Murphy's Law

Hugs and Saguaros

2012-02-20T07:11:00.000-08:00

So this is my little story:
We went out to the Saguaro National Park (about fifteen miles down the road) on Saturday to count cacti for an Eagle project. I was grousing around for much of the morning trip because I had to drive out there, and, because we have a huge van, haul fifteen people down the windy road to the census site, drop them off, and then complete the windy eight mile loop (at fifteen miles per hour dodging hikers and bikers) back out to take my daughter to Tucson Jr. Strings practice.

We'd already dropped one daughter off at Orchestra Regionals and I would have to go back to the house and fetch her forgotten performance clothes, take them to her, and pick the youngest daughter back up from TJS and take her back out to the site to do the census.

In other words, it was a REALLY busy day with a bunch of logistical problems. I was exhausted from lack of sleep, hadn't had breakfast, and having to go fifteen miles an hour when we were late just tore at my speed-loving psyche. I must say I whined like a two-year-old. (And did those curves at 40 mph--it was lucky I never hit anyone.)

On the way to the census site I found out I'd left my sunglasses home; it was glaringly bright out there and I really needed them. So the idea was to get my sunglasses, the clothes, and some extra water when I went home.

Well...I couldn't find my sunglasses anywhere. They were brand new and I really needed them, so I started praying, all the while knowing that it was a stupid thing to be obsessing over. Because faith without works is dead I started putting various family members' things away which they'd left in the living room and checking under them. A little voice kept saying, "Well put that away. How about that pile of stuff? And that?" After a while I'd done service for everyone in the family.

No sunglasses.

The thought (mine, I'm sure) occurred to me that I should stop bugging God, especially when I still had my old, scratched pair to use. Finally I'd cleaned up the whole living room; I decided that I'd just have to use the others. No catastrophe. I should just stop whining and take off.

I was going out the door when I noticed one of my decorative magnetic hearts on the floor next to the door. They almost never fall off the metal coat closet. I was in a hurry so I wasn't going to pick it up, but at the last minute I changed my mind and bent to retrieve the heart.

There, caught behind the couch and right next to that heart, were my sunglasses!

I just started to laugh and cry all at once. And I felt ashamed that I'd spent so much of that glorious morning grousing about minor annoyances.

This was a really little thing. But the significance of that heart on the floor next to the glasses I'd been praying about, let me know that my Father in Heaven had just given me a hug to let me know that even the little things matter to Him.

Poking the Tiger

2012-02-10T14:42:00.000-08:00

Well. I've done something truly asinine. My mail system indicated that it was in need of updating. So blithely I hopped on the bandwagon without backing up my W.I.P.s on a thumb drive. STUPID! It's a wonder I can walk and breathe at the same time. Thinking is apparently on the level of blue mold.

But the failure to back up wasn't the only idiocy. If it had been, I'd be happily slaving away so as to be ready to pitch the thing at our ANWA (American Night Writers Association) conference on the 23rd. ACK! I was in a race as it was.

My Knight-in-shining-armor (better known as the Hubs) rode to my aid and instituted not one but two overhauls. The first one worked with only a few minor calamities. But the second has been the Perfect Storm.

And it's all my fault (or so the said K.I.S.A. says).

The downloads were going long (as in past the 1am bedtime) so the hubs went to bed and left the little critter working away like a beaver. That might have been alright if it weren't for the morning visit of Queen of the Dolts. I found that the monitor was black. So instead of listening to that little voice which said, "DON'T touch anything on pain of (my) death," I picked up the stick and poked the sleeping tiger right in the eyeball.

I have no idea what possessed me to do that. Heaven knows I've seen Time Bandits. We even have a family catch-phrase from that movie that we say all the time: "Don't touch it! It's EVIL!" But I did. Big time. I wiggled the mouse, hit F1, then since the monitor was still not responding, I hit control-alt-delete. You ask what the heck happened to my mental acuity? No clue. I must have hit control-alt-delete on that too. Then I felt so incredibly stupid that I didn't tell said Knight-in-shining-armor right up front what I did to my poor baby.

So the upshot of the matter is that I have jacked up my computer and caused my K.I.S.A. a whole lot of aggravation. My computer is still not back to full health (it thinks it has no hard drive or something) and I am worried that I won't be able to retrieve the whole last part of my three W.I.P.s. (That would, of course, be so cataclysmic that I'd have to bury myself in bed and bawl for a few weeks.) I am, however, concentrating on praying for my poor computer-without-a-brain and being positive that it will emerge from the ashes of my idiocy with a whole new outlook on life.

So I've learned three lessons here:

1. Back it up, you idiot!!!

2. Don't poke the tiger!!!

3. Pray like it's all your fault but you know Heavenly Father can fix it--since he knows it ALL.

Here's KNOWING the Hubs will win the day and bring my baby back to life.

Addendum: My K.I.S.A. RULES! Not only is my baby back up and running, but it's wearing a whole new set of clothes. I'm learning my way around and about the second minute I was on, I backed up all my books. I am over the moon grateful for my husband's unstinting dedication and willingness to be lead by the Spirit.

I think I broke God's ear battering it with my frequent prayers. It worked!

On Wolves and Fish

2012-02-06T09:13:00.000-08:00

I wrote this post last night and, after publishing it, hit the wrong X and the post was GONE. I was just sick about it, since it was really good. So here is what I've been able to dredge from the dust-bunny-riddled recesses of my mind:

I have finally done it! I made Small Deceptions an e-book! It's OUT! I'm so excited about the prospect of tossing my book out into the ether river and watching the nickels and dimes float in--kind of like being licked to death by a chihuahua.

There's something so poignant about watching your children leave the sanctuary of your heart to go out and seek their fortunes. Now there are other works, still unclothed and shivering, waiting for their snow boots and fluffy coat before I push them out into the storm to be pelted by ice balls. At least I know that I can do it, now. Don't forget your mittens, my babies! (I know I'm mixing metaphors but I like the visual.)

I send them out over the ether with a little trepidation. For one thing, everyone and their dog got a Kindle or Nook or I-pad for Christmas. The "Going thing" is the e-book. I'm not sure if it's because of all the times I read and watched Fahrenheit 451 or my own latent paranoia, but I worry about putting all our fish in one basket. For this reason I have more books than clothes in my house. I can't imagine not getting a new stack of books for every holiday. I'd rather buy books than chocolate.

However, I, as have many authors, have jumped blithely into the river. New manuscripts are jamming the airwaves like salmon swimming upriver to spawn. For merely a gallon of sweat and a few (sometimes) tortured hours at the computer, we can crank out about anything. And like what happens to salmon at the end of the river, some books end as a shredded hash. Many of the books I've read on my own new Christmas Kindle are exquisite, but some have come to a bad end. Those have raggedy andy kerning, grammar and spelling mistakes, and a host of other errors.

Photograph by Ian McAllister/Getty Images

Another reason this whole e-book thing bothers me is that they are pulling so many customers out of the river that bookstores are dying. Take, for example, one of my favorite stores, Barnes and Noble. It's a giant chain store and it's closing stores at an alarming rate! B&N! I always thought that it was sad Borders went down, but I always had my favorite back-ups.

Now I'm not so sure. Another favorite, Latterday Books, is struggling. It's not just an over-extension thing which is happening to the big stores. It's happening across the board. Books are disappearing off of their shelves, not because they're not being stocked, but because they don't have the money to buy new product. People are at home thumbing through their device of choice, not spending delicious hours grazing.

While I like the idea of shopping from the comfort of my own home sometimes, there is something to be said for walking into the store and taking a deep breath--pulling the scent of new books inside yourself. There's something for losing yourself in the luscious stacks of books; for being able to look over at the oddball next to you in the slouchy pants, stocking cap, and muffler and seeing what he's reading. I like to be able to grin at the person next to me and say, "I know this author! She (or he) is a fantastic person!" I enjoy going and sitting cross-legged in the children's section and remembering what Terabithia looked like in my head. I love being able to tell the grinning salesperson that I loved their store or a particular book and have them give me that knowing look which says they understand my love of print on paper.

You can't get those experiences on-line. There's a great little fast click and you're done. No contact, eye or otherwise--just an invisible fairy delivering your print to your device.

The most worrisome part is this: all of these books swimming upstream have attracted wolves--wolves who want to control what the public may read. These wolves have already tried several times to control what we post or read on the Internet under the guise of pirating abatement. There was a huge outcry and the wolves have backed away for a bit--at least on the surface. They'll get their measures passed somehow, as their main goal is power. Knowledge is power and they want to control it.

So when the bookstores and print publishing houses go down, we will be at the mercy of those wolves. I know this sounds far-fetched, but it can easily happen. The means are in place as we speak. There are countries all over the world who know about this problem first hand. I've been to or lived in many of them. I'll tell you right now that the wolves are very real and very vicious.

We can't let the siren call of the Internet bleed away our possibilities. We can't let our bookstores and publishing houses go down from neglect. Hold back the wolves and let the books come home and go out. Let my babies fly freely out into the arms of people who will love them.

Swim, my pretties!

Name Schmame

2012-01-27T21:37:00.000-08:00

Well. I finished Dark Moon Rising. I was all happy about it and told my husband. I was thinking of changing one of the other titles of the Watchers series (of which Dark Moon Rising is the 4th and probably last book) back to its original when my hubs began tossing titles off the top of the Titanic-sized load of silliness which occupies the largest room in his man head.

This is a guy who would sink to calling one of our children Mailbox or Rameumptum if he could. Really. Those were actual possibilities (in his brain) when we were naming our daughter. Suffice it to say that I rarely take him seriously when he's in a mood like that.

So he's popping out dorky names like a queen ant laying eggs, when he flings out the title, Psyquake. That one threw me. Where in the seven dungeons of Cthulhu did that come from? That was a killer title! Not only that, but it was the best title for the last book!

The funny thing was that Lon was completely amazed when I said it ROCKED. The look on his face when I asked him if I could use it was priceless. "What does that even mean?" he asked. I just smiled. If you read the book, you'll know why that name fits so well.

So then I had some real thinking to do. Would it work to juggle names since I still had to use Dark Moon Rising? And I found I could do it.

So there you have it. Psyquake is ready for the diamond-grit polisher. Or maybe it'll be more like a rock polisher. I'm just hoping whole books don't get knocked off of the rock that is the Watchers chunk.

I think this could be something--maybe even a movie. The problem is that it would probably be an R-rated movie since it's basically a revolution. There are definitely casualties. My mom was scandalized just by the description (by me!) and she asked me, "Where did I get such a blood-thirsty daughter?"

Where indeed? This juggernaut came up through layers and layers of life lessons and predictions and fears and the visceral knowledge that the world is changing for the worse, and I can't think of much of a way to do anything about it. This is my scream in the dark as the lights grow dim.

So, yes, this series is my red flag waving--dark and blood-splashed--but in the end, hopeful.
WHAT IF...?

Momming

2012-01-18T10:35:00.000-08:00

One time I was in line at the library with a friend. Two of my six were running around like Huns screaming and trying to denude the place of intact books. Nothing I tried seemed to be working. I tried the asking nicely thing. I tried the icy glare which used to send me bawling to my room. I even tried the We're-in-church-be-quiet-or-else hiss to no avail. I'd have left the whole library without books next. I looked at my friend and said jokingly (and it was obvious to my friend at least), "Sometimes you just want to whack them in the head with a hammer."

The lady behind me was atrociously scandalized. "That's child abuse!" she bellowed. I told her that I was kidding and that no child had heard me say it (accept apparently her), but she wouldn't leave it alone. She was still hacking on me like a lumberjack chopping down a tree when I finished checking out and left. What a sanctimonious cow!

I swore to myself that I would NEVER be that cow. I'd remember the times when my children were setting every dancing hamster in the store singing "You aint nothing but a hound dog" or dumping the shopping cart over trying to reach the nerf guns, and not go up to the struggling mom who has just popped her last nerve and make her feel like a loser.

Clearly if I were the kind of monster who would actually whack my child with a hammer, (which I am definitely not) I wouldn't announce it to the world. (But then, if I were someone who did whack, I guess I'd be stupid enough to announce actual intentions--which I'm not.)

I actually want my children to get smarter. Yeah. And have better manners. There shall be no more whining or secretly stuffing things into the cart at the store. There will be no arguments about who gets to push the cart. There will be no more romps through the cloth section or hiding inside the displays. There will be no more 59 journeys to the bathroom.

But sometimes that comes with time. There will come a time when I can take them out in polite company without feeling like a complete idiot. Unfortunately that usually happens about the time they leave home.

So when I see that frazzled mom having the 'Calgon' moment, I'm going to be the one who makes her day a little easier. I'm going to make her screaming baby smile. It's the least I can do to pay it forward and make the world a better place.

Mormon Mommy Writers

2012-01-05T07:18:00.000-08:00

Mormon Mommy Writers are sponsoring a hop. Today the books of Jenni James (Pride and Popularity), H.B. Moore (Ammon), and an ebook anthology (Totally Cliche) are being featured. These books look quite succulent. I love all things Austen anyway, so the little tidbit was enough to get me salivating. And Ammon looks delicious as well! I'll have to read these and finish up my review later...;o)

Chirping and Clucking

2012-01-03T10:57:00.000-08:00

So I did something intrepid (one of my favorite words, by the way) today as a mark of how I wish to proceed with the gift of a new year. I joined Twitter.

"Why?" you might ask.

Welp...I'll tell you. I'm a writer. I want my books to fly off the shelves and into your arms. I want to tell my stories to people who will love them. So if writing little blurbs every now and then alerts people to the fact that I'm around, GREAT!

