was on hand to dole out her tarot cards.
Weren't too many shoutin' Baptists at this festival of new thinkers.
(Giggle) Now, if you're like some I grew up around, you'll probably think I'm in need of salvation all over again. Why, land sake, sittin' all day around those "tree-huggers" ... I'm surely in need of sanctification by the truckload.
To me, these were friendly and fun people. We sure didn't lack for entertainment all day.
Despite the heat and few book sales, Dena and I laughed the afternoon away. You can never tell about festivals. I'm pretty positive; this was neither Dena’s target audience nor mine. We basically broke even with the few we sold and sharing the cost and decorations of the booth. It's live and learn when it comes to book publicity.
But it's also about exposure. Many took our cards and bookmarks with our web site on them, and the Editor from Guilford Woman Magazine stopped by and asked me to contact her about an interview. There you go. Looking at the glass half-full ... one never knows where exposure will lead.
By the end of the day, I had melted off my makeup and matted my hair with healthy doses of cold water poured over my head. Hot and humid, the car's air conditioning was a welcome relief. North Carolina can be quite unbearable in the summer, even under the shade of a tent. Michael took over a hundred pictures and Blair (Dena's husband) was the smart one, he ran errands to air-conditioned stores while we melted.
I think the best venue for me will be targeted audiences who come specifically to hear me speak or to buy my book. My publicist is working on those. For now, I'll think back on this day as a great day with friends and a chance to tell more people about my book.
Dena's humor book on living with cats www.denaharris.com/lessons and my book on Southern women make for great conversation with our customers ... even if they don't buy the books.
Blessings to you and yours. (And a few hallelujah shout-outs to all the new-agers out there.)
Weren't too many shoutin' Baptists at this festival of new thinkers.
(Giggle) Now, if you're like some I grew up around, you'll probably think I'm in need of salvation all over again. Why, land sake, sittin' all day around those "tree-huggers" ... I'm surely in need of sanctification by the truckload.
To me, these were friendly and fun people. We sure didn't lack for entertainment all day.
Despite the heat and few book sales, Dena and I laughed the afternoon away. You can never tell about festivals. I'm pretty positive; this was neither Dena’s target audience nor mine. We basically broke even with the few we sold and sharing the cost and decorations of the booth. It's live and learn when it comes to book publicity.
But it's also about exposure. Many took our cards and bookmarks with our web site on them, and the Editor from Guilford Woman Magazine stopped by and asked me to contact her about an interview. There you go. Looking at the glass half-full ... one never knows where exposure will lead.
By the end of the day, I had melted off my makeup and matted my hair with healthy doses of cold water poured over my head. Hot and humid, the car's air conditioning was a welcome relief. North Carolina can be quite unbearable in the summer, even under the shade of a tent. Michael took over a hundred pictures and Blair (Dena's husband) was the smart one, he ran errands to air-conditioned stores while we melted.
I think the best venue for me will be targeted audiences who come specifically to hear me speak or to buy my book. My publicist is working on those. For now, I'll think back on this day as a great day with friends and a chance to tell more people about my book.
Dena's humor book on living with cats www.denaharris.com/lessons and my book on Southern women make for great conversation with our customers ... even if they don't buy the books.
Blessings to you and yours. (And a few hallelujah shout-outs to all the new-agers out there.)
Friday, June 09, 2006
When Will It End?
Sometimes I get an idea from a blog my friend Dena has posted. This morning she wrote about the war in Iraq. www.blogsbydenaharris.squarespace.com
Of course, being a mother of a Marine, I responded. I have to agree with her, we all feel somewhat distanced from that war most of the time. My son, now having finished his service in the Marine Corp, works for a major airlines and is doing quite well, thank you very much. Uncle Sam helped him through college and molded him in areas that I, as a single mom, could not. He's an upstanding citizen and a good person. And when I think of all the other mothers whose sons are now serving their country in a war-torn region of the world, my heart just sinks. I could've been in their ranks had the war started a few years earlier.
Sure, having money for college is nice, but I think most mother's would prefer the safety of their sons and daughters, to the benefits their children are awarded should they live through four years in the military.
Still, I was moved by Dena's blog this morning. It's difficult to think about what these guys are going through. Okay, yes, I know the boys in WWII went through unspeakable horrors, as well men and women during the Korean War and Vietnam. Talk to any veteran that's seen action. If they're willing to relive it, they'll tell you what the young men and women in Iraq are going through. They've been there. They know.
But the rest of us? We sit in our protected homes and lives and tend to push all thoughts of Iraq out of our heads. Nobody wants to think of it. It reminds me of how we reacted to the war in Vietnam ... we ignored it until it up and slapped us in the face. Until Americans are faced with terrorism on our own soil, we have this innate ability to turn away from terror overseas.
Problem is, what do we do about it? Not much. Some write letters, protest, march on Washington ... but can we really stop it? How does the ordinary citizen bring peace to the world in a day or a month? Feeling a bit helpless? I suppose the best thing we can do is ... pray. Pray for peace, pray for our sons and daughters, and pray that the men and women we elect in Washington have our best interest at heart.
Do they really? It's anybody's guess.
A depressing subject, which -again- is why we avoid thinking about it. We turn the channel, or skip over the evening news from Baghdad, or throw away the section of the newspaper that reports another soldier killed. A soldier whose family lives in our town. A soldier who will be laid to rest in his family's church cemetery. It's Vietnam to me ... all over again.
I support the troops ... I pray for them ... I also want to bring them home, even if we have to put different men and women in office to do that.
Blessings to you and yours. And safety.
Of course, being a mother of a Marine, I responded. I have to agree with her, we all feel somewhat distanced from that war most of the time. My son, now having finished his service in the Marine Corp, works for a major airlines and is doing quite well, thank you very much. Uncle Sam helped him through college and molded him in areas that I, as a single mom, could not. He's an upstanding citizen and a good person. And when I think of all the other mothers whose sons are now serving their country in a war-torn region of the world, my heart just sinks. I could've been in their ranks had the war started a few years earlier.
Sure, having money for college is nice, but I think most mother's would prefer the safety of their sons and daughters, to the benefits their children are awarded should they live through four years in the military.
Still, I was moved by Dena's blog this morning. It's difficult to think about what these guys are going through. Okay, yes, I know the boys in WWII went through unspeakable horrors, as well men and women during the Korean War and Vietnam. Talk to any veteran that's seen action. If they're willing to relive it, they'll tell you what the young men and women in Iraq are going through. They've been there. They know.
But the rest of us? We sit in our protected homes and lives and tend to push all thoughts of Iraq out of our heads. Nobody wants to think of it. It reminds me of how we reacted to the war in Vietnam ... we ignored it until it up and slapped us in the face. Until Americans are faced with terrorism on our own soil, we have this innate ability to turn away from terror overseas.
Problem is, what do we do about it? Not much. Some write letters, protest, march on Washington ... but can we really stop it? How does the ordinary citizen bring peace to the world in a day or a month? Feeling a bit helpless? I suppose the best thing we can do is ... pray. Pray for peace, pray for our sons and daughters, and pray that the men and women we elect in Washington have our best interest at heart.
Do they really? It's anybody's guess.
A depressing subject, which -again- is why we avoid thinking about it. We turn the channel, or skip over the evening news from Baghdad, or throw away the section of the newspaper that reports another soldier killed. A soldier whose family lives in our town. A soldier who will be laid to rest in his family's church cemetery. It's Vietnam to me ... all over again.
I support the troops ... I pray for them ... I also want to bring them home, even if we have to put different men and women in office to do that.
Blessings to you and yours. And safety.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Random Thoughts
Attended the Annual Member Appreciation Party for the Winston-Salem Writers group last evening. Wow! What a turnout. The place was packed. Just a simple event really ... covered dish and twelve great door prizes. All it was meant to be was a gathering of writers and their significant others to share food, fun, and writing accomplishments from the past year.
This group has enthusiasm, for their own passions and for other writers. I'm astonished by their camaraderie. And, as fate would have it, three of the members bought my book last night. Well, of course ... I just happen to have a box in my car. I've sold another 30 books or so since the launch last week.
The comments I've been receiving on the book have been wonderful. Like ..
