Every day there's a parade at my house. I live on a working horse farm. Each morning and evening when my brother-in-law leaves his house and heads toward the barn, he is followed by his big red dog (a Labrador Retriever) and a sleek black cat.
The dog, Scout, and the cat, Boo, are best friends. Boo occasionally gets side-tracked as he hunts for a mouse or a bird, while Scout sometimes takes a quick detour into the pond but they're never far from each other. Watching Boo kitty tumble with frogs in the yard is a hoot. But when the barn swallows know he's coming, they'll dive bomb him and taunt him like little fighter planes in an air raid. I love to imagine what Boo is thinking. Oh give it your best shot, you little pipsqueaks. Come any closer and you're toast! Before you can blink an eye, Boo has gone from hunched in the grass to a leap in the air.
The gift of bones and feathers ends up on my sister-in-law's front porch.
Scout and Boo were named after character's in Harper Lee's classic, To Kill a Mockingbird. My sister-in-law is a lover of books, which makes living next door to her nothing but pure pleasure. Drinking my morning coffee, watching the parade of Gordon, Scout, and Boo gives me my first smile of the day. They are nothing less than God's gift to me each morning.
Blessings to you and yours.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
Is The Grass Greener?
It's July.
Summer in Ohio. Cool, crisp nights, sun-filled days. Low 80s, usually. Some humidity. A shower passes from time-to-time. But Ohio summers are the best. Everything is green and the pastures are full of new life. Only occasional air conditioning is needed.
In North Carolina you can drink the air. You can't find a spot of cool shade to save your life. 95 is the norm. Parched earth dots the landscape. Wavy heat rises above blacktop roads. You can't live without air conditioning. Most hibernate until Autumn.
The grass isn't always greener on the other side.
Until winter.
But then ... there's always North Carolina ice. And road crews that don't know what to do with it.
Ahhh, but there's always a great restaurant to choose from in Ohio. You can brave the snow to get there because the road crews were prepared. I wouldn't travel ice-covered roads for any restaurant in North Carolina. Sorry. It's true. I don't miss all the fried food and BBQ.
But let's face it. There's good and bad everywhere you go. I just didn't realize how much I missed Ohio until I came back. My memories of the south are fond ones. I'm southern in my heart, but right now ... I'm enjoying the culture, the food, and the true hospitality of the north.
There's nothing wrong with that.
Blessings to you and yours.
Summer in Ohio. Cool, crisp nights, sun-filled days. Low 80s, usually. Some humidity. A shower passes from time-to-time. But Ohio summers are the best. Everything is green and the pastures are full of new life. Only occasional air conditioning is needed.
In North Carolina you can drink the air. You can't find a spot of cool shade to save your life. 95 is the norm. Parched earth dots the landscape. Wavy heat rises above blacktop roads. You can't live without air conditioning. Most hibernate until Autumn.
The grass isn't always greener on the other side.
Until winter.
But then ... there's always North Carolina ice. And road crews that don't know what to do with it.
Ahhh, but there's always a great restaurant to choose from in Ohio. You can brave the snow to get there because the road crews were prepared. I wouldn't travel ice-covered roads for any restaurant in North Carolina. Sorry. It's true. I don't miss all the fried food and BBQ.
But let's face it. There's good and bad everywhere you go. I just didn't realize how much I missed Ohio until I came back. My memories of the south are fond ones. I'm southern in my heart, but right now ... I'm enjoying the culture, the food, and the true hospitality of the north.
There's nothing wrong with that.
Blessings to you and yours.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
The Youth Of Old Age
The view out my windows and off my deep front porch is of a pond, horse pastures, and trees. It's Midwest farmland as far as the eye can see, and I'm loving every second of it. I've come back to a place I never thought I'd embrace again. But ... I am.
As I sit here writing this blog I'm thinking about my life and how many times I've moved. I'm tired of moving. Although I love to travel, I like the idea coming home to my things. My books, my old china, my junk. It's comforting. Every year that passes by, I become more inclined to dig in my heels and hole up in my house. Seems like every ten years in a woman's life, her life changes to where she can't recognize a damn thing. It's been that way with me. Except this time, I've come full circle. I recognize the landscape, but not the past. And that's a good thing.
The old house creaks like every old house I've fixed up. Every old house I've turned into a silk purse. A sow's ear is not an easy thing to contemplate as I enter the youth of old age. But here I am. There's a lot to do. I'm not in a hurry. The wind is cool as it blows through the screens. Summer storms rumble through in the afternoons and I feel myself drifting through old memories and another new adventure.
I've got a new book to write. And this is just the house and landscape to do it in.
Blessings to you and yours.
As I sit here writing this blog I'm thinking about my life and how many times I've moved. I'm tired of moving. Although I love to travel, I like the idea coming home to my things. My books, my old china, my junk. It's comforting. Every year that passes by, I become more inclined to dig in my heels and hole up in my house. Seems like every ten years in a woman's life, her life changes to where she can't recognize a damn thing. It's been that way with me. Except this time, I've come full circle. I recognize the landscape, but not the past. And that's a good thing.
The old house creaks like every old house I've fixed up. Every old house I've turned into a silk purse. A sow's ear is not an easy thing to contemplate as I enter the youth of old age. But here I am. There's a lot to do. I'm not in a hurry. The wind is cool as it blows through the screens. Summer storms rumble through in the afternoons and I feel myself drifting through old memories and another new adventure.
I've got a new book to write. And this is just the house and landscape to do it in.