So now I'm going to find other ways to be intrepid...like getting my books polished and put out there in the query hailstorm; putting Small Deceptions and then Summerhouse on ebook; running daily; finding a person a day to help; finding new ways to be an imaginative cook. And I WILL conquer the dust bunny civilizations which are infesting my house!
But first, the writing. Dark Moon Rising is calling insistently! Larkin pleads for help as she descends down through the levels beneath the dome. Her life has never been so forfeit as it is now, and I have let her hang much too long during the Christmas holidays!

Debutant Ball!

2011-12-09T12:43:00.000-08:00

Small Deceptions is going to a débutante ball!

Francesca Kennington loves to study. Her mother has other ideas--mostly involving Francesca and a speedy marriage to a very rich, titled man.
Then Francesca meets someone who shares many of the same values she shares. He just isn't rich enough for her mother. That's when the deceptions start to fly. Francesca and her sweetheart must find a way to marry for love instead of money and still keep peace with Lady Kennington.

"I have to tell you how much I enjoyed Small Deceptions. I hunkered down with it for two days and devoured it. I would like a Daniel Stirling, please?" Jeri Crews

@~-->--->------------

Pick up your luscious copy of H. Linn Murphy's Small Deceptions and read sample chapters here. For a signed copy, go the sidebar and click on the cart button.

And now for the contest:
Look for my questions and hints to start on the 23rd of December. Buying my book gets you 25 points. The clue winner each day gets 10 points. Doing a review of my book on Amazon or Goodreads gets you 20 points. Following this blog gets you a point. Every shout-out you send out on Facebook and/or Twitter gets 1 point per shout-out per day. The more posts, the more points you win. Please let me know what you've done or provide clue answers in comments to this post. The contest ends on December 30 and prizes are awarded on January 2.

The candles of the chandeliers flutter in the ballroom with the swish of passing silks and satins. The room is ablaze with light, reflected in the faces of the laughing dancers. Music weaves its magical tapestry and sets our toes in motion. We are caught in its threads, gliding to and fro in complex sets. The crush of the crowd makes me glad we have not yet set the yule log a-light. How handsome my partner is in his coat and tails! He guides us flawlessly around the dance floor, his hand firm upon my back. He glances down at me and his face lights with a smile. A frisson of goosebumps goes down my back. There is something strange in his eyes. What is it?

The first clue question for my little contest is this: How did my mission to Mars end? Hint: The title of the post contains the word Red. Have fun!
Second question: Which of Hunter's teachers do I wish I had met? Hint: The title of the post contains a flower.

Third question: How did I end up behind enemy lines? Hint: April post

Fourth question: What is my favorite flower? Hint: Another July post about a trip holds this answer.

Fifth question: How much did we spend on buying our van?

Sixth question: Which country do the characters of Summerhouse visit on their vacation?

Want to win more book fun? Please follow the author names and December dates below! Good luck and don't forget to have FUN!

12 Elizabeth Mueller elizabethmueller.blogspot.com
Darkspell looks fantastic. It's going on top of my MUST-READ pile. And my teenagers will probably swipe it as well. I enjoyed my waltz at Elizabeth's, though the crowd was stupendous!

13 Regan Guerra reganguerra.blogspot.com
Regan's world-building was astounding with a whole well-thought out language to boot! What an intriguing book.
I quite enjoyed the Spanish Waltz at Regan's--especially since my partner is dashing in black tails!

14 Melissa Pearl melissapearl.blogspot.com

This set of books is going to be a fun romp! I can just see Gemma and Harrison playing hide 'n' seek through time.

I'm doing the swing at Melissa's lovely ball! I love this dance--especially with a partner who knows what he's doing.

December 15 Claudia Lefeve http://www.claudialefeve.com

I'm greatly looking forward to reading Claudia's Parallel! Go get it for sure!

Ah such wonderful dancing! The lights at Claudia's are truly magical!

16 Joseph Beekman josephsstoriesandtales.blogspot.com

Such deliciously interesting premises! I think I'd be the spider.

The ball at Beekman Hall is a mad crush. I shall soon be in need of a glass of punch! Until then, it's a beautiful waltz with a handsome partner.

17 Pendragon Innmen PendragonWrites.comPendragon's book Fire Gate is captivating and a must-read! I can't wait to put my hands on it and cuddle up next to my video fire with a cup of cocoa.

Pendragon's ball was the smash of the season! The music caught us into a cloud of dizzying laughter and stole our breaths away.

19 Alex J. Cavanaugh alexjcavanaugh.blogspot.com
Ah Alex! I love a good SF read! And Serenity tops the list of SF movies. I'm a brown coat to the hilt. I can't wait to read your Cassa series! I'm always trawling for great SF! I'm 4 books into my own SF series (Watchers) but haven't finished polishing them enough for my satisfaction. Glad to meet you!
I greatly enjoyed my dance with this evening's gracious host! He leads with a firm but delicate hand.

20 Gillian Schafer gillianjoy-livingtowrite.blogspot.com

I can't wait to read Guardian! I want to find out why Hannah is the Guardian and what she's guarding against and if she finally gets the guy (at least one). I'm hooked! Go check it out!

I do so love a delightful gallop about the dance floor! Gillian's hall was a fairyland of light and color. I could have danced all night! 21 FiaunaLund formyfour.blogspot.com
Fiauna's mind-reading fairies are catching my fancy! Now I want my own set of wings (though not the little ones I'm trying to give Aislinn). I can't wait to read this book and find out what happens to Avril and Vestyn. Join me in the fairy ring, won't you?Fiauna's ball is held in a folly by a lake. The water reflects the light and fractures it into a million facets. The music sets our toes (and wings) fluttering.
22 Anastasia V. Pergakis labotomyofawriter.com

Anastasia's elves are ever so intriguing! I can't wait to read about them! And fighting elves, no less! I used to beg my mother constantly to tell me fairy stories. She never mentioned the fighting fey, though. This is a twist I liked in Tolkein as well (thanks Legolas!) Check out this book!
Anastasia's ball was held outside on a dance floor in the forest. The light glitters in the trees and is enfolds the dancers in its glow. The music drifts through the forest and draws the fey folk in to dance with us!

26 Tanya Contois
http://speedyreader-allthingsbooks.blogspot.com/
Now I'm dying to know what a Cambion is. And whether Jocelyn will prevail over Garden (cool name!) and Sin (Another cool name. Do they say Sin or Shin?)
The ball at Tanya's was ethereal and otherworldly. The air was so full of orange blossom that it felt almost as if we were swimming through scent. Heady and utterly exciting!

27 Patti Larsen
pattilarsen.blogspot.com

Patti's Family Magic looks intriguing! I'm wondering about whether Sydlynn will follow in the family footsteps or make her own way.
This ball was all black tails and white organza. One red rose provided the only splash of color. How elegant!

28 Red Tash
RedTash.com

Red's This Brilliant Darkness has caught my fancy! I can't wait to find out if Christine prevails against Greachin in their fight.
Red's ball was all in scarlets and vermilions and deepest crimsons. It was a masked ball and the dancers flitted eerily in and out of massive onyx columns.

29Annetta Ribken
wordwebbing.com

I can't wait to read Athena's Promise! I enjoy Greek Mythology anyway, but crunching it in with a modern girl with modern problems, MAGIC!
Annetta's ball was, of course, a toga party. I rocked the toga and the dancing was great fun! I went as Diana.

30 Cindy Hogan
watched-thebook.blogspot.com

Cindy's Good-bye ball was luscious in its profusion of silks and satins. Such gems winking at the throats and ears of the dancers. Such dashing partners! I danced holes in my shoes and now fall exhausted in a reverie of magical splendor.

Watched is shaping up to be a delicious offering! I can't wait to find out what kinds of trouble Christy gets into on her trip to DC.

I have so enjoyed my time with my fellow débutantes! I'm looking forward to being great friends with you all! Bon chance!

H. Linn Murphy

Housekeeping

2011-12-09T10:03:00.000-08:00

Whew! Finally got the blog background to work again. I had to go into the code and add s1600 to the parameters because Picasa changed their code. Glad to have my blog back!

Eclectic Book Catalog

2011-12-08T13:45:00.000-08:00

Hey, guys I have a great little catalog for you. It's at:
http://www.eclecticbookscatalog.com/
Check it out! It's got not only my book, but books by several other wonderful authors and is a great place to do Christmas shopping!

A Flight to the Nether Lands

2011-12-05T09:42:00.000-08:00

I love this song. It never fails to inspire me. I sit here listening to it and find that every hair on the back of my neck is standing straight up.

Just before college I went up to Alaska to fish and work in the canneries to raise money for school. The first year, I went, we had lots of time off because the fishermen were on strike that season. So instead of spending it getting drunk or stoned like the most of my friends, I went climbing.

We climbed in the mountains in back of Kodiak (town) and also the ones in back of our cannery in Uyak Bay. It was so magnificent to see the sparkling bay spread out in front, to taste the bone-chillingly cold snow melt water, and to feel the breeze lift tendrils of sweat-plastered hair as the sun drenched us like warm chicken soup.

One day off as we hiked up behind the cannery, Mike (a friend) and I got between a mama bear and her two cubs. We'd never hiked so fast in our lives (so...no pictures).
By the time we got to the top, we were just blasted. We kicked back in the foot-deep reindeer moss and luxuriated in the fragrant sponginess. Mike had brought his tape deck and I'd given him my Netherlands tape to play.

Just as that song came on, up over the brow of the mountain rose a bald eagle, breathtakingly magnificent in it's majesty. It had almost a five foot wingspan. The breeze riffled its feathers, which were limned by the golden afternoon light. Its keen eye pierced me, as if it could see my thoughts.

Mike and I didn't even want to breathe, let alone move. I was worried that the music would send the bird diving away. On the contrary, the eagle seemed to be listening to the music as it hung suspended about a yard and a half above us on the thermal column.

Finally the song ended; and, too, the eagle seemed to be released from its spellbound state. It slipped over the crest of the mountain and glided spiraling downward into the misty distance.

The moment was one of those perfect moments caught as if in amber, sharp and brilliant. We couldn't speak for several minutes, just taking it all in. I stood up later and spread my arms and it felt almost as if I, too, could spiral down off that cliff top on a handy thermal. Joy radiated through out every sinew of my body. I felt as if I were made of light.

Netherlands distills, for me, a string of those kinds of moments. It was a free time in my life, in which I was at several kinds of crossroads. I had left home and family behind in Oregon and gone (unbeknown to them) up to Alaska to seek my fortune. I was embarking on my college career, exploring dating options, and most of all, examining what I truly believed about God and religion. It was no longer a time to rely on my parents' beliefs and testimonies.

So I really 'got' Dan's crossroads reference. I wanted to fly. I wanted to stretch my wings like that kingly raptor, and feel the sun on my face and the wind in my feathers. This song always makes me want to shut my eyes and raise my arms in flight, as I did so long ago on the peak of that mountain. In fact, I often do.

I offer these images as a morning gift to you.

Give Books for Christmas Giveaway Hop

2011-12-01T10:16:00.000-08:00

I'm participating in the Give Books for Christmas Giveaway Hop, hosted by Inksplasher.

What's a Give Books for Christmas Giveaway Hop? It's a group of bloggers who are giving away books as prizes!

The hop runs from December 1 through the 15th. All books will be shipped on December 16th. We can't guarantee books will arrive in time for Christmas, but we're going to give it a good try!

At the end of this post, you'll see a long list of the participating blogs. Just click the links and go check out the contests.

I'm offering a book by Anne McCaffrey called The Wings of Pegasus, in honor of her passing.

Deadline to enter: Thursday, December 15, 2011.

To enter to win this book:

Become a follower of my blog (right sidebar)
Leave a comment telling me the title and author of a book you're giving as a Christmas gift this year.
Optional: Facebook to spread the word. (Let me know in the comments what you've done. One extra entry per post.)

That's it! The winner will be posted and notified at the end of the hop.

2011-12-01T09:49:00.000-08:00

I'm participating in the Give Books for Christmas Giveaway Hop, hosted by Inksplasher.

What's a Give Books for Christmas Giveaway Hop? It's a group of bloggers who are giving away books as prizes!

The hop runs from December 1 through the 15th. All books will be shipped on December 16th. We can't guarantee books will arrive in time for Christmas, but we're going to give it a good try!

At the end of this post, you'll see a long list of the participating blogs. Just click the links and go check out the contests.

I'm giving away a copy of Anne McCaffrey's The Wings of Pegasus in honor of her passing.

Deadline to enter: Thursday, December 15, 2011.

To enter to win this book:

Become a follower of my blog (right sidebar)
Leave a comment telling me the title and author of a book you're giving as a Christmas gift this year.
Optional: Facebook to spread the word. (Let me know in the comments what you've done. One extra entry per post.)

That's it! The winner will be posted and notified at the end of the hop.

Blue Smoke

2011-11-28T07:41:00.000-08:00

Last summer my kids and I helped staff at Cub camp. I've been the camp director for both Catalina Council camps and Spanish Trails District camps, but this time I was just a staffer. It was out at the Pima Air and Space Museum.

After the day was over we got to go tour the facility. I've been there before, but not since they added things like my new favorite substance. My old favorite substance used to be Bucky Balls (It's still number two. I mean...those things are handy little critters).

But now they've got Blue Smoke, Frozen Smoke or Aerogel!

As I was looking at the displays, I noticed a chunk of what looked like cloud sitting there in a display case. At first I thought it was some kind of hologram. That was cool. But then I started reading about it, and BANG! New favorite.