"I'm only up to page 62 but I'm already enjoying your book so much that I had to tell you. In fact -- and you can bet that I very rarely say this -- your writing is excellent. I hope to share a small portion of Vernell Paskins' story as an example of a distinctive voice when I speak at Of Dark & Stormy Nights this coming weekend ... “ from Editor, Chris Roerden
And of course, there's been lots of verbal applause filtering in. That makes me smile. You work hard for a long, long time ... you hope people like your stories ... it's a great feeling when they do.
I'm having a tough time getting my tired body to swing back into a normal working routine this week. I shouldn't be so hard on myself, I suppose, but I'm looking at a growing list of projects. Priority being working with my publicist. I feel like I could spend a week working with Deb. But this Sunday is the Goddess Market and Dena and I are sharing a booth to promote our books ... so we're meeting tonight to plan that event, and tonight I'm speaking at Borders so I should concentrate today on the books on writing I plan to present.
Balance. We all struggle with it, don't we? I think I've written more about balancing priorities in this blog more than I probably should have. It's a rant, however, that I feel we all share. People talk about putting their "priorities in order." But my question remains ... HOW DO YOU KNOW FOR SURE THEY'RE IN THE RIGHT ORDER? Ugh.
So as I contemplate this age-old question ... I'm going to pour myself another cup of coffee and enjoy the warm Carolina morning before I tackle the rest of my day. Random thoughts of laundry, lunch, and playing with the dogs are calling me away from my office. Do I resist or do I stay and force myself to go through the pile on my desk?
I'm laughing. Laughing because I'm thankful. Thankful that I have a choice.
Blessings to you and yours.
This group has enthusiasm, for their own passions and for other writers. I'm astonished by their camaraderie. And, as fate would have it, three of the members bought my book last night. Well, of course ... I just happen to have a box in my car. I've sold another 30 books or so since the launch last week.
The comments I've been receiving on the book have been wonderful. Like ..
"I'm only up to page 62 but I'm already enjoying your book so much that I had to tell you. In fact -- and you can bet that I very rarely say this -- your writing is excellent. I hope to share a small portion of Vernell Paskins' story as an example of a distinctive voice when I speak at Of Dark & Stormy Nights this coming weekend ... “ from Editor, Chris Roerden
And of course, there's been lots of verbal applause filtering in. That makes me smile. You work hard for a long, long time ... you hope people like your stories ... it's a great feeling when they do.
I'm having a tough time getting my tired body to swing back into a normal working routine this week. I shouldn't be so hard on myself, I suppose, but I'm looking at a growing list of projects. Priority being working with my publicist. I feel like I could spend a week working with Deb. But this Sunday is the Goddess Market and Dena and I are sharing a booth to promote our books ... so we're meeting tonight to plan that event, and tonight I'm speaking at Borders so I should concentrate today on the books on writing I plan to present.
Balance. We all struggle with it, don't we? I think I've written more about balancing priorities in this blog more than I probably should have. It's a rant, however, that I feel we all share. People talk about putting their "priorities in order." But my question remains ... HOW DO YOU KNOW FOR SURE THEY'RE IN THE RIGHT ORDER? Ugh.
So as I contemplate this age-old question ... I'm going to pour myself another cup of coffee and enjoy the warm Carolina morning before I tackle the rest of my day. Random thoughts of laundry, lunch, and playing with the dogs are calling me away from my office. Do I resist or do I stay and force myself to go through the pile on my desk?
I'm laughing. Laughing because I'm thankful. Thankful that I have a choice.
Blessings to you and yours.
Monday, June 05, 2006
The Past Five Days
I don’t suppose there’s any other way to put this. The past five days of my life have been undeniably one of the highlights of this country girl’s life. There’s nothing like the first time. The first car, the first boyfriend, the first kiss, the first job, the first time you have sex, the first baby, the first house, and the first book.
I launched SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN on Thursday evening, June 1st, and I must say, there’s nothing like the first time you sit at a table and sign your name for a line of people wanting to buy your book. I sold 82 books that night. It was more than a success—it was triumphant! I can’t begin to explain the feelings … but I shall try.
May 31st, early in the morning I interviewed with Bill Flynn, DJ for WMAG FM soft rock radio. A ten-minute interview that was reduced to a minute on the air, but nevertheless, an interview by a prominent radio station. I was thrilled and honored to not only meet Bill, but also talk about my launch to virtually thousands that morning. Previously, I had interviewed with Mike Moore on WLOE radio in Rockingham County, and that was great because I could call in from home. But this was in the studio. A little more nerv-wracking.
Later, I spent the day anxiously waiting for my daughter to arrive. I don’t get to see Jillian much, as she lives in Ohio. It’s a crazy, fun time when Jilly comes. Her step-dad loves her to pieces and I can’t get enough of her … I wish I could hog-tie her to the porch, keep her here ... but she's got a life away from me now. I guess I'll have to live with it.
June 1st, Foxx 8 interview with Cindy Farmer … an early morning curtain call. Michael and I headed to the studios early. Ever been in a green room? I always wondered what it looked like. Nothing other than a room with chairs and donuts. Yep, these TV folks love their donuts. Michael opened the Krispy Kreme box with elation … “Want one?”
“How can you eat at time like this?” I said. My stomach in knots, I wanted to get the whole thing over with. Roy the weatherman made chit-chat with us a moment, then I was hooked up to a microphone pack and led like a puppy to the set.
Cindy Farmer is as sweet as she is pretty, but all business. I think those TV-types concentrate from one moment of news to the next, so they’re not into “getting to know their visitors.” But … all in all, I think it went as well as could be expected. She seemed to like the book. Then I watched the recording of it when I got home. Godamighty. I wore black, but those 10 pounds TV adds looked more like 110 on me. I’m not into viewing that again anytime soon.
The launch – what can I say … magnificent. I couldn’t have done it without lots and lots of people who loved me and helped every step of the way. Dena and Blair Harris stood by and greeted guests, Blair sat at the “PAY HERE” station, and Dena introduced me with a speech that people are still talking about. She’s amazing. She set the tone for how the public will view my work for the rest of my career, and you can’t buy that kind of enthusiasm or friendship. Dena Harris, an accomplished writer in her own right, gave freely that evening. I can’t begin to thank her and Blair enough.
Tim and Tina Rich, my dear friends from Ohio, stood behind the wine table and had a ball. They got a little snockered, but loved every minute of shouting my virtues to every guest that came to their table … I had to laugh watching them, but I also teared up trying to thank them … having them there, feeling their support meant the world to me.
I saw so many from writing groups, friends, family, and places I had worked, I can’t name them all … and what really amazed me was all the people who came that I didn’t know. And those who couldn't come, please know I felt your presence and good wishes. I appreciated every prayer on my behalf. Gail Gurley, Beth Hanggeli, Deb Bryant, you RULE!
The High Point Literary League members came and Lois Foscue, past President, spoke about the Scholarship Fund I was donating 50% of the
proceeds from the book launch to. I appreciated their support that evening, and hope to someday speak to the members at one of their events.The evening rain held off, the Bouldin House was the perfect venue, and over 100 guests came and filtered through the garden, meandered over the veranda, and listened to the sounds of guitarist Gregory Allen Young play and sing his soft music that wielded it’s way into the warm evening air.
June 2nd and 3rd, off to Carolina Beach! One night with my friends Tim and Tina, we ate at a great Southern cuisine restaurant on the Cape Fear River, and kicked back for the weekend. A breather for me. Visited a few winery’s, sat with our feet in the ocean, shopped at Southern Pines, and toured Pinehurst Golf Resort on the way home.
June 4th, Sunday … before my entourage departed for home, five of us headed for the winery at Childress in Lexington … ate a great lunch, tasted fine wines, and languished in the low-humidity (for a change) and sunshine.
I can't even begin to thank my husband for his tireless work on this launch. I won't even try. I'm the luckiest woman in the world. The man lives for his family ... he takes my breath away.
Now here it is Monday morning … and I’m in no mood to work. I still feel the need for another few days of R&R, with the past three months of working non-stop days and nights on this book. But, alas, the call of my novel is loud in my ears. I hear my characters whispering among themselves … they want and need my attention. I will pick up that torch this week.