Blessings to you and yours.
Thursday, June 09, 2011
You Can Take The Girl Out Of The South
... but you can't take the South out of the Girl.
And so it goes. The past weeks I've been involved in packing, moving, and unpacking. I've moved north. Oh yes, true. I know. Shocker. But when there's children and grandchildren to consider ... the choice becomes an easy one.
I moved to North Carolina in June of 2001. Ten years later, almost to the day, Michael and I loaded up a truck and moved to the Midwest. It's been a long, hot, and exhausting couple of weeks. As I sit here (thankful to be back online) and gaze over the mountain of boxes that are waiting to be unpacked, I'm realizing that no mater where I live, where I go, or what I do ... I'm still Southern. And I'm still Fried.
Always was. Always will be.
Blessings to you and yours.
And so it goes. The past weeks I've been involved in packing, moving, and unpacking. I've moved north. Oh yes, true. I know. Shocker. But when there's children and grandchildren to consider ... the choice becomes an easy one.
I moved to North Carolina in June of 2001. Ten years later, almost to the day, Michael and I loaded up a truck and moved to the Midwest. It's been a long, hot, and exhausting couple of weeks. As I sit here (thankful to be back online) and gaze over the mountain of boxes that are waiting to be unpacked, I'm realizing that no mater where I live, where I go, or what I do ... I'm still Southern. And I'm still Fried.
Always was. Always will be.
Blessings to you and yours.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Rapture Foolish
The Rapture Zealots, yet again, have made even the idea of one seem foolish. What's wrong with these people?
Here's the truth of it all, if you really want to know. Most Christians, fundamental or otherwise, believe in the rapture of the church. But it is NOT the focus of our lives. It is NOT what we fear or think about every minute of every hour of our day. Our "vision" of it, comes in many shapes and forms, depending on how we interpret the scripture. But it cannot be a way to get out of paying your thirty-year mortgage. It cannot be a finger-wagging, soap-box stomping slam at the rest of the world that says, watch me disappear while the rest of you heathens suffer.
God didn't give us a Rapture Flag to wave. He told us to love one another, to take care of the poor, and to live as if every day might be our last. He didn't tell us to make His word look foolish.
No man knows the hour. How simple is that? You can crunch the numbers all you want, but He could come back a hundred years from now. Or tomorrow. It's His gig. Get over it.
If you're a believer, go on with your life. Be kind to your fellow man, let your light shine, and quit trying to be little gods, running around shoving the rapture down everybody's throat. There's a lot of hurt in this world, people who need prayer, their hearts mended, and homes that need put back together. Be about your Father's work. To me, that is the testimony of the Christian. Not turning your car into one big bumper sticker, declaring the end of the world. It's not going to happen that way.
Grow up.
Blessings to you and yours.
Here's the truth of it all, if you really want to know. Most Christians, fundamental or otherwise, believe in the rapture of the church. But it is NOT the focus of our lives. It is NOT what we fear or think about every minute of every hour of our day. Our "vision" of it, comes in many shapes and forms, depending on how we interpret the scripture. But it cannot be a way to get out of paying your thirty-year mortgage. It cannot be a finger-wagging, soap-box stomping slam at the rest of the world that says, watch me disappear while the rest of you heathens suffer.
God didn't give us a Rapture Flag to wave. He told us to love one another, to take care of the poor, and to live as if every day might be our last. He didn't tell us to make His word look foolish.
No man knows the hour. How simple is that? You can crunch the numbers all you want, but He could come back a hundred years from now. Or tomorrow. It's His gig. Get over it.
If you're a believer, go on with your life. Be kind to your fellow man, let your light shine, and quit trying to be little gods, running around shoving the rapture down everybody's throat. There's a lot of hurt in this world, people who need prayer, their hearts mended, and homes that need put back together. Be about your Father's work. To me, that is the testimony of the Christian. Not turning your car into one big bumper sticker, declaring the end of the world. It's not going to happen that way.
Grow up.
Blessings to you and yours.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Flipping Through The Fear
Flipping through the channels last evening, I happened upon a portly televangelist from Texas. His sermon title was something like, WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT? Being one who studies the world of televangelism, I stopped to listen.
The sermon, one in which I've heard hundreds of times, was about the end times. It begins with the rapture of the church and ends with The Great White Throne Judgment and an eternity of peace upon an earth that has been remade by God. In between these two events, you can expect seven years of tribulation (Hell on earth) and all sorts of cataclysmic events the world has never seen. Most of the world's population, according to this pastor's interpretation of the Bible, is doomed for Hell. Unless you're one of the lucky ones to make the rapture of the church, your chances of making Heaven are slim to none.
I have to tell you, the goosebumps invaded every part of my body. Old familiar goosebumps. Like I said, I've been exposed to this doctrine all my life. It may sound crazy, but I'm a believer in this end time message. My only problem was with the way in which it was delivered. Steeped in fear and intimidation, the message made me feel like I needed to move to Texas and join his church in order to make the rapture.
ding ding ding ding ding ding ding!
I wonder how many have actually done that? Scare 'em-to-death religion rakes in the members and their money. I'm not a believer when it comes to holding people over Hell. In fact, I'm rather sick of it. I lived in that mess most of my childhood and during my young adult life, and I wish I would've flipped the channel right past that pastor. But, I didn't. I wanted to hear if the message had changed much. It hasn't. It's pretty much the same.