Here's why:

By definition, an aerogel is a network of interconnected nanostructures which is at least 50% porous. It is an extremely low density solid matrix material (or foam) in which the liquid part of a gel (most often a silicone/oxygen gel) is replaced by a gas.

In other words, they dessicate the liquid out and fill the gel with air (thus the name aerogel). In fact, in a silicon-based aerogel, it's content is about 99.5% air and .5% silicon. This makes it look like a chunk of cloud Jell-o and feel like styrofoam. Its desiccating qualities can dry out the skin.

An aerogel can hold up to 2,000 to 4,000 times its weight if that weight is added carefully. Otherwise, it's extremely friable, meaning if you poke it too hard, or bend it, the gel (a misnomer as it's actually a solid) will shatter. It does, however, bounce!

They are extremely low in density--usually about 15 times heavier than air. In fact, all the lowest density substances man has yet produced have been aerogels. Some silicate aerogels, at 99.98% air, are only three times heavier than air and can even be lighter than air if the air is evacuated from the matrix.

If you stacked up 150 normal brick-sized bricks of aerogel, they would only weigh as much as a gallon of water. An aerogel statue of David would only weigh about four pounds.

Silicate aerogel is amazing stuff! It is the most commonly-manufactured of the aerogels so far. It's a fantastic thermal insulator (it can provide the same insulation value as fifteen panes of glass), absorbs infrared rays, but it can also allow light through, making it a great thing to use in windows. They used silicate aerogels in the Sojourner Mars rover in 1997 because of their insulation values.

NASA, in its Stardust Spacecraft mission (and others) used aerogels 'doped' with Gadolinium and Terbium to capture hypervelocity particles coming off of the Wild 2 comet. Particles shoot off of the comet at roughly six times the speed of a speeding bullet. As they hit the aerogel, the particles are slowed down and leave a florescent trail, making it easier to spot the tiny sand-sized particles.

Aerogels can be made out of other substances as well as silicon. Carbon aerogel makes a great supercapacitor and is now being used in solar collectors.

Alumina aerogels using aluminum oxide are being used in tandem with other metals as catalysts.

They're testing aerogels for use in insulating jackets and blankets, thermal diving suits, and as drug delivery systems. They're using it to absorb pollutants, and as flexible insulation in buildings--which won't age, mold, or mildew.

And, duh duh duh da...they've combined it with my second favorite substance (carbon nanotubes) to make carbon aerogels--a material so elastic that it might be used in chemical and pressure sensors. Carbon nanotubes can be grown in an aerogel, and they can also be used to strengthen the aerogel itself.

Samuel Stephens Kistler of the College of the Pacific in Stockton, California, created the first aerogel in 1931. He won a bet with his friend Charles Learned that he could replace the liquid in a gel with gas without making the gel shrink.

So sometime soon we'll be looking out of our aerogel-filled windows as we put on our aerogel-filled jackets. We'll walk out of our aerogel-insulated homes and then the possibilities will be wide open!

Sources:
http://www.Aerogel.org
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aerogel
http://www.aerogel.com/
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kHnen2nSmDY
http://stardust.jpl.nasa.gov/tech/aerogel.html
http://thermablok.com/
http://www.tonyboon.co.uk/aerogel/aerogel.htm

Death of a Dragonrider

2011-11-23T12:18:00.000-08:00

One of my most favorite authors of all is Anne McCaffrey. I've read rearly everything she ever wrote. Many of my copies are signed editions (unfortunately not to me, but still...SIGNED).

Anne did much to inspire new writers to write. She has co-written scores of books, helping to spawn such delicious writers as Elizabeth Moon, Elizabeth Ann Scarborough, and Jody-Lynn Nye. I wonder if she was a major influence of Christopher Paolini's?

I love Anne's books because she put families back in space together. Her plots were fresh, imaginative, and interesting. Her world-building was stellar. I could tell she cared deeply about people and relationships. She made me wish I had my own dragon egg on the hatching field. I can just feel the wind in my hair as my dragon's muscles bunch and expand. I can smell the rock her dragons chewed to make flame.

I found myself wishing I could visit Petaybee as well--maybe as a shape-changer, or visit Acorna's worlds. I felt how it might be to be a shell person or a planet pirate.

Anne died November 22nd in her home in Ireland. We'll miss you, Dragonrider!

A Smackeral of Psyquake

2011-11-21T10:56:00.000-08:00

Here's a smackeral of Psyquake (my W.I.P.) (excerpts of the Declaration of Independence will be in the credits) :

Cai woke up in a close little room, which smelled of stale sweat and fear.

Sec!

Dread blossomed in his chest like a poisonous flower; the bloom died and the poisonous seeds spread throughout his body. Sec had ways of making people talk. Cai could break the whole agenda wide open with just a few words. If he'd had his hands free, he'd have found something with which to take his life. He worked at his bonds, sawing at the plastic ties, only resulting in making deep bruises in his wrists and ankles.

"I wouldn't do that," a man said as he walked in. "Those restraints are painted with a nerve toxin. If that gets into your bloodstream, you'll talk first, then die."

That wasn't a cheerful thought. Cai needed it to be the other way around. But probably Sec had some way of getting information out of a person even after they died.

"You've made a bit of a mess for us, 3CAI-M-REC."

"What does REC mean?"

"Ah. So you do talk. It means Recycling."

Cai smiled exhaustedly.

"So. Before I take you there, you're going to clue us in on your plans for the future and the whereabouts of your little friends."

"No."

The man smiled benignly. "I think you will."

Cai smiled back and launched into speech. "When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature, and of Nature's God entitled them, a decent respect of the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold..."

"Stop. What is this rot you're saying?"

"These truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator..."

The interrogator was starting to get steamed, now. "What Creator? You weren't created. No clones here. Wrong dome."

"With certain inalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and..."

"Enough! Where are you getting this rot? And why aren't you answering any of my questions?" He held a device to Cai's head and clicked a button on it. "That should do it."

"The pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,--That whenever..."

"It didn't work! What the...why doesn't your chip at least beep on here?" the Sec agent said under his breath. Then to Cai, "Shut your mouth, prisoner. I can see why you're going straight to Recycling! No more lies!"

"No lies. This information is from a document written for my country almost four hundred years ago."

"Well there you go. That country is gone. That rot you're spouting is dead."

"You sure say 'rot' a lot. The rot is in this system...and in your head, my friend."

"I'm not your friend."

"Clearly. I thought you wanted information. Well I'm giving you information. I'm telling you why we're doing what we're doing."

"I don't need to know why. You're doing it because you've gone insane and you people are homicidal maniacs bent on wrecking our beautiful system."

"Beautiful? No."

The man came up to Cai and stuck him in the arm with a syringe full of something greenish. The creep's eye glinted with amusement as he pushed the plunger to the hilt. "Now you'll talk."

"Sure! I'll talk a lot! You'll be so happy to hear me talk. I'm talking right now, you know. Do you like me talking? I could talk faster. I could even talk in another language. Here we go. Ich spreche mit Dir jetzt. Yo hablo contigo. Lookit that! Three languages! I'm talkin' like a freak! Hey, I could tell you my ABC's. Wanna hear?"

The Sec agent rolled his eyes. "Tell me, where's your base?"

"It blew up. Gone. Bye-bye. A, B, C, D, E..."

"No ABC's."

"I don't think I can talk without using ABC's. Can you? I mean there are grunts. Okay, grunts it is." And then he launched into a series of grunts and other guttural nonsense sounds.

"Where is your base?"

"You should go to Recycle yourself. You're hearing is bad."

The agent made a sour face. "Who is your leader?"

"Leader, leader, following the leader wherever he may go. Ta-rum. Ta-ree..."

"Quiet!" He pushed a call button and when a voice asked what he needed, he told the voice that the prisoner needed transport back to Re-think for a new co-chip."

"Oh GOODY," Cai chortled. "I've been DYING for a new co-chip!"

The voice in the intercom said, "Are you sure he needs a new chip? Sounds like he should go straight to Recycle."

"Tell me about it," the agent answered.

Cai launched into another part of the Declaration of Independence, and continued until the flitter got back to Re-think. He was on his third run-through when the agent opened the doors.

"In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms..."

"Quiet! Get out." He yanked Cai out and cuffed him viciously in the head.

Cai sent him a poisonous look and continued even louder as they went in the door. "Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury...oh hi, whats-your-name! Hi! You work here now?"

The receptionist smiled and shot the Sec agent from under the desk. Cai was still spouting words from the Declaration when the others poured from the room in which they'd been hiding.

Larkin ran up to Cai and caught him in a bear hug. "Oh Cai! You're safe!"

"A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act...wait...you look like Larkin. Hi Larkin...no. You're too ugly to be Larkin...where was I? Oh. Which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people..."

Larkin gave him a suspicious look and then said over her shoulder, "Someone find me an antidote to that truth serum Sec use. There's a drug cabinet in the room across the hall." She examined her husband thoroughly. Cai was suffering from a fresh wound on his head, as well as various other cuts and bruises.

"If you were really Larkin, you'd take these things off my wrists and ankles. They're poison-y. But since you can't be her...yeah. Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our British brethren...heh...funny word, brethren. Brethren. Sister-en. Mother-en. Father-en..."

If you're at all intrigued or confused about what's going on, read this book when I finally get it out...or comment. I'm happy to explain.

Telemisery

2011-11-17T10:53:00.000-08:00

Just a few words on telemarketing.

My son is a telemarketer. He sells phone/Internet service. I say that with mixed feelings, as I pretty much despise telemarketers. They ring a bell in your house and expect you to drop everything and listen to them rant about whatever it is that they're selling, despite what you wanted to do with that time. And they rarely hear the word 'no' in any of it's varied iterations. Sometimes they call multiple times and it's automated. Argh!

My son is earning money to go on a mission for our church, however, and has had a devilish time trying to find a paying job. So I shut one eye and wait for his incredible stories.

Telemarketers would be the bane of my existence if they weren't so much fun to tease. I enjoy making them cry with frustration--especially guys. Amazingly, they don't call here much anymore, which is good, since I work from home and despise distractions.

One day I got a call from the newspaper (the Tucson Citizen). This is basically how the conversation went (I'm speaking in my best imitation of a Pakistani accent):

TC: Good morning.
Me: Is it?
TC: Uh...yes.
Me: If you say so.
TC: Uh...we'd like to know if you're getting the Citizen.
Me: I am not yet a citizen.
TC: No, the Tucson Citizen.
Me: No, I am not yet a citizen.
TC: NO! We want to know if you get the newspaper the Tucson Citizen!
(By this time it's getting really hard not to fall on the floor and expire of laughter.)
Me: I will be a citizen in one year. Ask me then.
Click.

Another time the Citizen called me. I was pretty sick of them calling around dinnertime, so I told them I never get the paper.
TC: Why not?
Me: You know the fibers in those papers are traceable from the air.
TC: Um...what?
Me: You can be traced by aliens using the newspaper.
TC: Aliens. You mean illegal aliens?
Me: No. The outer space kind.
TC: So you're saying that aliens from outer space can find out where you live and watch you by using our paper?
Me: That's about it. That's why I'm not going to buy your paper. And why I wear a tin foil hat.
TC: Um (laughing his insides out) okay. Thanks for your...candor.
Me: Any time...except between the hours of 6 and 6.
TC: Am and pm?
Me: No, Am and the next am.
TC: That would be...never.
Me: Huh. And here I was thinking you were a little slow. You live and learn.

Another time a man called me up and told me his name was Dave. I could tell he wasn't from this country and couldn't possibly have any other name than...say...Rajnapurta Chowdry something or other. So I told him I wouldn't deal with him because he was lying to me.
Telemarketer: I'm not lying to you. It's true. My name is Dave.
Me: No it's not.
Tele: Yes! Yes it is. How do you know Dave is not my name?
Me: Intuition born of years of experience.
Tele: Well that is what they tell me to call myself so that you can relate to me better.
Me: HA! I knew it! By the way, isn't that a little condescending?
Tele: I do not know that word condescending.
Me: Amazing.
He finally caved and told me his real name--which I forget right now so I'll call him Raj. Then he bulldozed on into his spiel:

'Raj': I'd like to discuss your mortgage.
Me: My marriage? Isn't that a little personal? I mean we only just now learned each other's real names. I really don't feel comfortable discussing my marriage with strangers.
Raj: No, your mortgage.
Me: Well if you really have to know, my marriage is fine. We're quite happy, thanks.
Raj: No, your home mortgage.
Me: I wasn't married at home. I was married in a temple. But, hey, that's really none of your stinkin' business.
Raj: NO, your MORTgage!
Me: You're really fixated on this, aren't you. Or maybe a little bit hard of hearing?
Raj: Alright! Then let's discuss your home loan.
Me: Sorry. I'm not home alone. What are you...a stalker?
Raj: No, your home loan.
Me: You don't hear all that racket in the background? I have 5 of my 6 kids here. It's never quiet. Maybe you are a little deaf.
Raj: NO! I WANT TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT YOUR HOME LOAN!
Me: No wonder you can't hear well if you keep yelling like that. Anyway, why do you want to know if I'm home alone so much? Are you trying to figure out the best time to come rob the place? 'Cause if you are, you should know that there's almost always someone here. And I can personally chop the legs right out from under you if you try it when I'm here. Oh wait...you aren't even in this country, are you?
Raj: Here. Please talk to my supervisor. (I could hear the hair tearing out of his head at this point and he was making little whimpering noises. I wonder if he's bald now?)
Me: Alright. But it won't help much.
Muffled conversation.
Supervisor: Hello. We'd like to discuss your mortgage.
Me: You TOO? What is it with you people?
(Open season on telemarketers.)