Who knows, maybe this time next year … we may be in the midst of book launch number two. TELEVENGE is just around the corner, begging to be finished. And I know it will be exciting beyond belief to launch that book. But somehow, I don’t think anything will ever take the place of this first book. SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN has started the ball in motion. For that, I will be ever grateful to the characters that called my name, and to the many friends and family that supported me on the night we launched her.
Blessings to you and yours.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
A Test Of Endurance
Did you ever hear your mama say she'd been, "stretched to the limit?" Lord, I sure have. It reminds me of how I feel today. But the good news is the Book Launch is here. Thursday evening should be quite the event. Anyway, I'm hoping for one. Not for me. For the book. Southern Fried Women was a test of many things for me.
This week, it's endurance. How many more places in the Triad can I find to hang posters ... check the list ... cake, wine, chairs, music ... it's like planning a wedding reception ... only there's no bride and groom!
The RSVP list is long and I've been getting good radio and TV coverage. The books are available from southernfriedwomen.com or at all book stores after June 15th. They will be in Ingram and Baker & Taylor data bases, where all good stores go to buy their book inventories.
I have a feeling, there are more tests of endurance in the future. This is only the beginning.
Blessings to you and yours.
This week, it's endurance. How many more places in the Triad can I find to hang posters ... check the list ... cake, wine, chairs, music ... it's like planning a wedding reception ... only there's no bride and groom!
The RSVP list is long and I've been getting good radio and TV coverage. The books are available from southernfriedwomen.com or at all book stores after June 15th. They will be in Ingram and Baker & Taylor data bases, where all good stores go to buy their book inventories.
I have a feeling, there are more tests of endurance in the future. This is only the beginning.
Blessings to you and yours.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Dreaming and Driving
We do a lot of it. Not drinking ... DREAMING.
Michael and I have had to start over too many times in our lifetime. Meaning ... not acquiring much when you're moving from place to place. Not that either of us are materialistic ... because that's certainly not the case. God knows, we've had very little to even know how it feels. But when you get to our age, all the "stuff" you wanted in your 20s and 30s isn't so important anymore.
Since we married later in life (now going on four years) we want a new home ... together. Not just any home ... but land ... and possibly a log home. A goal ... a dream. And we dream together. On sunny, warm days ... like today ... we take long drives in the country. (Who cares about the price of gas, when you're looking for just the right spot to park your butt until you die.) We have dreams of entertaining ... the kids (and God hopefully someday ... grandkids.) We want to relax on a wide wrap-around porch that overlooks acres of land, with no noise --- other than nature. A pond, a stream, trees, views ... yep ... we want it all.
A place of refuge that we can hide away. After road trips, we can head home ... to a place we can call our own. I can bake pies, make dinners, or have just wine and cheese dinners should we choose NOT to eat. A place to bring antiques home and hang out my sheets. Call up friends, and have them in for dinner or the weekend. Christmas in front of a big log fire. Ahhhh....who in their right mind can blame us for dreams like this.
Not that the little house we live in isn't just fine. It is. The flowers are beautiful again this year, due to my gentleman farmer of a husband.
But what we wouldn't give to look out over a pasture with horses and a barn, and not hear traffic, or music in the cars that drive by the house, or the neighbor kid's basketball until 11:00 at night, or the other thirteen dogs in the fenced yards around us.
A place to write, a place to hike, a place to live and to die.
So we dream and drive ... from one side of the Piedmont to the other, up into the Blue Ridge and south of Madison and McLeansville. I've had blue prints ready for over a year ... I think I'll just faint the day I see the house really go up.
I'll let you know when I wake up from this dream.
Blessings to you and yours.
Michael and I have had to start over too many times in our lifetime. Meaning ... not acquiring much when you're moving from place to place. Not that either of us are materialistic ... because that's certainly not the case. God knows, we've had very little to even know how it feels. But when you get to our age, all the "stuff" you wanted in your 20s and 30s isn't so important anymore.
Since we married later in life (now going on four years) we want a new home ... together. Not just any home ... but land ... and possibly a log home. A goal ... a dream. And we dream together. On sunny, warm days ... like today ... we take long drives in the country. (Who cares about the price of gas, when you're looking for just the right spot to park your butt until you die.) We have dreams of entertaining ... the kids (and God hopefully someday ... grandkids.) We want to relax on a wide wrap-around porch that overlooks acres of land, with no noise --- other than nature. A pond, a stream, trees, views ... yep ... we want it all.
A place of refuge that we can hide away. After road trips, we can head home ... to a place we can call our own. I can bake pies, make dinners, or have just wine and cheese dinners should we choose NOT to eat. A place to bring antiques home and hang out my sheets. Call up friends, and have them in for dinner or the weekend. Christmas in front of a big log fire. Ahhhh....who in their right mind can blame us for dreams like this.
Not that the little house we live in isn't just fine. It is. The flowers are beautiful again this year, due to my gentleman farmer of a husband.
But what we wouldn't give to look out over a pasture with horses and a barn, and not hear traffic, or music in the cars that drive by the house, or the neighbor kid's basketball until 11:00 at night, or the other thirteen dogs in the fenced yards around us.
A place to write, a place to hike, a place to live and to die.
So we dream and drive ... from one side of the Piedmont to the other, up into the Blue Ridge and south of Madison and McLeansville. I've had blue prints ready for over a year ... I think I'll just faint the day I see the house really go up.
I'll let you know when I wake up from this dream.
Blessings to you and yours.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Flawless
Can you hear me laughing?
Nobody is flawless. Nobody. Not a single soul on God's green earth is flawless. Whew. That's a relief. I'm so tired of people in their blogs pointing fingers (especially those in the writing business) at all the mistakes and blunders of others. Never having walked in another person's shoes, we have no idea what makes a person tick.
Short of murder, or any horrific crimes to another human being or animal ... I think we should all stop passing judgment on men and women who frankly, screw up and become an idiot for a while. We don't know what events or problems in their lives caused them to do what they did. We're so quick to broadcast somebody's screw-up. Typical. The news is full of it.
Sorry for the rant today ... I just want you to remember the next time you're ready pass judgment, don't throw that stone so fast. Unless you're a flawless individual, reserve preaching about your ethics. I doubt you'll find everyone you've known or have come in contact with in your lifetime will agree with your perfection.
On a lighter note ... how about that last American Idol show, huh? They get better every year. Frankly, I didn't care who won. I thought they were both awesome. Katherine's powerful pipes will take her on her own path to stardom ... and did you notice (or is it just me) that Taylor has not only the moves but facial twitches and body language just like Elvis? I mean listen to him ... really listen ... it's eerie. We've not had anyone in the music industry that's come close to replacing (if such a thing could be done) Elvis. Taylor Hicks is truly unique, but he carries Elvis personna and that .... I would venture to guess ... will make him a super star.
Have a great Memorial Day weekend ... go out and be as close to flawless as you can ... but when you watch somebody flip the burger into the grass ... just laugh, pick it up and blow off the dirt, then put it on Aunt Bessie's bun for gossiping the past two hours about every woman in town.
Blessings to you and yours.
Nobody is flawless. Nobody. Not a single soul on God's green earth is flawless. Whew. That's a relief. I'm so tired of people in their blogs pointing fingers (especially those in the writing business) at all the mistakes and blunders of others. Never having walked in another person's shoes, we have no idea what makes a person tick.
Short of murder, or any horrific crimes to another human being or animal ... I think we should all stop passing judgment on men and women who frankly, screw up and become an idiot for a while. We don't know what events or problems in their lives caused them to do what they did. We're so quick to broadcast somebody's screw-up. Typical. The news is full of it.
Sorry for the rant today ... I just want you to remember the next time you're ready pass judgment, don't throw that stone so fast. Unless you're a flawless individual, reserve preaching about your ethics. I doubt you'll find everyone you've known or have come in contact with in your lifetime will agree with your perfection.