I think what bothered me the most about his sermon, was that there was NOTHING about how to become one of the lucky ones and escape what was coming. How do you make the rapture? What qualifies you? Christianity, salvation, living a perfect life before God, is what this pastor would say. Sin will not enter in, I've been told. And then we can get into another long discussion about sin. Do people sin every day, whether they want to or not? If so, you better hope you're not sinning when the trumpet sounds, eh? And then there's the controversy that you have to speak in tongues to make the rapture. Oh yes, true. The list goes on and on, and I wonder - does anybody really know how much of a saint we have to be?
We can worry ourselves into such a tizzy about making Heaven we're no earthly good.
In my own humble opinion, I think it comes down to faith. It takes more than being a good person, I know that. One must believe in the sovereignty of God and that His word is true. I know that too. I believe in all the signs and prophecies, and I believe God's love covers it all. It will happen someday, and we may well be the generation to see it. But I'm not going to live in a religious world full of fear ever again. Nor will I subject myself to the fist of some pious pastor pounding on his pulpit, screaming at me. Never again.
I plan to make Heaven. But I don't need to be screamed at and threatened all the way to the pearly gates. And neither do you.
My answer for you is to become a seeker. Search the scriptures for yourself. Let the voice of God become real in your own life, and open your heart to hear Him. It is a scary future we're facing, I agree, but instead of fearing it - embrace it. Ask God to show you the way. I believe He'll do it with love, for you to accept it or not. He gives you the choice. He's like that. For now, at least. During this dispensation of grace that we live in. At least for now, you don't have to be screamed at.
Blessings to you and yours.
The sermon, one in which I've heard hundreds of times, was about the end times. It begins with the rapture of the church and ends with The Great White Throne Judgment and an eternity of peace upon an earth that has been remade by God. In between these two events, you can expect seven years of tribulation (Hell on earth) and all sorts of cataclysmic events the world has never seen. Most of the world's population, according to this pastor's interpretation of the Bible, is doomed for Hell. Unless you're one of the lucky ones to make the rapture of the church, your chances of making Heaven are slim to none.
I have to tell you, the goosebumps invaded every part of my body. Old familiar goosebumps. Like I said, I've been exposed to this doctrine all my life. It may sound crazy, but I'm a believer in this end time message. My only problem was with the way in which it was delivered. Steeped in fear and intimidation, the message made me feel like I needed to move to Texas and join his church in order to make the rapture.
ding ding ding ding ding ding ding!
I wonder how many have actually done that? Scare 'em-to-death religion rakes in the members and their money. I'm not a believer when it comes to holding people over Hell. In fact, I'm rather sick of it. I lived in that mess most of my childhood and during my young adult life, and I wish I would've flipped the channel right past that pastor. But, I didn't. I wanted to hear if the message had changed much. It hasn't. It's pretty much the same.
I think what bothered me the most about his sermon, was that there was NOTHING about how to become one of the lucky ones and escape what was coming. How do you make the rapture? What qualifies you? Christianity, salvation, living a perfect life before God, is what this pastor would say. Sin will not enter in, I've been told. And then we can get into another long discussion about sin. Do people sin every day, whether they want to or not? If so, you better hope you're not sinning when the trumpet sounds, eh? And then there's the controversy that you have to speak in tongues to make the rapture. Oh yes, true. The list goes on and on, and I wonder - does anybody really know how much of a saint we have to be?
We can worry ourselves into such a tizzy about making Heaven we're no earthly good.
In my own humble opinion, I think it comes down to faith. It takes more than being a good person, I know that. One must believe in the sovereignty of God and that His word is true. I know that too. I believe in all the signs and prophecies, and I believe God's love covers it all. It will happen someday, and we may well be the generation to see it. But I'm not going to live in a religious world full of fear ever again. Nor will I subject myself to the fist of some pious pastor pounding on his pulpit, screaming at me. Never again.
I plan to make Heaven. But I don't need to be screamed at and threatened all the way to the pearly gates. And neither do you.
My answer for you is to become a seeker. Search the scriptures for yourself. Let the voice of God become real in your own life, and open your heart to hear Him. It is a scary future we're facing, I agree, but instead of fearing it - embrace it. Ask God to show you the way. I believe He'll do it with love, for you to accept it or not. He gives you the choice. He's like that. For now, at least. During this dispensation of grace that we live in. At least for now, you don't have to be screamed at.
Blessings to you and yours.
Sunday, May 08, 2011
Only In The Bible Belt
Lord have mercy.
So yesterday, Mike and I are tooling around town hunting for garage sales. It's the season. And if anybody knows me, or has read even a few blog entries, you know I love garage sales. It's my major contribution toward being GREEN. I have no problem recycling somebody else's trash into my treasure.
Anyway ... we read on Craig's List there was supposed to be a community sale at the old Moose Lodge, which has since been turned into a church. You know, one of those recycled churches named House of Hallelujah, or Come Unto Me Church, or Shout and Sing To The Lord Church ... you know what I mean. One of those churches where you're not quite sure if the pastor has his divinity degree or whether you should demand to see it, like the Republicans did with Obama's birth certificate. "Well," I said. "Could be a good sale. Who knows? I've found a few treasures at church sales."
It wasn't long and I realized most of the money lenders, oh, excuse me --vendors--were church members who had set up their tables to not only sell their junk, but also to whip a little Jesus on unsuspecting folks. Patrons who stopped by only to find a set of used golf clubs, the perfect teacup to add to their collection, or an old bike to use for parts.