It's just possible that I will need to repent of the way I treat telemarketers. But I'm thinking it'll be a deathbed repentance. And, son, if you ever call me from work, keep the laughter to a dull roar or our secret will be out...;o)

Gratitude Giveaways

2011-11-17T08:18:00.000-08:00

I'm hoping to get in on this blog hop. I'd like to offer a book from my collection (which is extensive). For one point, please follow this blog. For another, visit my facebook page (Small Deceptions). For five points, do a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads for Small Deceptions.
Thank YOU!

Chocolatey Yumminess

2011-11-10T19:35:00.000-08:00

I enjoyed Chocolate Roses by Joan Sowards to the hilt. Having loved Jane Eyre since I read it in fourth grade, I was skeptical that Chocolate Roses could hold a candle to it, but I was happily mistaken. Even though I knew the fire scene was coming, I was still engaged. The story was enjoyable, believable, and timely.

I found the characters engaging and believable. I felt for Roger and his poor daughter and wanted to hook them up with all my single friends...except that Janie was perfect for him.

At first I was a little put off by the first person treatment. There were a couple of places where it was a tiny bit invasive, but those instances were short-lived. The book kept a great pace and I took the book everywhere I went, until it was finished.

I've added Chocolate Roses to my library and fully intend to add the rest of Joan Sowards' books as soon as possible. They're on my stack of 'to be read soonest' books.

And now I need to hunt down a chocolate rose of my own.

Loving Loyalty's Web

2011-11-10T19:28:00.000-08:00

A while back Joyce DiPastena asked me to edit a book for her. I was expecting to have a great deal to do since I know a thing or two about that time period. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Joyce KNOWS her stuff. I bow to her superior intelligence on the subject!

So when I found her book, Loyalty's Web, I had to buy it. I was not disappointed! I loved the way Joyce took me back to a time of chivalry and adventure. Her research was spot-on and extensive. Her characters were believable and well-rounded. I felt like I knew these people and came to love them. I almost felt like I lived in the next castle over.

I know a fair bit about court intrigue and Joyce has reproduced the intricacies and mantraps deliciously! She puts you right into the dungeons and castle halls of France. Sometimes these things can get confusing, but Joyce handled the twists with great aplomb.

I enjoyed the plot and its twists. I rooted for Helene in her quest to expose the assassins plaguing the King's representative, even though it was possible the assassins were of her own family. Hurray for her when she uncovered the truth. And hurray for Gunthar's honor.

I've already added the next book in the series and hope soon to add the third. I greatly enjoy Joyce DiPastena's offerings! Read Loyalty's Web!

Lune Music

2011-11-09T17:05:00.000-08:00

Wow. I would LOVE to have this guy (Josh Wright) play the piano in my ward at church! He has such a wonderful gift! The music floats off his fingers like a magical flood of brilliant color.

I think it would totally keep the ancient ones (and my son who always insists that he ISN'T asleep) from falling off their chairs.

Misty Morning

2011-11-08T10:11:00.000-08:00

I went running this morning. For once it was lusciously cool. It was too cold and dark for most of the little old ladies who walk there. Finally it seemed as if autumn had arrived. I was all covered up and looked quite unlike the other runners I saw...but I was warm. By the time I was halfway through my run, I realized why they were wearing shorts. I started pulling off layers but had nothing to do with the extras.

As I was running around the park, the fog rose up from the dew-jeweled grass. It felt as if I were running through a cloud. I was glad I'd dug myself out of bed to go.

On the way to drop my load of seminary students off at school, I mentioned how pretty the mist was as it lifted up from the city. Then suddenly I remembered that in German, mist means manure. I think my passengers thought I had finally lost it, since I giggled maniacally clear to school.

Check out this hop

2011-11-08T09:02:00.000-08:00

Here's a honkin' list of blogs to rifle through. I only wish I'd gotten in on the bandwagon. Ranee has a fantastic blog, though. Check it out.

15 Lovely Blogs

2011-11-03T20:10:00.000-07:00

Wow! Marsha Ward of Writer in the Pines blog awarded Murphy's Law the 'One Lovely Blog Award'! Thanks, Marsha! That's so fantastic!

In order to accept the award, I have to share seven random facts about myself. Here they are:
1. I am a Unit Commissioner for the Boy Scouts.
2. I am a sword-fighting squire. (My first date with my husband was to a sword- fighting tournament.)
3. I love eating mint chip ice cream and watching Jane Austen movies with my sister, Lisa.
4. I have sung tenor in choirs all over Arizona, Idaho, Utah, and Colorado.
5. I have touched a Rembrandt.
6. I love riding trains all over Europe.
7. I learned to gut 5 salmon a minute in Alaska.

Now, here's my list of fifteen lovely blogs. I hope you will visit them and say hello to the lovely bloggers who write them:

Bonnie Gets a Say
The Blessings of Family Life
Jewel's World
Laurie LC Lewis: A View from the Other Side of the Hill
The Lyon's Tale
S. Jean Montgomerie
Betsy Love LDS Author
Nicole M. White
LDS Writer Mom
Kaylee Baldwin
Haunts Haven
A Writer's Ramblings
Of Writerly Things
Mother's Daze
Donna Hatch

Ladies, to claim the award, you must:

1. Thank the giver and link back to his or her site.
2. Provide seven random facts about yourself.
3. Pass the award to fifteen other blogs, then let them know, and link to their sites.
4. Copy the award logo and paste it on your site.

The Birth of Psyquake

2011-11-03T09:25:00.000-07:00

It's sprint time. I'm going to try BIAM (Book in a Month)--which involves writing a novel in a month. I am at least going to try writing 1000 words per day, not counting Sundays.
Day one: 552 (lost my outline on an old computer death and had to start over)
Day two: 2425
Day three: 1526
Day four:551
Day five: 0
Day six: 0
Day seven: 2368
Day eight: 2130
Day nine: 1433
Day ten: 2599
Day eleven: 2466.
Day twelve: 1289
Day thirteen: 0
fourteen: 2300
fifteen: 2457
sixteen: 2315
seventeen: 1435
eighteen: 2416
nineteen: 2416
twenty: 0
twenty one: 3129
twenty two: 3386
twenty three: 2438
twenty four: 0
twenty five: 2189
twenty six: 1157
twenty seven: 0
twenty eight: 2077
twenty nine: 4563
Thirty: 2204
Grand total: 51,565! I made my goal!

The work I'm working on?
Duh ta da duh...
Psyquake
This is the 4th book in my Watchers series (Science Fiction). It takes our rag-tag band of freedom fighters on their final push to knock the Powers out of...well...power. Major plans are hatching, now. The de facto (despite their grousing) leaders are asking the difficult questions like: "What are we going to do with all these slaves after we get them free?" and "What if I don't want to go die horribly in your suicide mission?"

I think Orb is going to go a little nuts. And all Larkin wants is to have a quiet day to relax and hang out with her husband. Good luck with that!

So we'll see if Orb and his crew can get this band of ex chip slaves whipped into shape enough to go back and face their jailers.

The other three books are:
Watcher at the Gates of Day
Dawn Undaunted
Dark Moon Rising
All of these now are in the editing stage. I have been a busy juggler!
I hope you come on this journey with me!

I finished this book in January 2012! Now I add it to the pile of polishing books. I hope you get to read this series in print soon!

Zombie Prints

2011-11-02T08:46:00.000-07:00

Every year I make these ghoulish severed hands and feet out of meatloaf. I put pumpkin seeds in for the finger and toenails, cheese for the bits of flaking skin, boiled egg slices for the bones, and lots of ketchup blood.

I was worried the first year that the family would find them too disgusting to eat. I must have a warped family, though, because they loved it. I could hear them in there arguing over who got the big toes. Other visitors think we've completely lost our minds, I'm sure.

So this morning I was doing the kids' dishes for them. (There are times I just snap and do them because I'm tired of hearing the teens whine and of having a kitchen full of rotting food-encrusted dishes) So this morning I found the two cookie sheets I'd baked the meatloaf on. Each tray bore meaty foot and hand prints. In the dark, the gobbets would have scared someone half to death, because they looked and felt like chunks of skin and muscle.

It's a good thing I already had breakfast...;o)

Spectacular Spook Giveaway

2011-10-31T10:38:00.000-07:00

Muuuhahahahahahahaha!!!
You have come trick-or-treating at my door! Here is your tricky treat: I shall give a copy of my book 'Small Deceptions' away to a lucky winner. You can do any of several things to earn a chance.
1. Follow my blog
2. Comment on a story on my blog
3. Like my page Small Deceptions on Facebook
For 2 points, tout my book Small Deceptions to your friends
For 5 points, do a review on Amazon or Goodreads.

Krista Friant wins this giveaway. The copy is winging its way to her house as we speak (or chugging). On to other things!

Angels and other Scary things

2011-10-31T10:23:00.000-07:00

Firstly, I want to announce that I'll be signing books again this weekend. I'll be up at the Pioneer Bookstore in Mesa, Arizona, along with Betsy Love and Theresa Sneed.

So I just got finished reading 'No Angel' by Theresa Sneed and I LOVED it!!! I'm annoyed that I'm done and out of good reading material again. I can't wait to read her further offerings.

The book was fast paced and extremely interesting. I enjoyed Theresa's innovative ways of handling the plot. Her characters were 4-dimensional and interesting. I liked it that Jonathan wasn't a perfect person. The idea of a curmudgeonly angel tickles my funny bone.

I did find it hard to believe that in all the years Jonathan was sitting around not sleeping and eating, that he couldn't have read the manual clear through and maybe memorized it. What else did he have to do...especially when Faith was a sleeping baby?

I also would have liked to have more interaction with Faith. I wanted a few more glimpses of Celeste to shore up his reasons for changing his mind later. (I'm trying not to blow the ending, here.)

I liked the whole tie of the root to the idea of the Tree of Life. I caught the Spacious Building tie-in too. And the idea that our guardian angels are riding around on the tops of our cars was hilarious. It almost makes me want to watch the roofs of cars more often.

All in all, a thumbs up for 'No Angel'!

Identity

2011-10-25T10:19:00.000-07:00

I just finished an excellent book. Identity, by Betsy Love is the offering today on my blog. I put that book down only with extreme reluctance (It's never a good thing to fall asleep at the wheel when you are hauling other people's children to Seminary and then school). I'm only sad that there's no more juicy goodness left. Now I'll have to hunt down the rest of Betsy's books!

Identity was fast-paced and well-written. I was immersed in the story line from the beginning. I could feel the main character's confusion and pain at trying to piece her life back together without a picture to go by. I wanted to kick bratty Delilah and Giles. Savannah's family became my own for just a little while. I'd like to hear more about Scott and Shawn. I want to know if Amelia's father ever found the peace that Savannah's family felt. I found myself falling in love with their family and knowing that somehow they'd be fine because they knew who they were and from whence they came. That knowledge is the most important in this life!

To me, the story was quite plausible. I know there have been mix-ups just as confusing. This story reminds me of that of Anastasia Romanoff. Her extended family searched everywhere for her when they heard rumors she might be alive. Had she survived the massacre, Anastasia would have suffered some severe head trauma and quite possibly profound amnesia. Mix-ups occur all the time. That's why maternity wards have such strict rules about labeling babies.

I really can't think of anything I would change other than maybe fleshing out Brent's reasons for loving Amelia a little more. It seemed like he didn't really know why he loved her that much. We know that he does, just not really why. I found myself really liking that Brent stuck by Amelia so well, despite her attitude.

At any rate, I laughed, I cried, I loved it. Hurray for Betsy Love!

A Bit of Scipio Serenade

2011-10-19T12:08:00.000-07:00

"Why would someone so fantastic want someone like me?" she asked the darkness. "I'm broken in so many ways. I have nothing to offer anyone. Nothing. I can't even offer a 'clean' body like Sarah apparently can." Tamsin's many sins rolled over her, pressing down with their awful weight. She remembered all those seemingly magical nights in Bobo's arms. So simply and easily he had led her down the path. It had all seemed like her own idea at the time; all those honey-scented kisses; all those flights into the starry night sky on wings of ecstasy. What a pile of rainbow-colored garbage.

Those flights had ended in squalor. All those beautiful dreams had just been false fronts like in Old Western towns. Nothing of substance backed up the pretty cardboard flats. Bobo's honeyed words had been empty flattery. What made it doubly difficult was that even though he had taken the gift of her innocence and thrown it in the dirt, she had first handed it to him on a platter, with sauce.

She felt, now, the terrible burning guilt of a life thrown away on glitter and spangles. She had bankrupted her soul with acts, which, at the time, had seemed so natural and innocent. "I was in love! We got married, even. I wore a white dress and we didn't even elope to Las Vegas, like Bobo wanted to. Doesn't that count for anything?" She asked God that question, and yet she knew the answer already.

As much as she had tried to gloss over it, the guilt was still there, growing and festering like a pus-filled boil; leaking poison into the rest of her life. Maybe this was what had eaten away at her married relationship. The guilt had so poisoned every thought that neither of them could stand the sight of the other. And now Bobo was seeking the arms of other women to put a band-aid on his poisoned heart. Someone should tell him that band-aids never stuck to hearts.

Tamsin went to bed feeling like the wreckage of her life would bury her. Why hadn't she been lovable enough when she was cute and had two good legs? What did she have to offer anyone now? She made people uncomfortable just being around her. She thought back about how the doctor had squirmed when she had unloaded on him. Stupid girl! Why had she done it? He didn't want to see the pus-filled, maggoty mess that was the under-belly of her life.