On a lighter note ... how about that last American Idol show, huh? They get better every year. Frankly, I didn't care who won. I thought they were both awesome. Katherine's powerful pipes will take her on her own path to stardom ... and did you notice (or is it just me) that Taylor has not only the moves but facial twitches and body language just like Elvis? I mean listen to him ... really listen ... it's eerie. We've not had anyone in the music industry that's come close to replacing (if such a thing could be done) Elvis. Taylor Hicks is truly unique, but he carries Elvis personna and that .... I would venture to guess ... will make him a super star.
Have a great Memorial Day weekend ... go out and be as close to flawless as you can ... but when you watch somebody flip the burger into the grass ... just laugh, pick it up and blow off the dirt, then put it on Aunt Bessie's bun for gossiping the past two hours about every woman in town.
Blessings to you and yours.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
We Never Know Until We Try
I wonder sometimes ... if this road I'm on will have fewer bumps than in the past. Giving my speech yesterday to the Rotary Club, I heard myself talk about my life to a group of people I'd never met. I'm afraid I teared up in a couple spots, where I never thought I would. I'd gone over it and over it. In my head and out loud to friends and family ... and yet, when the "spotlight" was on me ... it was as if I'd never heard it before.
Strange.
The reaction? "Beautiful," said my friend Gail Gurley. A couple of the women said they teared up right along with me. Some enjoyed the funny parts, when I spoke about my childhood ... and some shook my hand afterwards, and said, "Thank you, thank you for coming today ... that was inspirational."
When I think about the adversities of some, the old cliche' "it could always be worse" rings in my head. Lord, let's hope not. I think talking about the past to the public puts it in a whole new light. I can only hope the road I'm on will not lead me in a circle, but straight to whatever my destiny truly is. And with any luck, it will be peace and quiet ... fulfillment and satisfaction.
Out Of The Dark And Into The Light Of A Writer may inspire some, make a few laugh, piss a few zealots off ... but it is what it is ... and I weave bits and pieces of it into each story I write. It's not something I can help, for it is the life that has called my name.
You can never be sure how you'll be seen, accepted, loved, until you put it out there. It's a risk. A roll of the dice. A shot in the dark ... but you never know until you try.
Blessings to you and yours.
Strange.
The reaction? "Beautiful," said my friend Gail Gurley. A couple of the women said they teared up right along with me. Some enjoyed the funny parts, when I spoke about my childhood ... and some shook my hand afterwards, and said, "Thank you, thank you for coming today ... that was inspirational."
When I think about the adversities of some, the old cliche' "it could always be worse" rings in my head. Lord, let's hope not. I think talking about the past to the public puts it in a whole new light. I can only hope the road I'm on will not lead me in a circle, but straight to whatever my destiny truly is. And with any luck, it will be peace and quiet ... fulfillment and satisfaction.
Out Of The Dark And Into The Light Of A Writer may inspire some, make a few laugh, piss a few zealots off ... but it is what it is ... and I weave bits and pieces of it into each story I write. It's not something I can help, for it is the life that has called my name.
You can never be sure how you'll be seen, accepted, loved, until you put it out there. It's a risk. A roll of the dice. A shot in the dark ... but you never know until you try.
Blessings to you and yours.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Time To Start Speaking
Last minute notice, the Archdale Rotary Club lost their speaker yesterday ... and guess what?
My friend and fellow author, Gail Gurley, called and asked, "I think it'd be a good idea, a week before your book launch ... could you fill in and speak at Rotary tomorrow?"
"Sure, what time should I be there?"
Gulp.
I've been practicing my newest speech ... preparing for the speaking engagements my publicist is booking for me. I feel I'm close to ready. So ... I might as well find out. I guess this group is as good as any to cut my teeth on. The Archdale Rotary Club will be the first to hear COMING OUT OF THE DARK AND INTO THE LIFE OF A WRITER.
Having worked hard on this presentation, it's my life unfolded for the world to see ... revealing why and what caused the edge in my work ... not just why I write, but what events I draw from to create memorable works of fiction.
I remember delivering this particular speech to my speech coordinator ... (of course, the fabulous Dena Harris.) We'd worked on it for some time when she said, "I got goose bumps when I realized what you've been through ... if I were in your audience, I'd be enthralled with this speech."
Let's hope the rest of the world feels the same.
I'll stumble through the first few deliveries, I'm sure ... but this is my life ... I know it well. I'll have no problem making a crowd feel as if they haven't wasted their time. Sometimes, to appreciate a book, a work of fiction, or even non-fiction, it's helpful to understand where an author is coming from.
When we realize who we are, we understand that nothing can stop us from becoming that person. - Christine Lincoln
It's time to present my work and along with that comes my story.
Blessings to you and yours.
My friend and fellow author, Gail Gurley, called and asked, "I think it'd be a good idea, a week before your book launch ... could you fill in and speak at Rotary tomorrow?"
"Sure, what time should I be there?"
Gulp.
I've been practicing my newest speech ... preparing for the speaking engagements my publicist is booking for me. I feel I'm close to ready. So ... I might as well find out. I guess this group is as good as any to cut my teeth on. The Archdale Rotary Club will be the first to hear COMING OUT OF THE DARK AND INTO THE LIFE OF A WRITER.
Having worked hard on this presentation, it's my life unfolded for the world to see ... revealing why and what caused the edge in my work ... not just why I write, but what events I draw from to create memorable works of fiction.
I remember delivering this particular speech to my speech coordinator ... (of course, the fabulous Dena Harris.) We'd worked on it for some time when she said, "I got goose bumps when I realized what you've been through ... if I were in your audience, I'd be enthralled with this speech."
Let's hope the rest of the world feels the same.
I'll stumble through the first few deliveries, I'm sure ... but this is my life ... I know it well. I'll have no problem making a crowd feel as if they haven't wasted their time. Sometimes, to appreciate a book, a work of fiction, or even non-fiction, it's helpful to understand where an author is coming from.
When we realize who we are, we understand that nothing can stop us from becoming that person. - Christine Lincoln
It's time to present my work and along with that comes my story.
Blessings to you and yours.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Our Nation's Capital and the Book Expo
Don't you just love that line in Forrest Gump when he thanks Jenny for walking with him around "our Nation's capital?" I think about it whenever I travel to D.C. or through it on my way to New York. This week-end was like a scene from the movie ... the Washington monument, the breathtaking buildings, the publishing world all converging to the Convention Center for the 2006 Book Expo.
SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN sat proudly in her spot on the shelves of the New Title Display. We moved through the tightly packed isles of Warner, Putnam, Simon & Schuster, McGraw Hill, Little Brown, and on and on. Stood in line for our favorite authors. Made a few more connections, talked to booksellers. The day was grueling on the feet, but the book environment makes my heart sing.
If you're a writer, write it on your list for next year. The 2007 Book Expo will be in New York City. A must for any aspiring author. It puts it all in prospective. Meaning ... how small you are in the publishing universe. How microscopic small.
Blessings to you and yours.
SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN sat proudly in her spot on the shelves of the New Title Display. We moved through the tightly packed isles of Warner, Putnam, Simon & Schuster, McGraw Hill, Little Brown, and on and on. Stood in line for our favorite authors. Made a few more connections, talked to booksellers. The day was grueling on the feet, but the book environment makes my heart sing.
If you're a writer, write it on your list for next year. The 2007 Book Expo will be in New York City. A must for any aspiring author. It puts it all in prospective. Meaning ... how small you are in the publishing universe. How microscopic small.
Blessings to you and yours.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Book Expo 2006
Mike and I are off to the International Book Expo in Washington, D.C.
SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN is on the New Title Display, and I've got to see it! I'll be working my way through the crowds ... visiting every publisher's booth, publicist, agent, and otherwise that I possibly can in the short time we're there.
This is our third Book Expo (2004 in Chicago, 2005 in New York City - next year I think it's back in NYC) ... but it's something every writer needs to experience at least once in his or her career life. I'll be reporting back after I'm home. This year for me, it's more about networking, learning, and promoting my book rather than picking up every freebie I can stuff into my sack.
The Book Expo is an amazing place where the world comes together for the glory of the written word. Don't deny yourself the privilege of seeing it at least once.