We walked past one vendor who had parked his shiny red pickup truck smack in the middle of the lot and set up two tables of pure clean-out-my-basement junk, complete with moldy rugs, faded pictures of kittens in gold frames, and dusty macrame plant hangers from 1982. But that wasn't the best part.
He had opened both doors of his pickup and turned up the volume on his CD player. I suppose he wanted us to know what a good Christian he was and that we all should dare to be as good. I spent the next ten minutes walking around listening to a church choir belt out the last few lines of the Lords Prayer--"For thine is the kingdom ... and the power ... and the gloooooorrrrrreeeee ... foreeeevvvver ...." full tilt.
Man - o - man. I felt like I was in the middle of a Saturday Night Live skit.
Here's the thing. Doesn't the Bible tell us to just let our light shine? I'm not sure that means to build a bon-fire in the middle of community yard sale. Somehow, the red pickup just cheapened it. It did nothing but drive a few folks away. I think it's one thing to be proud of your faith, it's another to shove it down an unsuspecting person's throat.
It's no wonder the Bible Belt gets a bad rap.
Blessings to you and yours this Mother's Day.
So yesterday, Mike and I are tooling around town hunting for garage sales. It's the season. And if anybody knows me, or has read even a few blog entries, you know I love garage sales. It's my major contribution toward being GREEN. I have no problem recycling somebody else's trash into my treasure.
Anyway ... we read on Craig's List there was supposed to be a community sale at the old Moose Lodge, which has since been turned into a church. You know, one of those recycled churches named House of Hallelujah, or Come Unto Me Church, or Shout and Sing To The Lord Church ... you know what I mean. One of those churches where you're not quite sure if the pastor has his divinity degree or whether you should demand to see it, like the Republicans did with Obama's birth certificate. "Well," I said. "Could be a good sale. Who knows? I've found a few treasures at church sales."
It wasn't long and I realized most of the money lenders, oh, excuse me --vendors--were church members who had set up their tables to not only sell their junk, but also to whip a little Jesus on unsuspecting folks. Patrons who stopped by only to find a set of used golf clubs, the perfect teacup to add to their collection, or an old bike to use for parts.
We walked past one vendor who had parked his shiny red pickup truck smack in the middle of the lot and set up two tables of pure clean-out-my-basement junk, complete with moldy rugs, faded pictures of kittens in gold frames, and dusty macrame plant hangers from 1982. But that wasn't the best part.
He had opened both doors of his pickup and turned up the volume on his CD player. I suppose he wanted us to know what a good Christian he was and that we all should dare to be as good. I spent the next ten minutes walking around listening to a church choir belt out the last few lines of the Lords Prayer--"For thine is the kingdom ... and the power ... and the gloooooorrrrrreeeee ... foreeeevvvver ...." full tilt.
Man - o - man. I felt like I was in the middle of a Saturday Night Live skit.
Here's the thing. Doesn't the Bible tell us to just let our light shine? I'm not sure that means to build a bon-fire in the middle of community yard sale. Somehow, the red pickup just cheapened it. It did nothing but drive a few folks away. I think it's one thing to be proud of your faith, it's another to shove it down an unsuspecting person's throat.
It's no wonder the Bible Belt gets a bad rap.
Blessings to you and yours this Mother's Day.
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
Milk Toast Blogging
I struggle between two kinds of blogging. Milk toast blogging and Let-it-all-out blogging. I don't want to be labeled as a bitch. Or a nag. Or somebody who stands on a soapbox and wails on and on. But I also don't want to be a bore. Or a wimp. Or somebody who only talks about rainbows and lollipops and never the seedy side of life.
Who wants to read a milk toast blog every day? Not me.
So it has become a struggle, often a tough one, as to what to blog about. Do I tell my readers all is good in my writing world, when really I'm dieing inside? Do I let it all out, tell the truth about how I really feel and run the chance of somebody thinking I'm hard to work with?
How does a writer juggle it all? How does anyone? Is the internet the place to let it all out? What kind of an example do I want to set, after all?
I'm not sure how I want to proceed with this blog, because I'm anything but milk toast. And yet, I don't want to give folks the wrong idea. Do I care? Is a blog or Facebook or any other type of social media the place to vent without being prepared to accept the consequences?
Lots of questions are ringing inside my head. And until this writer finds the courage to say what I'm really feeling this morning, I'm going to go eat my breakfast of milk and toast.
Blessings to you and yours.
Who wants to read a milk toast blog every day? Not me.
So it has become a struggle, often a tough one, as to what to blog about. Do I tell my readers all is good in my writing world, when really I'm dieing inside? Do I let it all out, tell the truth about how I really feel and run the chance of somebody thinking I'm hard to work with?
How does a writer juggle it all? How does anyone? Is the internet the place to let it all out? What kind of an example do I want to set, after all?
I'm not sure how I want to proceed with this blog, because I'm anything but milk toast. And yet, I don't want to give folks the wrong idea. Do I care? Is a blog or Facebook or any other type of social media the place to vent without being prepared to accept the consequences?
Lots of questions are ringing inside my head. And until this writer finds the courage to say what I'm really feeling this morning, I'm going to go eat my breakfast of milk and toast.
Blessings to you and yours.
Thursday, April 07, 2011
The Green Thing
My sister, Kathy, sent me this. The author is unknown. But it's a great read, especially for anyone under the age of 30.
Enjoy!
A store cashier told an older woman that plastic bags weren't good for the environment. The woman apologized to her and explained, "We didn't have the green thing back in my day."