He lived in the sunshine. With every whine and whimper, she was thrusting away the only person besides Sarah, who was still around to help her—who still seemed to care a little. But how could she pull herself out of the muck? It was like being in quicksand. The more she struggled and felt miserable and felt sorry for herself, the more people backed off and didn't want to have anything to do with helping her. Who knew, she might pull them into the quicksand too.

Gutless

2011-10-12T07:34:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago my daughter called from the hospital. The doctors were confused about whether she had appendicitis or a ruptured cyst. She was exhibiting the pain of appendicitis, but not the elevated white blood cell count nor was she febrile.

We immediately started praying for her but couldn't really think of anything else we could do. Apparently prayer was the best thing we could have done, though. She called back and told me that her in-laws had a friend with extra flight miles and he was offering them to me and to Lesley (a week later) to fly out to Kansas to take care of Nat's family. Bang! Answer one.

So I flew out to Kansas. (I enjoy flying and am getting pretty good at it after this summer. The flights ranged from fun to adequate. They don't even offer peanuts on 'American' flights anymore.)

Once there, I didn't step outside the house until Friday--barely knew what the place looked like until then. It was all playing with my adorable babies and diapers and taking care of Natassia, who got home the next morning.

It turned out that Nat's appendix did rupture. Because it happened behind some other 'guts', the sepsis didn't spread out into her system. That's why her temperature and white cell count didn't elevate. Answer two.

I caught food poisoning from some food one of the ladies from church brought (at least that's what I think it was). I felt like death for the whole night but finally, after the poison was out of my system, started to rally. I was still able to take care of things. I used a couple of plastic bags on my hands in case it was actually flu, but nobody else got sick. I was back to feeling fine by evening. Answer three.

On the way home, I had a lay-over in Dallas, Texas. As I sat there, I got the distinct impression that the three Middle Eastern guys waiting there were up to no good. So I prayed again. Then I took out my sketch pad and sketched the one who was sitting there with the bags (the other two went somewhere). Then I memorized everything about him (and the other two when they got back). They didn't sit together on the plane and disappeared when we got to Tucson. I have no idea if they were really up to no good, but I have a dang good idea of what they looked like. As we touched down on the runway and came to a stop, I breathed another heartfelt prayer of thanks. Answer 4.

Thank God for His tender mercies every day. I feel His hand working the controls of my life and hope that I can fly back to him intact.

Bedtime for Books

2011-09-30T11:40:00.000-07:00

The final push for Summerhouse has ended, at least for the time being. Now it's in the hands of the Beta readers. I'm hoping they'll love it.

I haven't written much on here because I've been doing research on a number of things such as hospitals in the 19th century, tuberculosis and its treatments, especially in the 19th century, 19th century Britain, 19th century Switzerland, and my favorite translation site for Latin and double-checking my German.

It's been an educational journey. For instance, I had no idea that hospitals were that bad back then. One actually had to pay them up front for one's own burial when they went in there, because it was a fairly good bet that they'd die once passing the hospital doors. Often their families had to do their laundry and bring them extra food (especially sugar, tea, and butter). The conditions were absolutely appallingly filthy.

If a person caught tuberculosis, they wrote them off as a goner, since for a long time they didn't know anything about how a person caught the disease. They didn't have the long list of medications we do today either. Apparently it was endemic in Europe at the time.

I spent lots of time hunting through houses in Luzern. It took me back for some truly happy hours. I miss climbing around there and walking through the shops and by-ways.

I wandered around Britain as well. Someday (maybe when Summerhouse gets made into a movie) I hope to go there and haunt the places I love to read about and see.

So now it's time to buckle back down and do re-writes and polishing so I can actually send these babies out into the wide, wide world.

2011-09-29T23:39:00.001-07:00

Check out Dark Carma...It looks intriguing!

Luzern Love Song

2011-09-13T20:07:00.000-07:00

I've spent all day researching Luzern, Switzerland for my W.I.P., Summerhouse. All day I've ridden the cogwheel railway up to Mt. Pilatus, ridden a truly kickin' toboggan track down the mountain, wandered the old city, and visited the fantastic museums. Picasso has never looked so good. Nineteenth century landscapes and steam boats jockeyed with wildflowers and mountain sheep for number one...memory.

Back and back I went to the time when I wore skirts every day to high school and had hair so long I could sit on it...

I rode that cogwheel when I was 16. Really. It was an amazing ride. At the time I was greatly annoyed since a few days before, when we were riding the tallus slides down a mountain near Innsbruck, Austria, I'd fallen to my knees a few times and chewed up my knees something fierce. So I was relegated to the stupid train along with the three whiny kids who couldn't stand the climb.

When we got to the top, we had to wait for what seemed an eternity for the rest of our party. The waiting part was a dull few hours, let me tell you. Two of the three were the most despised kids of the group, since they had attitudes like jail inmates and wandered around Europe with their noses in their romance books. (Those weren't by any means the only reasons we couldn't stand the 'Harlequin Twins'.) I personally LOVE books, but there is a time for everything. At the top of Pilatus is not the time to read romances.

The Harlequin Twins were in a poisonous mood that day, because they wanted to do something less active, like shopping, or doing their nails. They didn't appreciate being shown up as the wimpy whiner babies they were, and took it out on me, the other youngster of the group. I finally ditched the sob-fest and went outside to enjoy the real reason we'd come up.

In fact, the top of Pilatus was spectacular! The air was so crystal clear that it could have been bottled for health stores. Besides the fantastic air, the peak boasted one of the most unsurpassed views in the world. For a 360 degree view, range on range of alps marched away into the purple mist like gargantuan waves on the ocean.

One of the few structures on top of Mt. Pilatus is a round building which was once blown up in a James Bond movie (one wonders why they'd put a Nazi hideout clear up there, but I guess Nazis were never known for their practicality). I forget for what purpose that building was really used, since James Bond's incendiary show simply can't be topped.

There are wildflowers everywhere! I even found an Edelweiss. I walked around the peak and tried out my newly-rested knees and decided that I should definitely have climbed up instead of wussing out.

That night, if I remember right (we slept in hostels all across Europe so some of them run together in my mind) we slept in a hostel up on the peak. I do remember wondering why we couldn't just sleep in the hideout. Waking up to that view was stellar!

The next morning, we took off across the mountains on a trail probably made by goats. It had to have been about a foot wide, with plunging drop-offs on both sides. It was definitely not a romp to do at night. I felt like Liesle Von Trapp escaping from nazis over the mountains near Saltzburg. I may have broken into a few bars of 'Climb Every Mountain' under my breath, but was trying to be cool.

You see, there were some very cute boys on that trip. I really liked a couple of them, and was hoping to be inducted into the cool side of the German Club instead of the loser side. So, sucking it up and climbing down that mountain was definitely on my to-do list. Even if the guys hadn't been there, that climb was fun!

We saw some of the biggest freakin' goats I've ever seen! I believe there were Gemsboks and a couple of other kinds of boks. I think it was rutting season, because some of them were fighting, and the clack of those gigantic horns crashing together echoed across the alpine valleys and ridges forever. It alway amazed me that those big old goats could hop around so gracefully, and stand on the tiniest ledges imaginable. They were definitely better climbers than I am.

At the end of the climb, there was a lovely ferry ride back to Luzern across the sun-burnished water. It was heaven just to let the waves rock me into a doze, though for some time my body felt like we were still climbing.

The lights on the water that night were like paints streaming and puddling across an inky canvas. I remember Mom singing the song, 'East Side, West Side' as we strolled along the quay walk. I remember thinking what a magical night it was...

...back when the world was young and I was 16.

Meg's Melody

2011-09-08T20:29:00.000-07:00

I just got a book yesterday that I've been wanting to read ever since I met it's author, Kaylee Baldwin. And now, unfortunately, I'm already done with it. I couldn't put it down.

I really enjoyed this sweet offering. Meg's troubles seemed to mirror many of my own. I, too, was a divorced mother of a beautiful little girl for some years. Many of those years I wondered desperately whether I'd ever find love again. I, too, had an ex-jerk who pretended to come back, but only to wreak havoc.

I, too, found a man who loves me and who was such a great father to my daughter that I don't remember even one time (except on governmental forms) when she called him a step-father. He was always Dad to her. He had to reassure me several times that he would never leave.

I love that this book allows Meg to work through not just her feelings of inadequacy, but to also come to understand God's marvelous plan for us. I love that although Matt was working through some crushing pain of his own, he never really left Meg to struggle alone.

Thank you, Kaylee, for this wonderful book. I wish it weren't finished.

Save the Child

2011-08-29T08:34:00.000-07:00

I just finished a good book this weekend! It's Margaret Turley's 'Save the Child'. I have to say that I put off reading this book for a bit, thinking it would be a little dull.

How wrong I was!

The book was gripping to the end. I even read it while I worked out. It's clear that Margaret knows her stuff medically! The characters were true and the action put you right in the fray. It felt like a true family nightmare and made me want to stand up and throw a bedpan at the people who worked together to keep the child away from her parents.

I think incidents like this in which well-meaning parents are victimized by unprincipled or misinformed people is a horrible by-product of the CPS system. It enrages me that we have a government who thinks they own our children. I hope we can somehow work together to get this fixed. Otherwise, the government will be like the camel poking his nose into the tent. Pretty soon the camel will own the tent and you'll be out in the sandstorm without a stick of shelter.

Other than some editing flaws (you spelled one of your characters' names two different ways in adjoining sentences for one thing, Margaret), this book was great...:o) Maybe a change of back cover blurb will make the book more readily appealing, because once you get into it, it's a page-turner.

A Bit of Summerhouse

2011-08-26T12:20:00.000-07:00

I just thought I'd post a bit of my W.I.P.:

There was an unearthly, pearly light in the summerhouse, where no light should be. Charlotte Pennington picked her way across the grass to investigate. The moon plated each leaf and blade with silver and lit her way. Charlotte had hastily donned an old blanket--not proof enough against the chilly summer night. Her bare feet encountered the occasional sticker hidden in the grass. Any cry of hers fell upon deaf ears; the servants had long gone to their beds.

The summerhouse glowed with a ghostly, stark white light--not that of a candle, but something stronger and unwavering. The light poured steadily through the wooden curlicues and embellishments like a frozen, white star.

Charlotte slowed, hesitant to surprise whatever or whoever was trespassing on Pennington land. Fear rose up to take her throat in its grip. She should have brought her father's saber. At least then she might have felt herself to be safe. Her mother was always telling her she was too impetuous and daring. Father seemed to secretly enjoy those traits.

She edged slowly closer, trying desperately not to make a sound. She could not make out the form of a person anywhere in the structure. Slowly she approached, until she stood at the bottom step. She put one foot on the riser, which let out a loud 'squeak!'

“Who's there?”

It was the baritone of a man's voice! Charlotte froze.

“Come on, mate. Who's out there?”

Charlotte swallowed convulsively.

“If you don't come out where I can see you, I'll shoot you where you stand!”

Charlotte stepped up and into the light, which temporarily blinded her. Her face was a mask of rage. “How dare you? This is Pennington land! You, whoever you may be, are trespassing and I shall have the servants fetch the beadle to have you off!”

“Why would a beetle mean anything to me? I'm the caretaker here, and you, girl, are the one trespassing!”

“Girl! Why, the impertinence of you! How dare you call me 'girl' as if I were the kitchen skivvy?” She blinked several times so that she might better see who it was with which she was contending. Slowly a shape came into focus. It was a youngish man of about average height dressed in outlandish clothing. She saw at once that he bore no sidearm.

“I'm sorry, you were just leaving!” he exclaimed rudely.

Charlotte nearly went into an apoplectic fit. “Go away from here, you despicable lout! I'll not stand by while vagrants infest my family's holdings! Be off with you! And take your garish light with you!” She lifted her chin arrogantly, and stomped her bare foot, unfortunately encountering a splinter in so doing. She hobbled over and sat down upon one of the window seats to remove the offending shard of wood.

The young man examined Charlotte closely. “What is this rubbish? Why do you insist on calling this your family's property? This land is part of the National Trust.”

“I have no idea what you mean by 'National Trust'. This land has been in my family's hands since Queen Elizabeth bestowed it upon us. Furthermore, I know every single worker, hand, and servant upon this estate and you, Mister...”

“Harris. Jack Harris.”

“You, Mister Harris, are not one of them. Thus I adjure you to be off.”

“So you say your family owns this land?”

“Indeed. I am Charlotte Marie Pennington, only daughter of Viscount Sir Robert Pennington and Lady Elizabeth Pennington.”

“Get off, lady, there have been no Penningtons here for nearly two hundred years. I'd know! I've lived in Shipston-on-Stour for nigh on three years now, and I know everybody affiliated with Pennington, except you! And you are clearly a loony. Get along out the gate before I set the dogs on you.”

Charlotte stood with her arms akimbo, staring at the impertinent young man. He was tall with a shock of unruly brown hair. His blue eyes studied her with a scowl. He behaved as if he belonged there in her summerhouse!

The man wore some sort of rough, blue working man's trousers, the oddest footwear she had ever beheld, and an undershirt which bore the words: Do Not Disturb. I'm Disturbed Enough Already, as if he were some sort of peddler hawking his wares. Charlotte wondered why such a peddler should be skulking about on Pennington land.

Over it all, as if he wanted to hide the fact of his livelihood, he wore some kind of strange, truncated waistcoat with metal-toothed edging. Her gaze slipped from the cap bearing the words 'Manchester United', perched atop his dark elf locks, to his piquant face. The strange blue windows of his eyes held her the longest.

He was enjoying her discomfiture.

Jack stared back at the girl, seeing long, brown hair, flashing green eyes, and a figure that wouldn't stop. Even though she was barefoot and dressed only in a nightie and blanket, she was a luscious 'bird'—one his mates would sell their eye-teeth for.