My book launch is right around the corner ... it's going to be quite the par-tay. Last night I met with folks that will be attending (a surprise) and then I stopped in at the Open Mic again for the Winston-Salem Writer's Group. I didn't have time to drive to Greensboro in time for the WGOT event at the college, otherwise I would've been there listening to Mary Elizabeth Parker, Chairman of the Dana Awards, talk about "What Editors Are Looking For."
But I'm super glad I stopped at the Open Mic, because I couldn't believe my eyes. The group is growing by leaps and bounds. This fantastic writers group is over 100 members in just a year. They're doing things that amaze me ... doing something right, obviously! And everyone, it seemed, opened me back with open arms and enthusiasm.
A writer's life is full of trying to make time for everything. Book Expo, writer's groups, networking, publicity ... how do we find time to write? I tell you what I did lately. I deleted all blogs (except a few of my friends I know personally) off my bookmarked favorites from my Internet home page, as well as other sites I just don't want to spend any more time on. Use the Internet for research. Read blogs, study the craft, research the Internet but spend your time wisely. If you're reading blogs all morning or evening ... well you know if you've done it, you've used hours up that you could've been writing.
So I zapped the blogs and sites I no longer want to be tempted with! It's easier to ignore them if I don't have them bookmarked. Otherwise, I have to google them or look up their web site to type in, and I'm less apt to do that. No more blog reading unless it's something I want to research, or occasionally catch up on a favorite author or agent from time to time. But if I tune in every day ... add that time to the time I take up writing my own blog and answering emails ... there goes half my day.
No more. That advice includes you reading me ... I'd rather see you spend your time on your next book!
Blessings to you and yours.
SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN is on the New Title Display, and I've got to see it! I'll be working my way through the crowds ... visiting every publisher's booth, publicist, agent, and otherwise that I possibly can in the short time we're there.
This is our third Book Expo (2004 in Chicago, 2005 in New York City - next year I think it's back in NYC) ... but it's something every writer needs to experience at least once in his or her career life. I'll be reporting back after I'm home. This year for me, it's more about networking, learning, and promoting my book rather than picking up every freebie I can stuff into my sack.
The Book Expo is an amazing place where the world comes together for the glory of the written word. Don't deny yourself the privilege of seeing it at least once.
My book launch is right around the corner ... it's going to be quite the par-tay. Last night I met with folks that will be attending (a surprise) and then I stopped in at the Open Mic again for the Winston-Salem Writer's Group. I didn't have time to drive to Greensboro in time for the WGOT event at the college, otherwise I would've been there listening to Mary Elizabeth Parker, Chairman of the Dana Awards, talk about "What Editors Are Looking For."
But I'm super glad I stopped at the Open Mic, because I couldn't believe my eyes. The group is growing by leaps and bounds. This fantastic writers group is over 100 members in just a year. They're doing things that amaze me ... doing something right, obviously! And everyone, it seemed, opened me back with open arms and enthusiasm.
A writer's life is full of trying to make time for everything. Book Expo, writer's groups, networking, publicity ... how do we find time to write? I tell you what I did lately. I deleted all blogs (except a few of my friends I know personally) off my bookmarked favorites from my Internet home page, as well as other sites I just don't want to spend any more time on. Use the Internet for research. Read blogs, study the craft, research the Internet but spend your time wisely. If you're reading blogs all morning or evening ... well you know if you've done it, you've used hours up that you could've been writing.
So I zapped the blogs and sites I no longer want to be tempted with! It's easier to ignore them if I don't have them bookmarked. Otherwise, I have to google them or look up their web site to type in, and I'm less apt to do that. No more blog reading unless it's something I want to research, or occasionally catch up on a favorite author or agent from time to time. But if I tune in every day ... add that time to the time I take up writing my own blog and answering emails ... there goes half my day.
No more. That advice includes you reading me ... I'd rather see you spend your time on your next book!
Blessings to you and yours.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Shelia Kay Adams - Born Storyteller
This was my second encounter with the amazing storyteller, Shelia Kay Adams. The first time was in the spring of 2004 at the North Carolina Writer's Network Conference at Peace College. Mesmerized, I couldn't get her out of my head for days. She talks about her heritage and the people of Appalachia with such grace and truth. The words that come out of her mouth are like cotton candy when it goes in. Sweet and soft.
When I saw she was going to be in town for the Storytelling Festival, I went to hear her speak and read from her book, My Old True Love. Her first book, Come Go Home With Me ... are short snippets of her life. Both excellent.
She's the first author I could sit and listen to ... all day. Expecting her first grandchild in June, a boy, you can watch her eyes sparkle when she talks about him. I felt as though she's itching to get her arms around him ... family means everything to her.
She talked about recording your family, getting their stories down on paper before they're dead and buried. I could kick myself for not talking more to my own grandparents who are all now deceased. But my plans are to get the rest of my family recorded. My parents, Mike's mom, and some of the old timers at my family reunion. There's still lots of story gathering to do.
Shelia's background so closely mirrors my own that I feel kin to her. If you love the music and the stories of Appalachia, then read her books ... and go hear her sing next time she's in your area. The love ballads she and her husband sing will melt your heart.
Shelia Kay Adams can go home with me anytime.
Blessings to you and yours.
When I saw she was going to be in town for the Storytelling Festival, I went to hear her speak and read from her book, My Old True Love. Her first book, Come Go Home With Me ... are short snippets of her life. Both excellent.
She's the first author I could sit and listen to ... all day. Expecting her first grandchild in June, a boy, you can watch her eyes sparkle when she talks about him. I felt as though she's itching to get her arms around him ... family means everything to her.
She talked about recording your family, getting their stories down on paper before they're dead and buried. I could kick myself for not talking more to my own grandparents who are all now deceased. But my plans are to get the rest of my family recorded. My parents, Mike's mom, and some of the old timers at my family reunion. There's still lots of story gathering to do.
Shelia's background so closely mirrors my own that I feel kin to her. If you love the music and the stories of Appalachia, then read her books ... and go hear her sing next time she's in your area. The love ballads she and her husband sing will melt your heart.
Shelia Kay Adams can go home with me anytime.
Blessings to you and yours.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Speech Writing 101
(First I want to bitch about how slow this damn Eblogger site is. If you're considering setting up a blog ... go elsewhere. Use another blogging company. This one sucks. It's like using dial-up.)
Geez, rant is over.
I'm in the process of fine tuning my speech. This is the speech I will be giving to groups who are not only interested in me as a writer ... but my book, and more importantly ... what was it that cultivated my writing career. I've been reviewing this with a coach, friend-Dena Harris-who has taught speaking, is a member of the NSA, and of Toastmasters ... (and has also ghost written work for a life coach.) Dena says she gets goosebumps when she hears me give this speech. And all I do with Dena, is read it back to her ... I'm not really "giving the speech" just yet.
But Dena's reaction is exactly what I want. Goosebumps. I want the listener riveted to the seat, mouths gaping, and goosebumps. Because, in truth, certain events in my life have given me something to write about, and I want those who take the time to come listen to me speak, to understand that and come away with a feeling of triumph.
Writing a speech is not easy. First, as a writer, I write the darn thing and then wonder if I can deliver it, all the imagery ... if I can speak it as well as it's written. It's a tough project ... so in comes Martin Rader ... speech coach to the stars. I'll be working with Martin on the delivery, getting it into the hearts and minds of my listeners. Not wasting their time.
Another step in the writing process. You see, writing a book ... is just the beginning. You have to promote the book. (I know ... you've heard that already.) But how much do you think about speaking to hundreds, and hopefully thousands ... yeah, that's what I'm talking about it. If, as a writer, you cannot fathom yourself speaking in front of a group of people, then it's time to reevaluate what you're doing. If you want to write for pleasure ... never intending to sell you work, then no problem. Just write. Enjoy yourself.
But if you want to sell, then take a drama class, speech class, join Toastmasters! Do what you have to do to break that fear of speaking!
Side note: I read a good book this week ... Unfinished Life by Mark Spragg ... I love it when authors break the rules set up by "experts." No less than six points of view in this book, and it works! Plus, it's been made into a move ... with Robert Redford and Morgan Freeman ... but my suggestion is to read the book ... it's much better than the movie.
Okay ... back to cleaning up the speech.
Blessings to you and yours.
Geez, rant is over.