That's right, they didn't have the green thing in her day. Back then, they returned their milk bottles, Coke bottles, and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, using the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled. But they didn't have the green thing back in her day.
In her day, they walked up stairs, because they didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. They walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time they had to go two blocks. But she's right. They didn't have the green thing in her day.
Back then, they washed the baby's diapers because they didn't have the throw-away kind. They dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts - wind and solar power really did dry the clothes. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not brand-new clothing. But that old lady is right, they didn't have the green thing back in her day.
Back then, they had one TV, or radio, in the house - not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a pizza dish, not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, they blended and stirred by hand because they didn't have electric machines to do everything for you. When they packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, they used wadded up newspaper to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.
Back then, they didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. They used a push mower that ran on human power. They exercised by working so they didn't need to go to a health club torun on treadmills that operate on electricity. But she's right, they didn't have the green thing back then.
They drank from a fountain when they were thirsty, instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time they had a drink of water. They refilled pens with ink, instead of buying a new pen, and they replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull. But they didn't have the green thing back then.
Back then, people took the streetcar and kids rode their bikes to school or rode the school bus, instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. They had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And they didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.
But that old lady is right. They didn't have the green thing back in her day.
Blessings to you and yours.
Enjoy!
A store cashier told an older woman that plastic bags weren't good for the environment. The woman apologized to her and explained, "We didn't have the green thing back in my day."
That's right, they didn't have the green thing in her day. Back then, they returned their milk bottles, Coke bottles, and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, using the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled. But they didn't have the green thing back in her day.
In her day, they walked up stairs, because they didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. They walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time they had to go two blocks. But she's right. They didn't have the green thing in her day.
Back then, they washed the baby's diapers because they didn't have the throw-away kind. They dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts - wind and solar power really did dry the clothes. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not brand-new clothing. But that old lady is right, they didn't have the green thing back in her day.
Back then, they had one TV, or radio, in the house - not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a pizza dish, not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, they blended and stirred by hand because they didn't have electric machines to do everything for you. When they packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, they used wadded up newspaper to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.
Back then, they didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. They used a push mower that ran on human power. They exercised by working so they didn't need to go to a health club torun on treadmills that operate on electricity. But she's right, they didn't have the green thing back then.
They drank from a fountain when they were thirsty, instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time they had a drink of water. They refilled pens with ink, instead of buying a new pen, and they replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull. But they didn't have the green thing back then.
Back then, people took the streetcar and kids rode their bikes to school or rode the school bus, instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. They had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And they didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.
But that old lady is right. They didn't have the green thing back in her day.
Blessings to you and yours.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
The Writing Talent
I got to thinking this morning, sometimes we writers need to take a good long look at ourselves. Pretend we're onions and peel back the layers. Will today's writers be looked upon the same we look back at writers of the past? With respect and awe? Will the age of technology hinder that somewhat?
Nobody knows. So I think it's important we understand the kind of writer we are. What is our writing talent, exactly.
Every writer is different. No two are the same. Nor should they be. I can't imagine writing like Barbara Kingsolver or Joyce Carol Oates. I read their books and wish I had a brain like that. To have those kinds of words flow off the ends of my fingers would be like an anointed gift. A divine touch from above. Hemingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald, the way they used their words, few writers today can even be compared to them. Pat Conroy just blows me away. His novel, Beach Music, breaks all the rules. I lived in the pages of it for weeks.
Though I've been writing all my life, and have received wonderful reviews, I'm humbled as I read the classics. I may not ever be as prolific, as artistic, as wealthy and well-known.
But I can tell a hell of a story.
I don't think that will ever go out of style.
Blessings to you and yours.
Nobody knows. So I think it's important we understand the kind of writer we are. What is our writing talent, exactly.
Every writer is different. No two are the same. Nor should they be. I can't imagine writing like Barbara Kingsolver or Joyce Carol Oates. I read their books and wish I had a brain like that. To have those kinds of words flow off the ends of my fingers would be like an anointed gift. A divine touch from above. Hemingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald, the way they used their words, few writers today can even be compared to them. Pat Conroy just blows me away. His novel, Beach Music, breaks all the rules. I lived in the pages of it for weeks.
Though I've been writing all my life, and have received wonderful reviews, I'm humbled as I read the classics. I may not ever be as prolific, as artistic, as wealthy and well-known.
But I can tell a hell of a story.
I don't think that will ever go out of style.
Blessings to you and yours.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Shame On You, Pastor
My heart goes out to the people of Japan. I'm grateful there are so many who are willing to give time and money to assist these folks in their recovery efforts. If you can, please give to a reputable organization to help the relief over there. The Red Cross is accepting donations at their dot com web site, and I'm sure there are many other organizations being set up for this purpose. I doubt, however, the nation of Japan will ever be the same. The destruction was massive and I can't imagine the horror they're living through. My prayers are with the Japanese people.
But I heard something yesterday that although it didn't surprise me, it disgusted me. A well-loved pastor of a fundamental non-denominational church said, "They're finally getting a piece of what they deserve for the destruction they did at Pearl Harbor."
My first thought: Are you out of your mind?
My second thought: I thought we already won that war when we dropped "the bomb."
My third thought: That's like blaming American children born in the twenty-first century for slavery.
My final thought: Who died and made you God? It would certainly not surprise me that many of our conservative churches are parroting this same ignorant comment. I've sat in church services and have heard crap like this before.
I'm hoping for your sake, PASTOR, that God turned away for a second and didn't hear your comment. Shame on you.