The girl saw him eying her blanket-draped form and began tapping her foot impatiently. “Be off with you! And never you mind about the dogs; I shall call them myself!”

He folded his arms, frowning thunderously. The stalemate dragged on for what seemed like eternities. Then a thought occurred to Jack. His glance snapped to her face. “Wait a tick. What did you say your name was?”

“I am Charlotte Marie Pennington--which you would know if you had been an invited guest at Pennington Hall.”

Jack's face blanched white in the glare of the halogen bulb. “The Charlotte Pennington?”

“Of course. Whom else?”

Jack sat for some minutes staring lack-witted at the vision in white. “It can't be...” he muttered under his breath. Charlotte Marie Pennington had disappeared from this estate in the year 1811—almost two hundred years in the past! There was simply no earthly way this woman could be that Charlotte Pennington. “Who are your parents, Miss?”

“I do not believe it to be your affair who my parents are. You, Mister Harris, are trespassing and must go away at once.”

“Humor me, Miss. Please.”

She sniffed. “Once again, they are Viscount Sir Robert Pennington and Lady Elizabeth Pennington.”

Jack gasped. He knew there couldn't be two such Lady Penningtons. He knew all the Penningtons and their offspring. It was his business to know everything about Pennington Hall and its past and present inhabitants and environs. It was, in fact, his job to oversee everything on the estate including the museum and gift shop. He knew the estate like the back of his hand, and he had never heard of this particular person, unless she was that Charlotte. He looked over at the girl sitting beneath the window. She was ethereally beautiful with the light gleaming on her creamy skin. Her eyes were huge and the lashes rimming them, luscious. The nightie she wore appeared to be hand-sewn and of antique design.

He reached to touch the girl in the blanket. She shrank away, her eyes wide with fear and something akin to curiosity.

“What year is it?” Jack asked.

“Now I know that you must be an escaped lunatic from Bedlam. Everyone knows the year.”

“Humor me.”

She sighed. “It is the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and nine. Do you wish to know the reigning monarch as well?”

“Mad King George the third, whose son, George the fourth, will become his regent in one year,” he said quietly.

Charlotte glanced at him sharply. “What do you mean, Prince George will succeed him in one year? How can you possibly know that?”

“I know that because I live in the year 2009.”

It was her turn to be struck dumb. Only the music of the crickets broke the silence for some time.

Charlotte drew a ragged breath and eyed Jack suspiciously. “Of course you would say that, as you are clearly lacking wits. Has your nurse misplaced you, perchance? I would think that, had there been searchers about, I would have seen the lanterns and they would have asked my father's permission first. He is sleeping just across the grass, you know. Should aught happen to me, he and all the servants would surely hear me scream and come at the run.”

“There are no searchers, because I am not lost. You, however...”

“I am neither lost or mad. I know perfectly well where it is I am.”

Jack muttered, “Sure. If you only...” then stopped. If she were the famous missing Charlotte, he could ask her anything he wanted! He could finally solve the mystery! People would flock to the estate in droves. The Euros would simply pour in. He looked over into the quizzical gaze of those green eyes. They were so full of innocence and dawning wonder. Apparently her fear and sense of modesty had battled with curiosity and lost. “Knew...”

He felt that she was picking through his memories and dreams like she were at a jumble sale. Every fault and foible lay on the table for her perusal. Apparently she liked what she saw, or at least chose not to run screaming into the night. He knew in that instant that he would never be able to pull a fast one over on this one.

“You were speaking the truth, were you not? Your outlandish clothing speaks volumes for you.”

“What? These old things? They're just my mucking about duds. You can't expect me to roam the estate in my posh gear, can you?”

She rewarded his question with a wry grin. “Clearly not.”

“Tell me something,” he said quietly. “When you first got here, you were off your nut witless. What gives?”

She was confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“You were afraid. Now...?”

“I believe that, should you have wished to harm me, you would have done it by now, correct?”

He smiled warmly. “I'm not going to hurt you. My job is to keep unwanted blighters from camping on the estate. It seems as if you, at any rate, belong here.”

“It grieves me for you to have misunderstood me at all.”

“Here. Let me clear it all up for you--at least on my end.” He took a Euro from his billfold and held it out to her. “Look. Do you recognize this?”

Charlotte looked at the paper. “I have never seen such a paper in all of my life, however it appears to be some kind of currency. What is it?” She reached to take the bill, but somehow her hand grasped empty air. She looked up at him, aghast. “Why...?”

Jack poked and pinched himself and was satisfied that he, at least, was not a ghost. Charlotte followed suit. Their eyes met. They reached out gingerly to touch hands, but both met only empty air. Charlotte shuddered. “I am not a specter! See, I have form and substance!”

Jack smiled nervously. “I think we have just settled the fact that we are not sitting here together in the same year.”

Charlotte gave a start. “We have?”

“Naturally. Or rather unnaturally. Since neither of us are loopy and for you it is the year 1809 and for me, 2009, it is safe to say that we are experiencing a paradox.”

Taproots

2011-08-22T08:44:00.000-07:00

Most of us, these days, think God owes us a cushy life. I find myself praying that problems will work out well and quickly; that hurts will smooth away; that kids will be healthy, cars will run, and the raise will materialize. For the most part, they do. I have had ample evidence that God in all His generosity and magnificent caring, loves his servants and wants them to be happy.

But God owes us nothing, really, unless we have held up our ends of the bargain. God, the Keeper of the Vineyard, wants us to drive a taproot deep into the soil. Those who have it easy, only form surface roots. Their foliage may be rich and lush and their fruit delicious.

But when the wind blows, those over-watered, pampered trees fall, throwing the web of their surface roots into the air. Even though possibly extensive, the surface roots will not save the outwardly large and beautiful tree from the storms to come.

I want a long taproot. I want my root to thrust down so that it reaches the river of Living Water deep beneath the earth. I want to drink my fill, knowing that with this water, I shall live forever in the Lord's Vineyard--a fruitful tree. For that I must accept the challenges that come.

Oh God, make my taproot long.

Entwined

2011-08-20T09:34:00.000-07:00

Once in a while I read something my kids have been reading. For Barret, I read Brian Jacques. For Perry, it was City of Ember. For the girls it was Twilight. Courtney showed me a book recently: Entwined by Heather Dixon. I flashed through it once, to check it out, and got hooked like a trout.

My first impression was that Azalea and her sisters were annoyingly not my idea of real princesses. My mind kept trying to cram them into my own (stilted) princess mold and seeing my daughters' annoying Barbie 12 Dancing Princesses movie (which makes me barf just thinking of it). For pages and pages I kicked against this preconception until I finally broke the mold and just enjoyed the story.

The story was fresh and gripping. I was over-joyed not to have to deal with excessive gore, bad language, and premarital sex. Even so, this book boasted of a nightmarish villain, who could scare me without drenching me in gobbets of flesh, and had me reading long past when I should have been up and doing things.

There was a sweetness to this story, bound up in sorrow for a mother who had died, and for a father who could not seem to find his way out of the maze of his loss enough to recognize his daughters. Like a rose, the relationship blossoms into something poignantly beautiful.

I like that. I like that the characters have their own personalities. The main characters are delightfully four dimensional. I felt like one of their magical tea cups, with the ability to watch it all unfold.

Hooray for Heather Dixon!

Fade to Red

2011-08-17T09:02:00.000-07:00

I climbed slowly down the ladder, bouncing a little at each step. The suit was ponderous, but I had worked out; I was ready for it, I hoped. First day on Mars. I wanted to stretch my arms and breathe deeply--which of course I couldn't.

As I hit the ground, I kicked up a little skiff of vermilion dust, which blew away in the stiff breeze. I tongued the suit com. "Starling here. Carbon dioxide--stable, nitrogen--up 23%, argon--stable, oxygen--down 3%. We have a stiff breeze coming from the north, which could kick up some serious iron oxide dust problems if we aren't careful. Out."

I was at Aeolis Mensae along with Lieutenant Jay Parker (who was taking an inordinate amount of time getting out here, by the way) and Ensign Sten Falco to study the tectonic signatures in the area. There were also research teams over near Olympus Mons and Valles Marineris.

After we were done here, our team would head over to Cydonia to see the 'giant face' and pyramids and check for water. I couldn't wait. It'd be like a vacation. Falco never stopped yakking about it. He was sure it was alien architecture. I wondered how he got past the hoard of psychs to come on this little shindig.

I started off across the rubble-strewn plain, wondering how long the landscape has looked exactly like this. On earth you'd expect to see differences nearly every day, even in 'wilderness areas'. There are always animals or water or humans or other things to disturb the lay of the land. Here--just the wind--the ever-present scouring, howling gale.

I tongued the com again. "Parker, when are you haulin' your carcass out here anyway? I've already got half a click on you, man."

No answer.

I was starting to get a little antsy. Parker was normally right on top of things. Today I had yet to raise him. I tongued the com again. "Falco, do you read me?"
"I read you, Starling."
"What's Parker up to? Why won't he answer his com?"
"Not sure. I'll go check. Out."
I wondered idly why Falco didn't just look down at his array to pinpoint Parker instead of hunting him down.

I stepped around a huge boulder and found myself at the lip of a vast canyon. Somehow on our readouts it hadn't looked so deep. I kicked a pebble off the edge. It plunged, little clouds of scarlet dust marking the places where it hit the cliff wall. How glad I was that I hadn't come out here in the dark.

I turned to go back, and there was Parker, standing there silently. He'd been at my back and I hadn't even seen him come.
I tongued my com. "Crud, Parker. You scared me spit-less! Where'd you come from? Haven't you heard me calling you?"

No answer.

His face had a strange calmness to it as he nudged me backwards off the cliff.

Zombie Jamboree

2011-08-12T11:07:00.000-07:00

So about this zombie thing...

It's the biggest rage, right now, this zombie apocalypse--especially with teens. The idea is to arm yourself with whatever you think you need to survive a zombie incursion and then see if you survive.

Great fun, right?

I've even caught myself saying, "I'm in it with the chainsaw and a few dozen Molotov cocktails".

But what is this 'game' really doing? Is it all fun until someone loses an eyeball, or something deeper?

In my opinion, this rising generation is being tailored to do a couple of things.
1. become a worker state
2. bear babies for the state to raise (ie. no families, love, or bonds of any type)
and 3. become a military state in which people rat on, kill, and destroy 'nonpareils' at the will of the state.

I think the whole zombie thing is being pushed so that young people will get used to ratting out their families, and not be above shooting them to death if the state thinks their family is for some reason unacceptable. What do you do with a zombie? You kill it in the most final way possible, even though it might have once been your mother.

I have even seen a website dedicated to proving that the possibility of a zombie 'epidemic' is real in several different ways. Many of those ways are very possible to enact by unprincipled people (or governments).

Another thing. Look at how many TV shows have sprung up about death and killing. What are they geared for?
1. They get people inured to the sight and experience of death. Not long after seeing your first show like this, you find yourself wondering why the 'good' guy doesn't just kill the bad guy.
2. These shows actually show 'bad' guys how to get away with crimes. I've watched one or two of these shows and find myself wondering why the bad guy didn't just to this or why he was so stupid to do that.

You might think I sound like a complete kook, but I am in no way alone in my conjectures. I see the underpinnings of such a state being installed almost daily. I see how shows like the aforementioned affect young people around me. It makes me as itchy as if I were standing in the middle of a fire ant hill.

What can we do about such an eventuality?
*Pray.
*Prepare for survival.
*Live the gospel.
*Refrain from watching shows which numb you to the human condition.
*Educate yourself to what your government is actually up to, not the spin garbage they are feeding the sheep.
*Live kindly and be Christlike.
*Remember that God takes care of His servants.
*Develop loving, loyal relationships with your family members.
*Teach your family about loyalty.
*Teach your family to recognize the truth when they see it--and transversely, the lies.

Good luck with the zombie apocalypse.

The Rise and Fall of Lower Lincoln Park

2011-08-10T08:06:00.000-07:00

I am annoyed.

Yesterday I went to a nearby park to be an unobtrusively supervising adult for my youngest son and his cousin and a few other boys while they played 'Army' out in the surrounding desert. I didn't want to be a helicopter mom, so I mostly walked around picking up trash.

A lot of trash.

What used to be a fairly nice park has turned into a fetid, junky, dry swamp. Apparently because of vandalism, the 'powers that be' took all the playground equipment out. So now, instead of a nice place that actually has trees higher than chest height and things for kids to do, this place has nothing except dog logs and broken beer bottles.

The aforesaid PTB also decided to post the large fire pit. On it is a sign saying: Warning! Extreme Fire Danger. No fires in this fire pit. So I'm standing there staring into a trash-filled fire pit thinking:

Of course there's extreme danger of fire! It's a stinkin' fire pit for crying out loud! That's where you're supposed to have your fires!

It's not like the pit is in a dangerous place, either. It's a big cement ring out in a sandy area away from trees! This makes me think that the PTB don't really even want people to be in that park.

On the other end, what kind of people 'defaecate in their own pool' like those who vandalize? I mean seriously! Why would a person go to a place meant for the enjoyment of everyone in the area and render it ugly and broken and unusable? It's not even just completely selfish, because They're making it so they can't use it either!

The other silly thing about this place is that for some years now, the neighborhood nazi element in our HOA has been trying to push the idea that the wash area edging the park is a 'bird sanctuary'. Like birds would rather fly to that 'hiking trail' than hang out in the less populous desert right next to it. I have only rarely seen birds in the 'sanctuary'--no more than any other desert-y place.