I'm in the process of fine tuning my speech. This is the speech I will be giving to groups who are not only interested in me as a writer ... but my book, and more importantly ... what was it that cultivated my writing career. I've been reviewing this with a coach, friend-Dena Harris-who has taught speaking, is a member of the NSA, and of Toastmasters ... (and has also ghost written work for a life coach.) Dena says she gets goosebumps when she hears me give this speech. And all I do with Dena, is read it back to her ... I'm not really "giving the speech" just yet.
But Dena's reaction is exactly what I want. Goosebumps. I want the listener riveted to the seat, mouths gaping, and goosebumps. Because, in truth, certain events in my life have given me something to write about, and I want those who take the time to come listen to me speak, to understand that and come away with a feeling of triumph.
Writing a speech is not easy. First, as a writer, I write the darn thing and then wonder if I can deliver it, all the imagery ... if I can speak it as well as it's written. It's a tough project ... so in comes Martin Rader ... speech coach to the stars. I'll be working with Martin on the delivery, getting it into the hearts and minds of my listeners. Not wasting their time.
Another step in the writing process. You see, writing a book ... is just the beginning. You have to promote the book. (I know ... you've heard that already.) But how much do you think about speaking to hundreds, and hopefully thousands ... yeah, that's what I'm talking about it. If, as a writer, you cannot fathom yourself speaking in front of a group of people, then it's time to reevaluate what you're doing. If you want to write for pleasure ... never intending to sell you work, then no problem. Just write. Enjoy yourself.
But if you want to sell, then take a drama class, speech class, join Toastmasters! Do what you have to do to break that fear of speaking!
Side note: I read a good book this week ... Unfinished Life by Mark Spragg ... I love it when authors break the rules set up by "experts." No less than six points of view in this book, and it works! Plus, it's been made into a move ... with Robert Redford and Morgan Freeman ... but my suggestion is to read the book ... it's much better than the movie.
Okay ... back to cleaning up the speech.
Blessings to you and yours.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
What If It Didn't Matter So Much?
A person very close to me was asked this question recently. What if what people thought of you didn't matter so much?
The question, right off the bat, brought out a great answer ... "I suppose I would do a lot of things different."
Think about this. Isn't it amazing, mind-numbing in fact, that so much of what we do is all because we want to please somebody, make others happy, want others to think well of us. Oh yeah, I hear it said so often ... I don't give a damn what others think of me ... but their actions tell a different story.
I think most of what we do in life, is because we want our families, our friends, our co-workers to like us, not disappoint those we care about. What if it reeeaaallly didn't matter so much what anyone thought of you? How would you change? How much of a people-pleaser are you?
I think we all are. Some of us more than others. Is it so wrong? How much does it hinder our own happiness?
I don't have any answers. It's an interesting question, though. One I thought you might like to ponder on.
What if it didn't matter so much?
Blessings to you and yours.
The question, right off the bat, brought out a great answer ... "I suppose I would do a lot of things different."
Think about this. Isn't it amazing, mind-numbing in fact, that so much of what we do is all because we want to please somebody, make others happy, want others to think well of us. Oh yeah, I hear it said so often ... I don't give a damn what others think of me ... but their actions tell a different story.
I think most of what we do in life, is because we want our families, our friends, our co-workers to like us, not disappoint those we care about. What if it reeeaaallly didn't matter so much what anyone thought of you? How would you change? How much of a people-pleaser are you?
I think we all are. Some of us more than others. Is it so wrong? How much does it hinder our own happiness?
I don't have any answers. It's an interesting question, though. One I thought you might like to ponder on.
What if it didn't matter so much?
Blessings to you and yours.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Big Love
Okay, I’m no TV freak. In fact, I rarely watch it. Some people I know can’t live without it and have it on 24/7. It drives me crazy, but I’ve learned to ignore it. Anyway … I have to admit – I look forward to Sunday nights. I’ve watched the Sopranos forever, but now … I’m hooked on the show, BIG LOVE. Have you seen it? It fascinates me.
It’s about a polygamist, his three wives and all their children. Another look into the minds and world of those who embrace the out-of-the-ordinary. However, this family is not part of the “order.” They live in the real world and try to hide their polygamist life-style. Bill Paxton plays the husband of these wives, and the plot, needless to say, is riveting.
I found myself appalled by it at first, because all we really hear about polygamists are the child abusers and those that abuse the welfare system … we see weird people on TV that look like they’ve come right out of the 19th century. They live in a commune in Utah and we think all Mormons are like that. Have you heard about the horrific Warren Jeffs? Google him. Read up on this madman.
So going into the first episode, I was ready to turn it off before it even started. Then I watched the first fifteen minutes, which turned into twenty, and so on. Now, I’ve not skipped an episode! If this type of polygamy truly does exist, I can see how some would embrace it. The children are loved and always cared for by a family member, and the women really do have a mind of their own, choosing among themselves the nights who gets hubby. But, alas, it's not an easy life, as the actors are quick to point out.
It's true that the problems seem to far outweigh the benefits. It’s definitely a fantasy world for a man, but for women? Other than the fact we all know there are some days you just need your space from your spouse, I can’t imagine sharing my husband with anybody, not like that. It seems this type of polygamist (other than sharing the same husband sexually) lead wholesome lives. (But what is wholesome to one could be pagan to another, I suppose.)
On the flip side, the whole religious issue, obviously, interests me. The way these people bring religion into their world amazes me. The Bible also talks explicitly about adultery … so where do they, how do they, draw the line?
In the meantime, it’s fascinating table conversation, and the show is fun to watch, as the writers do great work with the plot. The actors are stellar, but you need to see it from the beginning. Of course, HBO will run it all over again … and again.
I asked my husband, after last night’s episode, could you handle two more wives, honey? He laughed. “Are you kidding? I can’t handle you!”
I rest my case.
Blessings to you and yours.
It’s about a polygamist, his three wives and all their children. Another look into the minds and world of those who embrace the out-of-the-ordinary. However, this family is not part of the “order.” They live in the real world and try to hide their polygamist life-style. Bill Paxton plays the husband of these wives, and the plot, needless to say, is riveting.
I found myself appalled by it at first, because all we really hear about polygamists are the child abusers and those that abuse the welfare system … we see weird people on TV that look like they’ve come right out of the 19th century. They live in a commune in Utah and we think all Mormons are like that. Have you heard about the horrific Warren Jeffs? Google him. Read up on this madman.
So going into the first episode, I was ready to turn it off before it even started. Then I watched the first fifteen minutes, which turned into twenty, and so on. Now, I’ve not skipped an episode! If this type of polygamy truly does exist, I can see how some would embrace it. The children are loved and always cared for by a family member, and the women really do have a mind of their own, choosing among themselves the nights who gets hubby. But, alas, it's not an easy life, as the actors are quick to point out.
It's true that the problems seem to far outweigh the benefits. It’s definitely a fantasy world for a man, but for women? Other than the fact we all know there are some days you just need your space from your spouse, I can’t imagine sharing my husband with anybody, not like that. It seems this type of polygamist (other than sharing the same husband sexually) lead wholesome lives. (But what is wholesome to one could be pagan to another, I suppose.)
On the flip side, the whole religious issue, obviously, interests me. The way these people bring religion into their world amazes me. The Bible also talks explicitly about adultery … so where do they, how do they, draw the line?
In the meantime, it’s fascinating table conversation, and the show is fun to watch, as the writers do great work with the plot. The actors are stellar, but you need to see it from the beginning. Of course, HBO will run it all over again … and again.
I asked my husband, after last night’s episode, could you handle two more wives, honey? He laughed. “Are you kidding? I can’t handle you!”
I rest my case.
Blessings to you and yours.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Ghost In The House
I'm dead serious.
Well ... serious. This thing thinks it's funny to scare the crap out of me. (Only for the moment.) The first time we noticed it was about two months ago. I work late at night, usually. The house is quieter, I can think more clearly when there are no phones, TV noise, Mikey interruptions. So, it's late and Michael is already in bed, but still awake with the bedroom door closed and his TV on low. I'm in my office with the door open, the rest of the house is dark. Suddenly, across the hall from my office -in a dark bathroom- my hair dryer (which is plugged into the wall) comes on.