I am a woman of faith. I believe in a compassionate and loving God. And although we do not understand why bad things happen to good people, I believe He aches for us all.
Blessings to you and yours, and the people of Japan this day.
But I heard something yesterday that although it didn't surprise me, it disgusted me. A well-loved pastor of a fundamental non-denominational church said, "They're finally getting a piece of what they deserve for the destruction they did at Pearl Harbor."
My first thought: Are you out of your mind?
My second thought: I thought we already won that war when we dropped "the bomb."
My third thought: That's like blaming American children born in the twenty-first century for slavery.
My final thought: Who died and made you God? It would certainly not surprise me that many of our conservative churches are parroting this same ignorant comment. I've sat in church services and have heard crap like this before.
I'm hoping for your sake, PASTOR, that God turned away for a second and didn't hear your comment. Shame on you.
I am a woman of faith. I believe in a compassionate and loving God. And although we do not understand why bad things happen to good people, I believe He aches for us all.
Blessings to you and yours, and the people of Japan this day.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Too Busy To Blog
It's the last day of February? Wow. How did we get here so quickly? Months fly by when I'm writing. So when it's a short month, like this one, I'm astounded when it's over and I've not blogged much.
I love to blog, but I don't do much blogging when my head is wrapped around a project, and lately, that's where it's been for months. And months. There's been some tremendous highs and lows in my career these past weeks rendering me insane! As time goes by, I'll fill you in.
But for now, please check back now and again. I'm in the process of getting a book published (hopefully) and I'm rewriting another book. (I've put my next manuscript on hold to go back to a "completed" book and tear through it. A story I love as much as The Sanctum.)
So. I seldom see the world outside of my office these days.
I'll blog more in March.
Blessings to you and yours.
I love to blog, but I don't do much blogging when my head is wrapped around a project, and lately, that's where it's been for months. And months. There's been some tremendous highs and lows in my career these past weeks rendering me insane! As time goes by, I'll fill you in.
But for now, please check back now and again. I'm in the process of getting a book published (hopefully) and I'm rewriting another book. (I've put my next manuscript on hold to go back to a "completed" book and tear through it. A story I love as much as The Sanctum.)
So. I seldom see the world outside of my office these days.
I'll blog more in March.
Blessings to you and yours.
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
Survival Mode
Well damn, folks. It's February. January, thank God, is over. It's the worst month of the year, the one month you want to come and go quickly. As much as I thought it would be the best month of my life, this year--it was just another January. I didn't blog much because as usual, I was busy, busy, busy. With writing and a few other things. Many of my readers are asking the same question right about now, "What's going on with the new book?" Here's my answer: It's now in the hands of my agent. All I have to do is sit on pins and needles for the next few days, weeks, months, or however long it takes.
In the meantime, I'm deep into plotting the next one. I'm digging in and staying focused. I'm surviving. Survival mode is painful. Two days ago I burnt the top of my finger on the fireplace grate. It's seeping and ugly and it hurts like the dickens. But I soldier on like most of us, trying to get through this awful winter. Survival mode is right where I am. Hanging on to every hope that somewhere in the dark I just might see my dreams come true.
Until then, I'll bury my head in the next book and nurse my burnt finger. The middle one, to be exact.
Blessings to you and yours.
In the meantime, I'm deep into plotting the next one. I'm digging in and staying focused. I'm surviving. Survival mode is painful. Two days ago I burnt the top of my finger on the fireplace grate. It's seeping and ugly and it hurts like the dickens. But I soldier on like most of us, trying to get through this awful winter. Survival mode is right where I am. Hanging on to every hope that somewhere in the dark I just might see my dreams come true.
Until then, I'll bury my head in the next book and nurse my burnt finger. The middle one, to be exact.
Blessings to you and yours.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Calling All Prayers
You ever prayed hard about something near and dear to your heart you feel like you might explode from the waiting?
Well, folks. That's how I feel. Right 'bout now. And I'm asking. Asking for your prayers.
Seems as though we're supposed to imagine it. Expect it. Believe and ye shall receive. I read in the newspaper about a woman who imagined herself right into the most wonderful blessing of her life. I'm wondering how much reality there is in that.
But prayers are what I need now. Your prayers. I'm not whining about it, nor seeking any self-serving pity, God no. It's just, well, when you've fought so hard for so long, found yourself running into one wall after another, and then like a miracle, the end result of your life's work is within arms reach -- it's nigh unto impossible to sit and wait yet again. But all it takes is one person. One person to read and believe.
There's more than just light at the end of the tunnel, folks. I've come out of the other side here, and the sky is achingly bright blue.
I do believe every once in a while a prayer slips in, a sweet sound that reaches the ear of God. It makes Him smile and say, "Why not? Let's make it happen. Let's see what she does with it."
So I would appreciate your prayers.
Blessings to you and yours.
Well, folks. That's how I feel. Right 'bout now. And I'm asking. Asking for your prayers.
Seems as though we're supposed to imagine it. Expect it. Believe and ye shall receive. I read in the newspaper about a woman who imagined herself right into the most wonderful blessing of her life. I'm wondering how much reality there is in that.
But prayers are what I need now. Your prayers. I'm not whining about it, nor seeking any self-serving pity, God no. It's just, well, when you've fought so hard for so long, found yourself running into one wall after another, and then like a miracle, the end result of your life's work is within arms reach -- it's nigh unto impossible to sit and wait yet again. But all it takes is one person. One person to read and believe.