In fact, I see more raptors out in the desert on the other side of the park than in the 'bird sanctuary'. What, are the birds suddenly more protected on that little hiking trail? Not from my cub scouts. If those boys see something interesting, it's all we leaders can do to keep those boys from poking it with a stick.

So what ends up happening, is that the PTB spend piles of our hard-earned cash making a bogus 'sanctuary', which is a colossal waste of taxpayer money, while removing the things we do use, which make the park a fun place to be.

This is all in direct opposition to my experience in Washington state. Those people are building some spectacular neighborhood parks! They must be designed by some seriously child-like people who know the value of playtime and enjoy it to the hilt. Those parks were even fun for adults to visit!

I think we in Tucson are going the wrong direction. Instead of wasting money (as they constantly do) on worthless frills and pocket-lining schemes, why not make the things they do build really count? Make something we can actually use and be proud of. Unless they don't really want people to actually use the parks...

And for those people who don't care about the parks and city where they live, they should go back to the hole out of which they crawled. It's probably befouled with broken beer bottles and other rancid trash, but that is apparently where they belong.

A Butterfly Year

2011-08-05T11:17:00.001-07:00

I just saw a wonderful short movie called 'The Butterfly Circus'.

It was about a circus full of wonderful people who didn't start out that way. The ringleader seemed to have a talent for collecting such people and then turning them into fantastic people and performers instead of broken wrecks.

This movie made me think about whether I'd been more of a gawker than a ringleader, like the one in the movie. Have I simply reveled in the differences, perhaps snickering behind my hand, or have I spent the balance of my life inspiring people to reach for their potential and be excellent? Most of the time, I'm afraid it was the former.

I wondered what the Phantom of the Opera would have turned out to be if he'd only met 'The Ringleader'--if he'd only had someone to lift him from the grubby, hellacious prison of his childhood to a place of respect and understanding. Surely his magnificent voice and teaching talent would have been respected well over his unfortunate looks.

So I have decided to try and make this a 'Butterfly Year'. I'm going to talk to my offspring about this concept and see if we can't help to lift not only other people, but each other too. Instead of tearing each other down for slights real or imagined, let's look for the butterfly potential and understand while we are in the cocoon stage.

Be EXCELLENT, my little caterpillars!

A Summer Sacrifice

2011-08-02T09:41:00.000-07:00

The early pagan Celts sacrificed a young maiden or youth every year so that their crops would be plentiful. They'd adorn the chosen one with the finest clothing and flowers and drug them so that they would have a pleasant 'journey'. The sacrifice would go dazedly to their fate, in order that the people might live.

This dazed feeling is somewhat like the feeling which surrounds me. I'm not the one who has taken the task on--I'm more like support, so the effects leach over.

My husband has been called to be in the bishopric of the Escalante ward. We are both still in shock. It is true that our ward should in truth be called a branch, now, and thus has a dearth of active adult males. But there were things he felt he still had to learn before he took on a responsibility so large.

Lon feels as if he's been an underwhelming Home Teacher. He feels as if he could have done so many other things in his calling as Scoutmaster. He feels that there are problems in our life here at Murphy Manor which we could handle better. Our temple attendance is pitiful. I could see all these problems roiling in Lon's eyes as he sat there in the office, Sunday, wondering why the Lord was choosing him.

He took a deep breath and told Pres. Lewis 'yes'. And then all the consequences of that answer began to step onto the stage of my mind and make their bows. Lon would be gone a LOT. He wouldn't be sitting with us anymore at church. He would be learning things we couldn't share together. We'll no longer be able to pick and choose what we'll attend.

Most of all, though, we as a family have some growing to do before we can be good examples. We could be better at having Family Home Evenings. We could be more consistent with family prayers. We could be better at reading our scriptures. We could play fewer computer games and spend less time on Facebook.

Apparently the Lord has a whole spectrum of growing experiences planned for our family. Like a baby bird who resists the changes it must make--whose loving mother nudges it out of the nest--we are being nudged into a more excellent way by a loving Father.

Flower bedecked and dazed, we walk forward to meet the future.

Traveling Dreams

2011-07-27T09:12:00.000-07:00

I have been up in the cool North slaving for my sister. I say slaving with tongue in cheek. Actually it was a labor of love.

Juliana and her cheeky outlaw husband often have the opportunity to go on magnificent trips to far off climes. I suppose I have no real right to be jealous of that, but I am. I have so many places I'd love to go, Ireland being on the top of my list.

I want to see and experience everything before the tyrants of this world glop everything together in one gray, homogenized lump, like what happens to Play Dough when you mix the colors together. I'm afraid that those things which make each region unique will be bludgeoned out of them by people who have no idea what they are breaking.

I want to see their native costumes. I want to eat their food and watch (and possibly dance) their dances. I want to hear their music played and sung by the people who love what they're doing. I want to experience their history and learn their stories told by them, not by lying propagandists. I want to hear them speak in their own languages and try my best to understand them.

But it's all rapidly vanishing into the uncertain past. Everyone learns English now. Everyone is getting McDonalds and wearing the same clothing. As more countries fall to the ax of depleted economics, they cave in to the demands of their 'benefactors' and join the goopy homogenization.

Sigh.

I want to see it before it's gone. I want to keep everything alive in my head when it's all been sucked away down a dank crevass. As in the book Fahrenheit 451, I want to remember.

But other than that, it was a fun (and cool) couple of two week trips!

Monsoon Moon

2011-07-06T13:34:00.000-07:00

At last the blistering misery of the summer heat is easing slightly.

Before the towering black air castles dump their waterfalls of lifesaving water, we still hibernate in our darkened caverns and pray for surcease. The heat bakes the ground so hard that anything planted wilts to dessicated brown sticks within hours. Animals won't even come out to eat. The air is leaden and breathing is chore-some.

Then the cloud castles crack, sending out their invisible cannonballs and the sky comes alive with a fury of sound and light. Within seconds the curtains of rain descend; slashing the shriveled leaves from their bushes; filling every divot and gully; sending up steam from the baking streets; sluicing down the dusty walls; making rivers of the roads and alleys. Trees and sometimes power poles topple and wires careen crazily across roads and lawns. Palm fronds go whipping past in a flurry of brown-tipped green flotsam.

We run out into the deluge and are instantly drenched and shivering, but it's a welcome chill. We roll up our pants and stomp through the puddles. Court and Bear, on a dare, lie down in the river of muddy water. Luckily there is a shower at the end of their scenario.

Suddenly little pebbles mean nothing to our thirsty feet as we wade down the new stream to the wash, looking for shiny pebbles and strange treasures. The chocolaty water sweeps down the wash and out into a desert delta, past the bike jumps and debris the bikers have left in their wakes. We send leaves and feathers down the streams, hoping to see them emerge downstream. The furthest traveler makes the 'owner' the winner. They jump around screaming and laughing crazily, secretly just trying to soak the others more completely.

The deluge lasts only a few minutes and then the gray sheets move away across the city to fill other washes and roads. Runnels of muddy water trickle down through the labyrinthine patches of prickly pear and mesquite and then, joining other runnels, rush in freshets into the main wash.

Now the air fills with the scent of creosote and sage and hot blacktop. The rivers become streams, then creeks, then tiny runnels, and then they are gone, sucked at last into the thirsty topsoil. The ants come scurrying out to begin once more their endless quest for a fully stocked larder. The doves and quail emerge.

And the toads come out. The air, now, is full of the deep notes of their mating calls. The desert and yards are alive with toady meet-n-greet sessions. Busier streets fill with squashed toad pizzas.

When the sun has set, the mockingbirds begin their random choirs. There is the occasional soft cooing of a dove. Once again the geckos come out near the porch lights to snack on moths. With the passing of the rain, with the exception of an errant breeze, the mercury toils up and up again until we have come full circle.

Drinking Green

2011-07-01T09:02:00.000-07:00

I have been on pilgrimage to the North (or so it seems). Our family had a reunion in Colorado, and then I went with my daughter and her husband and babies first to Utah and thence up through Idaho and Montana, to Washington and then back through to Utah.

It was balm to my waterless soul, this journey. How I have missed the verdant velvet of grass lawn. At every stop I took off my shoes and luxuriated in the tickle of the soft grass on my bare feet. I romped in it, rolled down hills covered in grass like I was a child once more. True I was with my adorable babies. Ace enjoyed rolling down the hill with me. Nathan has yet to develop any liking for grass yet. He sat with his left foot raised above the grass the entire time. I'm sure he would have raised both if he had been able to figure out how.

I have longed for the sight of thorn-less deciduous trees spreading their lacy branches above me--trees I could climb and sit in. We stay sometimes with Nat's in-laws, who are wonderful people. They have hung a swing from the branches of a huge spreading tree in their back yard. I loved sweeping out over their magnificent garden in the seat of that swing. That is a real tree. The aspens of Colorado as they quivered in the breeze--real. They reminded me of the aspens we planted in our yard in Durango. Everyone told us aspens would never grow there. Now those aspens are huge and taking over the yard in all their shimmering loveliness.

We saw fantastic strawberries knee high and gorgeous. We saw farms waving with alfalfa and soy beans and a plethora of other crops. We saw mountains covered with phalanxes of old-growth fir and pine trees, velvety in the distance and towering over us on the passes. We passed through a riot of wildflowers blowing in the breeze and turning whole mountainsides purple and yellow and bright red and orange.

We went to a park garden lush with flowers of all sorts. Part of it reminded me of the Versailles gardens in France--everything set out perfectly, the colors blending into one harmonious whole. There were gardens of perennials, gardens of roses, a Japanese garden, a hothouse full of orchids and varieties of cactus I'd never even seen, living in cactus world as I do. On the hillside, there was a wild portion devoted to forest plants and trees. And best of all, there was a whole garden of LILACS!

Lilacs are my favorite flower. They happen to be my favorite color and their scent is luscious. It fills my nose with memories of childhood--always good--memories of new dresses; Nonnie (my great grandmother); trips across the United States to see relatives back East; of rolling down the hill at church in my Sunday dress and hiding in the lilacs from my sister; memories of hunting through gravestones for relatives in Gunlock, Utah. How I wish I could bathe in their scent, and remember.

This stream of green runs through all of the events of the last two weeks (most of which I won't elaborate on here), bolstering me for the blistering heat of an Arizona summer. I drink it in eagerly, so that the green flows to the tips of my fingers and toes like life-giving blood. Ah the heady, rich scent of growing things flowing up from the ground and into my thankful head--filling me with the richness of elsewhere and elsewhen. God must truly love us to give us such a world in which to grow.

Weeping Angels

2011-06-12T19:54:00.000-07:00

Last night we had my son's birthday party (only a month late). He wanted a Dr. Who birthday so we borrowed the little guy's 'fort' box and painted it to be the Tardis. I was sporting a towering migraine, so the crawling around on the floor painting was not fun, but now we have a big blue British police box in our yard. I doubt I'll ever forget my son's friend stumbling around inside the box and running into things.

I'd pondered what to wear for this shindig. Somehow the giant glob of fat guy and the toe headed military guy and the Ood didn't cut it. Finally I landed on one of my favorite of their characters: the Weeping Angel. That costume turned out to be a barrel of monkeys. The whole night was filled with people telling their friends to stop looking at me so I could eat, or blanching in fear when they found me looking over their shoulder. (Luckily the migraine eased up finally) The photo ops were fun and I was comfy all night in my toga. For Halloween I'll do the face paint to go with it.

The funniest happening of the night was when we were watching an episode. Dr. Who says to Harriet Jones, England's Prime Minister in the show, "Do you want to know the six words that will destroy the world?"
"What are the six words," she asks.
Then, as the Dr. whispers them in her ear, my youngest son blurts out, "You look fat in those jeans!"
It brought down the house!

Solar Serenade

2011-06-06T13:34:00.000-07:00

The searing heat of summer flays like a blast furnace when the door opens. In the summer we become troglodytes hiding away in the relative coolness of our darkened houses.

Doughy, moon-like flab adheres to our bodies in gobbets because we do not come out until the merciless sun has passed the Prime Meridian. We buy machines to aid us in our quest for the lard-less body, and hide them away in the coolth of our 'caves'. Then we take vitamin D supplements and paint ourselves tan to mimic Sol's healthy rays.

Our pets are nocturnal. We have befriended the owls and mockingbirds, the rabbits and bats. The animals of the daylight have become brazen in their lack of human predators.

We do our work to the light of the summer moon. Even then, the remnant radiation of daylight rises in waves to the night sky, causing the light to shimmer. We pity those who must work when the sun is high, often taking them cool drinks of life-saving water--which does not stay cool very long. The sun dries our clothing but also rapidly rots away anything left outside.

Crops must be planted in the shade and ceaselessly watered. Often they wither before they have been in the ground a day. Those crops which do enjoy the scalding sunlight bear sharp spines and suck water like sponges.

Beware the super-heated desert wind. It can scour the face from an unwary traveler within seconds with its flying grit. It sweeps through off the desert and can lift the roof from a house as well as any tornado. I've seen it happen.

That said, wish you were here...:o)

Plastic Bag Civilization

2011-06-03T13:28:00.000-07:00

I have decided that plastic bags have their own civilization. Bags are hardy (except when carrying pointy things or lots of cans), ubiquitous, and handy for carrying things.

Did I say ubiquitous? Bags are EVERYWHERE! I don't know how it is that I go on bag pogroms all the time--wiping out whole villages of bags in one fell swoop--and yet they still persist. I think bags breed like rabbits in the dark of the cupboard! I mean, what else do they have to do in there? If I didn't regularly send those plastic receptacles off to bag war, I'd no doubt be smothered in my sleep. I'm sure some unexplained murders could in reality be attributed to bored or malevolent bags.