I think, what the hell is he doing up using my hairdryer? Michael hears it and thinks what the hell is she doing using her hairdryer this time of night? I roll my chair back, look across the hall, the bathroom is dark, the hairdryer is running. Now you have to see this hairdryer. It's a Vidal Sassoon with knobs that give your thumb a bruise every time you roll it on. Maybe because it's new. But it's still a tough push with your thumb to roll it on or to roll it two clicks to HIGH. Which is exactly where it was. Rolled to HIGH.
Next incident - I'm working late at night, Michael has gone to bed, turned his laptop off and unplugged it. We share an office, his desk is in the opposite corner of the room, so our backs are together when we work. Needless to say, I'm working away on edits of Southern Fried Women, and I hear his laptop come on. I look over and there's a picture of me on the monitor --- his screen saver. I'm thinking that's unusual, he went to bed without turning off his computer. I keep on working, say to myself that I'll turn it off when I go to bed, then a while later I realize it's off. I look down ... it's unplugged. I shake my head, thinking about the hairdryer, and keep working. Moments later it flips back on again ... showing my picture on the monitor. I kid you not.
Third incident - I'm standing in my bedroom by the closet. The only time we watch TV in the bedroom is at night. You have to use the remote and one button turns these on by holding it down. First the cable box turns on then the TV. It's sometime after dinner, I'm looking in my closet for something, and the cable box and TV snap on. By themselves.
Fourth incident - Michael's cousin comes to stay with us, and the walking sticks we have displayed in the room she uses, (which haven't moved for a couple years - shame on us) suddenly fall over in the middle of the night.
Fifth incident - I walk into the kitchen, my mother-in-law is watching TV while fixing dinner. The TV goes haywire. We both think it's the cable acting up as it has been known to do. We think nothing of it. I go back to my office. The fuzzies on the TV stop. Later, I walk back into the kitchen. It does it again. We think nothing of it. I walk out, the TV goes back to normal. Third time, it happens again, we look at each other ... the TV in the family room is also on but is not doing what the kitchen TV is doing and they're on the same channel! It stops when I leave the room.
Sixth incident - Michael's in the livingroom, I'm (where else) in the office writing. All of a sudden I hear the TV blaring in the bedroom. It come on by itself and is turned up extremely loud. Guess what's on? A televangelist, no less. We NEVER watch that channel. This incident bugged me for days. My book, Televenge, is about the dark side of televangelism.
Most recent incident - Last evening. I'm in the bathroom, getting ready to go to a book signing at Barnes & Noble, and I try to open the door to leave the bathroom. It won't open. I'm locked in. The door can only be locked from the inside. It's one of those that you just push the button on the knob. But it's NOT locked. The button is up. But the door won't open. I BANG on the door. The dogs go crazy, Mike is working-he's not home, my mother-in-law starts kicking the door trying to get me out, I'm thinking maybe I can squeeze out the window, but even though the house is a ranch, it's still a drop to the ground. We're freaking out by now.
Finally, I holler for her to go to the tool box in the garage and get me a phillips screwdriver - "Shove it under the door, Mama! I'll take off the door knob." Me being the physically challenged person that I am around tools, I finally manage to get the door knob off after five minutes of being all thumbs. But it still won't open! Damn it! My hands are greasy, my hairdo is gone, I back up and slide down the wall. I'm going to spend the rest of my life in the bathroom!
Finally, I tell her to slide a flathead screwdriver under the door. Bada Bing! I pop the hinges off and tell her to push the door in from her side. She does (the dogs are still going crazy at this point) and the door - yay - comes entirely off. We stand there looking at each other, sweat pouring down our faces, our eyes as big as half dollars ... drained. What would've happened had I been alone in the house? I suppose a bubble bath, a pedicure, and possible cleaning out the medicine cabinet I've been putting off, would've been involved.
Okay ... enough is enough. This haint has to go. They say Southerners own their haints. I don't know where I picked this one up. But it's not funny anymore.
Am I scared? Well, it does give you the heebie geebies, but NO, I recognize these things. I know what it is ... my mother had all kinds of experiences in her lifetime. Enough to fill a book. Some people will read or hear about this and think we're crazy, and that "everything can be explained away." Typical reactions to the unexplained. For centuries.
I have to laugh. You can say that all you want, until it happens to you. Then you explain it and let me know what you come up with. Ha!
I've heard it follows families. It really does not scare me ... like I said, my mother has been dealing with it all her life, kind of like diabetes or a hearing loss. Do I believe in ghosts? Not sure what it is. I just know these things don't just happen. There is another realm of existence out there. There is the unexplainable. Whether people want to admit it or not. All I know is that ever since I started writing about my family's history ... weird stuff has happened.
Maybe it's my grandma. Who knows. I know I have authority over it, I know we laugh about it a lot, and I know ... it just may be trying to tell me something. I went to the book signing anyway and everything was fine.
Perhaps, there's a local ghostbuster team I can call?
Blessings to you and yours.
Well ... serious. This thing thinks it's funny to scare the crap out of me. (Only for the moment.) The first time we noticed it was about two months ago. I work late at night, usually. The house is quieter, I can think more clearly when there are no phones, TV noise, Mikey interruptions. So, it's late and Michael is already in bed, but still awake with the bedroom door closed and his TV on low. I'm in my office with the door open, the rest of the house is dark. Suddenly, across the hall from my office -in a dark bathroom- my hair dryer (which is plugged into the wall) comes on.
I think, what the hell is he doing up using my hairdryer? Michael hears it and thinks what the hell is she doing using her hairdryer this time of night? I roll my chair back, look across the hall, the bathroom is dark, the hairdryer is running. Now you have to see this hairdryer. It's a Vidal Sassoon with knobs that give your thumb a bruise every time you roll it on. Maybe because it's new. But it's still a tough push with your thumb to roll it on or to roll it two clicks to HIGH. Which is exactly where it was. Rolled to HIGH.
Next incident - I'm working late at night, Michael has gone to bed, turned his laptop off and unplugged it. We share an office, his desk is in the opposite corner of the room, so our backs are together when we work. Needless to say, I'm working away on edits of Southern Fried Women, and I hear his laptop come on. I look over and there's a picture of me on the monitor --- his screen saver. I'm thinking that's unusual, he went to bed without turning off his computer. I keep on working, say to myself that I'll turn it off when I go to bed, then a while later I realize it's off. I look down ... it's unplugged. I shake my head, thinking about the hairdryer, and keep working. Moments later it flips back on again ... showing my picture on the monitor. I kid you not.
Third incident - I'm standing in my bedroom by the closet. The only time we watch TV in the bedroom is at night. You have to use the remote and one button turns these on by holding it down. First the cable box turns on then the TV. It's sometime after dinner, I'm looking in my closet for something, and the cable box and TV snap on. By themselves.
Fourth incident - Michael's cousin comes to stay with us, and the walking sticks we have displayed in the room she uses, (which haven't moved for a couple years - shame on us) suddenly fall over in the middle of the night.
Fifth incident - I walk into the kitchen, my mother-in-law is watching TV while fixing dinner. The TV goes haywire. We both think it's the cable acting up as it has been known to do. We think nothing of it. I go back to my office. The fuzzies on the TV stop. Later, I walk back into the kitchen. It does it again. We think nothing of it. I walk out, the TV goes back to normal. Third time, it happens again, we look at each other ... the TV in the family room is also on but is not doing what the kitchen TV is doing and they're on the same channel! It stops when I leave the room.
Sixth incident - Michael's in the livingroom, I'm (where else) in the office writing. All of a sudden I hear the TV blaring in the bedroom. It come on by itself and is turned up extremely loud. Guess what's on? A televangelist, no less. We NEVER watch that channel. This incident bugged me for days. My book, Televenge, is about the dark side of televangelism.
Most recent incident - Last evening. I'm in the bathroom, getting ready to go to a book signing at Barnes & Noble, and I try to open the door to leave the bathroom. It won't open. I'm locked in. The door can only be locked from the inside. It's one of those that you just push the button on the knob. But it's NOT locked. The button is up. But the door won't open. I BANG on the door. The dogs go crazy, Mike is working-he's not home, my mother-in-law starts kicking the door trying to get me out, I'm thinking maybe I can squeeze out the window, but even though the house is a ranch, it's still a drop to the ground. We're freaking out by now.