There's more than just light at the end of the tunnel, folks. I've come out of the other side here, and the sky is achingly bright blue.
I do believe every once in a while a prayer slips in, a sweet sound that reaches the ear of God. It makes Him smile and say, "Why not? Let's make it happen. Let's see what she does with it."
So I would appreciate your prayers.
Blessings to you and yours.
Saturday, January 01, 2011
Happy New Year!
So much is happening, I haven't even had time to write a Merry Christmas blog. But then again, I didn't do a whole lot this holiday season other than work on edits for The Sanctum and prepare for the day my agent plans to submit to New York publishers, which is right around the corner. It was a working holiday. For sure.
A few inches of snow ended up in my front yard on Christmas evening but I didn't notice it. I don't think I left the house more than three or four times the whole of December. I spent no time this Christmas with family. They're all out of state and I was up to my eyeballs in work. I think I watched one Christmas movie, listened to a few carols, wrapped one or two gifts, and baked two pies. That was it. Whoopee.
The holiday of a writer under the gun.
I hate to admit this but I didn't even put up a tree this year. Just my manger scene, a gift from my best friend, Tina. That's it. That was the extent of our Charlie Brown Christmas. My husband and I agreed that since nobody was coming this year and both of us were working on deadlines, it just wasn't going to be our Currier & Ives Christmas. Not this year.
But I'm okay with it.
Some years are definitely better than others. Quite possibly, next year could be a banner year. Still, it just happened to turn out that Christmas fell in the midst of getting my novel seamless. And so -- you make the sacrifice.
I'm looking forward to the new year, and with any luck, it'll be a very happy one. I could use one for a change.
Many happy new year blessings to you and yours, as well.
A few inches of snow ended up in my front yard on Christmas evening but I didn't notice it. I don't think I left the house more than three or four times the whole of December. I spent no time this Christmas with family. They're all out of state and I was up to my eyeballs in work. I think I watched one Christmas movie, listened to a few carols, wrapped one or two gifts, and baked two pies. That was it. Whoopee.
The holiday of a writer under the gun.
I hate to admit this but I didn't even put up a tree this year. Just my manger scene, a gift from my best friend, Tina. That's it. That was the extent of our Charlie Brown Christmas. My husband and I agreed that since nobody was coming this year and both of us were working on deadlines, it just wasn't going to be our Currier & Ives Christmas. Not this year.
But I'm okay with it.
Some years are definitely better than others. Quite possibly, next year could be a banner year. Still, it just happened to turn out that Christmas fell in the midst of getting my novel seamless. And so -- you make the sacrifice.
I'm looking forward to the new year, and with any luck, it'll be a very happy one. I could use one for a change.
Many happy new year blessings to you and yours, as well.
Monday, December 13, 2010
I HAVE AN AGENT!
I've signed a contract with a New York agent. A writer hopes, but this was a blessing beyond.
My new agent represents many well-knowns in Southern literature. Before he ever called me he had read the manuscript three times.
The response to my novel, The Sanctum, was nothing short of, hmmm ... is this supposed to happen to me? I shall ever remain humble here in North Carolina. I know from whence I came, and I understand there are no guarantees, even with an agent. But my God, I've got an agent! I'm still in shock.
So forgive me while I bury my head, once again, in my work, getting the manuscript seamless before my agent presents it to the publishing houses.
I guess it still feels surreal, like I don't want to jinx myself. You know? Anyway, I'll keep you posted. It's been a long, tough, road. And that's an understatement. Right now ... I'm still pinching myself. Well, darn. Merry Christmas to ME!
Blessings to you and yours this Christmas season.
Friday, December 03, 2010
Stay Tuned
It's December. A very exciting time for me. Yes, indeedy.
Thanksgiving was nothing short of wonderful with the family, but I'm already looking forward to the new year.
Unfortunately, I'm too busy (at the moment) to blog. So please forgive me. Just know, I have some thrilling news. You want to guess?
Yes! You are correct! It involves my novel, The Sanctum.
Stay tuned. I'll fill you in soon!
Many, many blessings to you and yours.
Thanksgiving was nothing short of wonderful with the family, but I'm already looking forward to the new year.
Unfortunately, I'm too busy (at the moment) to blog. So please forgive me. Just know, I have some thrilling news. You want to guess?
Yes! You are correct! It involves my novel, The Sanctum.
Stay tuned. I'll fill you in soon!
Many, many blessings to you and yours.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
The Thrill Of The Book
Book Clubs in Atlanta are alive and well!
I spoke to a group of lovely ladies Friday night in Suwanee, Georgia. Just outside of Atlanta, these women are serious about their books, let me tell you.
Great food, wine, and laughter filled the room of comfy sofas, chairs, and tables of four where the ladies sat, ate, laughed, and shared their reviews of books. I was in heaven. After I spoke, the questions were thoughtful and right to the point, like ... "which character in your stories do you most resemble?" and "how long did it take you to write each story?"
They shared with me their ideas of what makes a good book, why they put books down after the first few pages, and which books they've read recently they can't get out of their heads. For me, as a writer, it not only captured my attention, I took out my paper and pen and made a few notes. It's my opinion that if you want to hear your reader's voice, you need to get out there and find the book clubs. If women are your target market, you need to plant yourself in the midst of a room full of bookies, and I don't mean the betting kind. I mean the kind that keeps their noses between the pages of a good book. That's where you need to be.