Finally, I holler for her to go to the tool box in the garage and get me a phillips screwdriver - "Shove it under the door, Mama! I'll take off the door knob." Me being the physically challenged person that I am around tools, I finally manage to get the door knob off after five minutes of being all thumbs. But it still won't open! Damn it! My hands are greasy, my hairdo is gone, I back up and slide down the wall. I'm going to spend the rest of my life in the bathroom!
Finally, I tell her to slide a flathead screwdriver under the door. Bada Bing! I pop the hinges off and tell her to push the door in from her side. She does (the dogs are still going crazy at this point) and the door - yay - comes entirely off. We stand there looking at each other, sweat pouring down our faces, our eyes as big as half dollars ... drained. What would've happened had I been alone in the house? I suppose a bubble bath, a pedicure, and possible cleaning out the medicine cabinet I've been putting off, would've been involved.
Okay ... enough is enough. This haint has to go. They say Southerners own their haints. I don't know where I picked this one up. But it's not funny anymore.
Am I scared? Well, it does give you the heebie geebies, but NO, I recognize these things. I know what it is ... my mother had all kinds of experiences in her lifetime. Enough to fill a book. Some people will read or hear about this and think we're crazy, and that "everything can be explained away." Typical reactions to the unexplained. For centuries.
I have to laugh. You can say that all you want, until it happens to you. Then you explain it and let me know what you come up with. Ha!
I've heard it follows families. It really does not scare me ... like I said, my mother has been dealing with it all her life, kind of like diabetes or a hearing loss. Do I believe in ghosts? Not sure what it is. I just know these things don't just happen. There is another realm of existence out there. There is the unexplainable. Whether people want to admit it or not. All I know is that ever since I started writing about my family's history ... weird stuff has happened.
Maybe it's my grandma. Who knows. I know I have authority over it, I know we laugh about it a lot, and I know ... it just may be trying to tell me something. I went to the book signing anyway and everything was fine.
Perhaps, there's a local ghostbuster team I can call?
Blessings to you and yours.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Countdown To Launch
The book is done ... printed ... complete. The list has been made ... and it's time to get even busier ... getting it all done will take take every bit of the four weeks we have left. I saw a quote by Oprah the other day and it resonated with me. "The universe is a complicated place, and if you're going to thrive, you'll need to dance to your own music." I suppose it can be said that every book published can be promoted differently.
Sometimes, though, I feel like I'm flying blindfolded ...
Four and a half weeks until SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN is officially launched.
My head is swimming.
Blessings to you and yours.
Sometimes, though, I feel like I'm flying blindfolded ...
Four and a half weeks until SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN is officially launched.
My head is swimming.
Blessings to you and yours.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Pat Conroy and Friends
I attended the NC Festival of the Book in Durham last Sunday. The campus of Duke University was filled to the brim with literary types ... book lovers of all sorts.
Michael and I had just stepped out of our Honda and walked up the sidewalk, when Pat Conroy pulled up in his Lincoln with his wife, Cassandra King, and Anne Rivers Siddons in the back seat. Another relative of Pat's, a kind, sweet gentlemen (who teased me ... stating he couldn't believe I allowed Cassandra to blurb my book ...) stepped out of the car and needed assistance getting into the building. My husband went to look for security to come to his aid, while I stood and chatted with the group. Pat was adorable, to say the least, shook my hand, and ushered me right up to his wife in the car ... then he was quickly swooped up by "festival people" and taken to the Page Auditorium where he would be on stage (in rocking chairs) with Doug Marlette and Bill Ferris ... giving the thousand or two in the audience what they came for. A talk about their lives, their work, and their decades-long friendship. Funny, touching, and mesmerizing to have these great writers in our midst.
I gave Cassandra a signed copy of my book, which she had happily blurbed, and was able to visit with her and Anne Rivers Siddons for a few moments before they were also bombarded with people wanting to get close--wisk them away to the place they needed to be before starting their own panel, along with Mary Kay Andrews, Writing About Southern Women. Right up my alley, eh?
But before I headed to the Reynolds Theater to listen to three of my favorite women authors, I caught most of Pat's talk and then ducked in the signing line in time to meet Pat again and have him sign my copies of Beach Music and My Loosing Season.
Of course, you know, I network while standing in any line of book lovers. When I started handing out post cards about my book SOUTHERN FRIED WOMEN, (I'm a blatant self-promoter--as you have to be in this business) a feeding frenzy began. Everyone around me, about a dozen people, wanted my post card and then ALL of them asked me to sign it! One woman even asked me to sign her autograph book! HA! I was awed beyond belief. What a feeling. And all I was doing was standing in line, just like they were, waiting for the famous Pat Conroy to make an appearance and sign our books.
But they found out I was an author. I'm quickly realizing, that title carries with it a mystic and a certain small amount of celebrity. I've always felt it about other writers, but never thought for a moment it would happen to me. BUT (a huge but) ... I know where I stand in the scheme of things. My humility and sincere appreciation that anyone would want to ask for my autograph, will astound me all the days of my life. Because I know who I am and where I came from. I'm just a country girl, that likes to write books. Anything beyond that, will always amaze me to no end.
I'm sure Pat and Sandra Conroy feel the same way. They're just Lowcountry folk, humble and precious people. Writers I aspire to. I was blessed to have met them, touched their lives if only for a moment.
Blessings you and yours.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Update on Dad
Three hours on a conference call with my sisters and my parents … is there a drink strong enough for that?
We worked it out. Still can’t tell you what burr got up his butt for the letter he wrote, but it doesn’t matter. We hashed it out – aired our grievances, and declared our undying love for each other.
Sometimes you just have to … let it go. Realize, your parents aren’t perfect, but they’re the only ones you’ve got, and I didn’t want to loose them to such silly and stupid stuff as “why aren’t you calling me more?”
Ugh.
We’re strung out in four different states; it’s not going to be easy. So, my sisters and I decided (collectively) to do the conference call thing with my parents every Sunday. At least for a while. It’ll make them feel better, I think. And truthfully, it’ll make me feel like we’re all a family again. Gone are the days when we could all drop into mom and dad’s house at the same time. We all used to live within hours or minutes of each other. That doesn’t happen anymore. I think the years have taken their toll on daddy, and maybe, he’s just a little sad.
We'll still keep tabs on his physical state more, and try hard to "watch" him (and mom) more closely over the coming months. Make sure they're happy and healthy 70 somethings.
So, we buck up. Do what we can, and realize … family is family. No matter how you look at them. I have my best friend, Tina, my husband and his family, my children, and my dear friends here in North Carolina and I love them dearly. But we can’t choose our family. They’re our past, present, and future … so we might as well make the best of it and love them all … unconditionally.
Blessings to you and yours.
We worked it out. Still can’t tell you what burr got up his butt for the letter he wrote, but it doesn’t matter. We hashed it out – aired our grievances, and declared our undying love for each other.
Sometimes you just have to … let it go. Realize, your parents aren’t perfect, but they’re the only ones you’ve got, and I didn’t want to loose them to such silly and stupid stuff as “why aren’t you calling me more?”
Ugh.
We’re strung out in four different states; it’s not going to be easy. So, my sisters and I decided (collectively) to do the conference call thing with my parents every Sunday. At least for a while. It’ll make them feel better, I think. And truthfully, it’ll make me feel like we’re all a family again. Gone are the days when we could all drop into mom and dad’s house at the same time. We all used to live within hours or minutes of each other. That doesn’t happen anymore. I think the years have taken their toll on daddy, and maybe, he’s just a little sad.
We'll still keep tabs on his physical state more, and try hard to "watch" him (and mom) more closely over the coming months. Make sure they're happy and healthy 70 somethings.
So, we buck up. Do what we can, and realize … family is family. No matter how you look at them. I have my best friend, Tina, my husband and his family, my children, and my dear friends here in North Carolina and I love them dearly. But we can’t choose our family. They’re our past, present, and future … so we might as well make the best of it and love them all … unconditionally.
Blessings to you and yours.
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