My mother and my sister were there to hear me speak for the first time, which was fun. Since they live in the area, it was great to have them with me. Mom just couldn't get over how many women actually lined up afterward to buy my book. I guess it's not just "that writing thing" I do anymore, is it mom? It thrilled her to see me in action, and I think, after all these years, she's beginning to understand why I do what I do.
Southern Fried Women was published in 2006, and I'm still selling it. I sold 33 copies Friday night, as well as touted my new novel, The Sanctum. The buzz has started and I'm looking forward to returning to this same group of women when The Sanctum is published.
It's going to be an exciting winter for me and Michael. There is something new to tell you on the horizon. I'll keep you posted!
HAVE A WONDERFUL THANKSGIVING EVERYBODY!
Blessings to you and yours.
I spoke to a group of lovely ladies Friday night in Suwanee, Georgia. Just outside of Atlanta, these women are serious about their books, let me tell you.
Great food, wine, and laughter filled the room of comfy sofas, chairs, and tables of four where the ladies sat, ate, laughed, and shared their reviews of books. I was in heaven. After I spoke, the questions were thoughtful and right to the point, like ... "which character in your stories do you most resemble?" and "how long did it take you to write each story?"
They shared with me their ideas of what makes a good book, why they put books down after the first few pages, and which books they've read recently they can't get out of their heads. For me, as a writer, it not only captured my attention, I took out my paper and pen and made a few notes. It's my opinion that if you want to hear your reader's voice, you need to get out there and find the book clubs. If women are your target market, you need to plant yourself in the midst of a room full of bookies, and I don't mean the betting kind. I mean the kind that keeps their noses between the pages of a good book. That's where you need to be.
My mother and my sister were there to hear me speak for the first time, which was fun. Since they live in the area, it was great to have them with me. Mom just couldn't get over how many women actually lined up afterward to buy my book. I guess it's not just "that writing thing" I do anymore, is it mom? It thrilled her to see me in action, and I think, after all these years, she's beginning to understand why I do what I do.
Southern Fried Women was published in 2006, and I'm still selling it. I sold 33 copies Friday night, as well as touted my new novel, The Sanctum. The buzz has started and I'm looking forward to returning to this same group of women when The Sanctum is published.
It's going to be an exciting winter for me and Michael. There is something new to tell you on the horizon. I'll keep you posted!
HAVE A WONDERFUL THANKSGIVING EVERYBODY!
Blessings to you and yours.
Friday, November 05, 2010
Book Club Excitement
There are two major book clubs in Suwanee, Georgia who have united forces and invited me to speak this month. I'm ready to head to the Atlanta suburb where I understand the wine will be flowing. You can't imagine the fun I have, speaking to a rowdy group of baby boomer women who love to read. They've booked the clubhouse, hired a cop, and bought their wine. Now all I have to do is show up, and we've got a party.
I'm grateful for opportunities like this to sell a plethora of Southern Fried Women. It's not unusual to sell 50, or even 100 books on a night like this. Especially before Christmas. Word of mouth is an author's best friend. That is what has sold this book more than anything else. The publishing industry is frustrating at best for most writers, and when you're published by a small press, there is no budget for promoting books. To say it's a challenge is putting it mildly. But I'm proud of the work Michael and I have done to sell thousands of copies of this book. And I'm more than appreciative of my readers. So when I'm asked to show up, sign books, and hang out with a book club, my answer is always a resounding, you bet'cha!
November is filled with Thanksgiving. It comes in different forms for me. As a writer, there's nothing better than to gather with your readers, tip a glass, and talk turkey. It's why we exist.
Blessings to you and yours.
I'm grateful for opportunities like this to sell a plethora of Southern Fried Women. It's not unusual to sell 50, or even 100 books on a night like this. Especially before Christmas. Word of mouth is an author's best friend. That is what has sold this book more than anything else. The publishing industry is frustrating at best for most writers, and when you're published by a small press, there is no budget for promoting books. To say it's a challenge is putting it mildly. But I'm proud of the work Michael and I have done to sell thousands of copies of this book. And I'm more than appreciative of my readers. So when I'm asked to show up, sign books, and hang out with a book club, my answer is always a resounding, you bet'cha!
November is filled with Thanksgiving. It comes in different forms for me. As a writer, there's nothing better than to gather with your readers, tip a glass, and talk turkey. It's why we exist.
Blessings to you and yours.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Staring Me In The Face
Winter is staring us in the face, folks. We've had our first frost here in North Carolina. Strange, how I'm looking forward to it. As much as I used to hate winter, I find myself looking forward to it every year now. Maybe that's because I no longer have to drive in it much. That's the worst part about winter for many of us. Uncovering your car under feet of snow, driving to work in the cold and slush, and then avoiding the crazies on the road who think they're invincible.
But from where I sit, in my cozy little house, I can enjoy the elements without leaving the warmth of my slippers and robe. Well, hey, we have to find a silver lining in this season somewhere.
I'm excited at the possibilities of publishing again. It's staring me in the face, as well. I'm ready for it. In fact, I'm anxious for a bit of great news ... that I just know is right around the corner.
So stay tuned, keep warm, and I'll be back with the details. Later.
Blessings to you and yours.
But from where I sit, in my cozy little house, I can enjoy the elements without leaving the warmth of my slippers and robe. Well, hey, we have to find a silver lining in this season somewhere.
I'm excited at the possibilities of publishing again. It's staring me in the face, as well. I'm ready for it. In fact, I'm anxious for a bit of great news ... that I just know is right around the corner.
So stay tuned, keep warm, and I'll be back with the details. Later.
Blessings to you and yours.
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