You see bags ghosting down the street like tiny parachutes. You see them stuck on the cactus in the desert. At our house they go for everything from garbage bags to hauling wet swimming suits home from the pool.

And what's with the holey ones? Why would a store give you a bag that already has holes in the bottom? Are they hoping you'll come visit them again REALLY soon? 'Cause I do. I march right back in there and announce, "My tampons just fell RIGHT OUT OF THE BAG! I want a new box!" My children are so proud of me at that moment. I can tell. (Not true. I have enough children that they'd hogtie me in my sleep if I were THAT embarrassing.) Stores should keep the wounded bags in bag hospitals until their holes are healed and THEN send them out into the cold hard world. It's too much to ask of a wounded bag to carry the burdens they are asked to bear.

I have recently developed a bag rescue organization. Yes, all moneys may be sent to my address here in Hades, Arizona. For an example, I am developing new uses for bags as we speak. A few months ago I stuffed couch pillows with them. (Side note: said pillows are pretty worthless in a pillow fight.) I also twist a bag and use it to hang banananananas from the cupboard knobs. The banananananas still turn brown, but they have a great time swinging around on the doors.

For other ideas, send $359 and a self-addressed and stamped envelop to:
Thisisajoke
12345678 E. Itsreallyhothere street
Hades, Arizona
0006000

And enjoy your bags. They apparently love you.

2011-06-03T13:25:00.000-07:00

3rd Annual Summer Treasure Hunt: Dig for Clues and Win! Contest

Welcome to our 3rd Annual “Summer Treasure Hunt: Dig for Clues and Win Contest!” This is becoming an exciting tradition, both for our sponsors and hopefully for all of you! 29 writer friends and I have banded together to present a month-long contest where we will give away a prize a day for the entire month of June. That’s right! 30 awesome prizes, running the gamut from books books books! (romances, fantasies, mystery/thrillers, inspirationals, children’s books, and various non-fiction), as well as Amazon gift cards, a Mary Kay gift set, a vinyl lettering gift certificate, a hand-sewn weekly planner with ribbon bookmark, a crocheted book tote with matching cell phone case, and again for you aspiring authors, TWO free edit/critiques of a partial manuscript. Many of the giveaways are open to International entries, though always check to be sure before you enter for a particular prize.

And how exactly do you enter for these amazing prizes? By following these rules:

SUMMER TREASURE HUNT RULES:

You can send in one entry for each day’s prize, or only for those prizes that strike your fancy. The rules are simple:

(1) Go to the website or blog indicated for each day, find the answer to the question for that day, then email the answer with your name and AND MAILING ADDRESS to jdipastena@yahoo.com. I promise you will not wind up on any mailing lists. This is only to facilitate the receipt of your prize. All entries will be deleted at the end of the contest.

(2) Please send a separate entry for each day and type the day you are entering in the subject line. (Such as: Summer Treasure Hunt, June 1; Summer Treasure Hunt, June 2, etc).

(3) Deadline for each day: Midnight PST

(4) The winner will be contacted and announced on the day following the deadline.

All winners will be drawn by www.random.org.

You do not have to wait until the designated day to enter. You can start sending in your entries right now, or begin entering at any point along the way. And check back here each day between June 2nd – July 1st to read the names of the winners.

If you have any questions, please email Joyce DiPastena at jdipastena@yahoo.com.

And now…let the treasure hunt begin!

June 1

SPONSOR: Canda Mortensen

PRIZE: A $25 Amazon gift certificate

QUESTION: What is the title and artist of the Princess song on Newbie's playlist? (HINT: Scroll to the bottom of the blog and read “Newbie Teaser”. Match the number of “Princess” with the same number on the Playlist box (you may have to scroll down the playlist to find this, too). It will give you the title and artist.)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http:candamortensen.blogspot.com

OPEN TO USA ENTRIES

WINNER: Melissa Brockett of Utah

ANSWER: "With You", by Chris Brown

June 2

SPONSOR: Jennifer Griffith

PRIZE: Delicious Conversation (LDS romance, an adaptation of Jane Austen's Persuasion, set in a chocolate shop in Salt Lake City), by Jennifer Griffith

QUESTION: Name at least 5 kinds of candy I ate at the last writers' conference I attended AND share YOUR favorite candy. (HINT: Read the April 20, 2011 post. Click on April under the Blog Archive in the right hand sidebar.)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://cottoncandy4thesoul.blogspot.com/

OPEN TO USA ENTRIES ONLY

WINNER:

WINNER: Crystal Dotson of West Virginia

ANSWER: peanut brittle bar, a box of Good 'n Plenty, some Hot Tamales, a handful of mini-Mr. Goodbars, a few Hershey's Kisses, Starlight Mints, some Dr. Pepper (accidentally), and a bunch of mint flavored Three Musketeers

June 3

SPONSOR: Peggy Urry

PRIZE: Choice of book: Villette by Charlotte Bronte (romance, paperback); Airframe by Michael Crichton (thriller, paperback); The Body Farm by Patricia Cornwell (contemporary crime, paperback); OR The Mist of Quarry Harbor by Liz Adair (LDS romantic fiction, paperback); AND choice of Jelly Belly Gel Case for iPhone 3G/3GS or Jelly Belly Strawberry Cheesecake Gel Case for iPod Touch.

QUESTION: What is the name of my Work In Progress (WIP)? (Hint: It's the title of my March 12, 2011 post. Click on “March” under Blog Archive in the right hand sidebar.)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://peggyurry.blogspot.com/

OPEN TO USA/CANADA ONLY

WINNER: Judy Cox of Louisiana
ANSWER: Bound

June 4

SPONSOR: Danielle Thorne

PRIZE: Josette (sweet Regency romance, E-book) AND Southern Girl, Yankee Roots (poetry), both by Danielle Thorne

QUESTION: Danielle supports what wildlife conservancy organization? (HINT: See right hand column of website)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://www.daniellethorne.com

OPEN TO INTERNATIONAL ENTRIES

WINNER: Rachel Rossano of Connecticut

ANSWER:The Sea Turtle Conservancy

June 5

SPONSOR: Bonnie Harris

PRIZE: Mary Kay Microdermabrasion Set

QUESTION: What are the names of my two WIPs? (HINT: Scroll to the bottom of the blog and click on “Work in Progress” under Labels)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http:// www.bonnieharris.blogspot.com

OPEN TO USA/CANADA

WINNER:Taffy Lovell of Utah

ANSWER:Encoded Secrets and Black Orchids

June 6

SPONSOR: Susan Kaye Quinn

PRIZE: Autographed copy of Life, Liberty, and Pursuit (YA love story), by Susan Kaye Quinn

QUESTION: How many days do David and Eliza have on the cruise together, before they’re forced to go their separate ways? (HINT: Click on the “About Me and My Books” tab and read the blurb for Life, Liberty, and Pursuit)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://ink-spells.blogspot.com

OPEN TO USA ENTRIES ONLY

Winner: LuAnn Morgan of Washington

Answer to today's question: Four

June 7:

SPONSOR: Anne Bradshaw

PRIZE: True Miracles with Genealogy: Help from Beyond the Veil (non-fiction), by Anne Bradshaw – 1 print and 1 eBook – Print copy can be autographed. (Yes, there will be TWO winners drawn for this prize)

QUESTION: Which TV station interviewed Anne? (HINT: Answer is a short way down the middle column.)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://truemiracleswithgenealogy.com

OPEN TO INTERNATIONAL ENTRIES; PLEASE NOTE YOUR PREFERENCE FOR PRINT OR EBOOK, ALTHOUGH I CAN’T GUARANTEE YOU WILL WIN YOUR PREFERENCE.

Winners: Dee Bibb from Mississippi and Cynthia Peck from Arizona

Answer to today's question: KCSG

June 8

SPONSOR: Cheri Schmidit

PRIZE: Autographed copy of Fateful (YA paranormal romance), by Cheri Schmidt

QUESTION: Who is the prince of darkness? (HINT: Click on “April” under Blog Archive in the left hand sidebar and read the April 12, 2011 post)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://cherischmidt.blogspot.com/

OPEN TO USA ONLY

Winner: Kristen Tucker of Arizona

Answer to today's question: Lucas

June 9

SPONSOR: Mary Fremont Schoenecker

PRIZE: Moonglade (a sweet cozy mystery, Book Two in the Maine Shore Chronicles series), by Mary Fremont Schoenecker The prize is an autographed First Edition hard cover print book.

QUESTION: What special skill does character Tante Margaret use that puts her in danger during Remi's murder investigation? (HINT: Click on the “About Her Books” tab and read the Publisher’s Weekly Review.

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://www.maryschoenecker.com

OPEN TO USA/CANADA

Winner: Monica Knoll of New York

Answer to today's question: Tante Margaret is clairvoyant

June 10

SPONSOR: Shaunna Gonzales

PRIZE: FREE edit and/or critique of first 50 pages

QUESTION: What do his lips taste like? (Hint: click on “Sizzling Kiss” under Post Subjects in the left hand sidebar)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://www.shaunnagonzales.blogspot.com

OPEN TO USA/CANADA

Winner: Nicole Zoltack of Pennsylvania

Answer to today's question: gingerbread and milk

June 11

SPONSOR: Donna Hatch

PRIZE: The Stranger She Married (Regency romance), by Donna Hatch

QUESTION: What poses the greatest danger to Alicia’s heart? (HINT: Scroll down underneath the book cover of The Stranger She Married, and read the paragraph directly below.

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://www.donnahatch.net/bookshelf.htm

OPEN TO INTERNATIONAL ENTRIES FOR E-BOOK VERSION; US/CANADA FOR PRINT BOOK OR PAPERBACK VERSION

Winner: Amy Wheelwright of Washington

Answer to today's question: learning to love the stranger she married

June 12

SPONSOR: Cindy R. Williams & Planet Play Productions, LLC.

PRIZE: Award winning glossy cover children’s snuggle, giggle picture book, Chase McKay Didn’t Get Up Today, signed by the author and the real Chase McKay.

QUESTION: What is the name of the dragon in the upcoming fantasy, Thundertail’s Tale: The Legend? (HINT: click on the Blog tab)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://www.cindyRwilliams.com

OPEN TO USA/CANADA

Winner: Andrea Melton of Kentucky

Answer to today's question: Sparkin

June 13

SPONSOR: Larry Hammersley

PRIZE: Motorcycle Woman (sweet contemporary romance, E-book), by Larry Hammersley

QUESTION: What kind of motorcycle does Tess, the motorcycle woman, ride? (HINT: Read the blog post “Motorcycle Woman from Red Rose Publishing”, May 5, 2011)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://larryhammersley.blogspot.com/

OPEN TO INTERNATIONAL ENTRIES

Winner: Shannon Johnson of Illinois

Answer to today's question: Harley Davidson Sportster

June 14

SPONSOR: Cheryl Cory

PRIZE: Autographed copy of Must've Done Something Good (romantic comedy), by Cheryl Cory

QUESTION: What is Sylvie's all-time favorite movie? (HINT: Click on the "Info" link in the left-hand column)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://www.facebook.com/MustveDoneSomethingGood

OPEN TO INTERNATIONAL ENTRIES

Winner: Tarrah Montgomery of Arizona

Answer to today's question: The Sound of Music

June 15

SPONSOR: Valerie Ipson

PRIZE: $15 Gift Certificate for Vinyl Lettering (http://vinylsignsanddesigns.blogspot.com)

QUESTION: What is Valerie's writing goal for 2011? (HINT: Look in the right hand sidebar)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http:// valerieipson.blogspot.com

OPEN TO USA

Winner: Kristen Tucker of Arizona

Answer to today's question: To pitch the book

June 16

SPONSOR: Rachel Rager

PRIZE: Wednesday Romances - romance (obviously), ebook, by Rachel Rager. This is a compaliation of three different love stories, A Season for Love, The Tiger Unleashed, and The Feather Kiss. (All sweet romances)

QUESTION: Every week I have post a new chapter of a book on my blog. What are these posts called? (Hint: These posts are featured every Wednesday.)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://rachelrager.blogspot.com

OPEN TO INTERNATIONAL ENTRIES

Winner: Susan Arroyo

Answer to today's question: Wednesday Romances

June 17

SPONSOR: Danyelle Ferguson

PRIZE: Autograhed copy of (dis)Abilities and the Gospel: How to Bring People with Special Needs Closer to Christ (non-fiction/self-help) by Danyelle Ferguson & Lynn Parsons, M.S.)

non-fiction/self-help, autographed book

QUESTION: What is the name of the non-profit Danyelle co-founded? (HINT: Check out Danyelle's author bio)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://www.danyelleferguson.com/

OPEN TO USA ENTRIES ONLY

Winner: Amber Nielson of Vermont

Answer to today's question: Friends of GIANT Steps

June 18

SPONSOR: Teresa Thomas Bohannon

PRIZE: A Very Merry Chase (Regency Romance novel), by Teresa Thomas Bohannon. AND a $5 Amazon gift certificate. Winner's Choice: PDF with personalized dedication, or Ebook format for Kindle or Epub format for Nook. (HINT: Read “A Very Merry Chase Excerpt” under “A Very Merry Chase” in the right hand sidebar)

QUESTION: What did Lady Bethany do and why?

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://www.ladysilk.net

OPEN TO INTERNATIONAL ENTRIES

Winner: Gayle Humpherys of Texas

Answer to today's question: Lady Bethany, shocked absolutely to the core of her gentle soul, could take no more and swooned dead away...because Sabrina slapped the highwayman and cursed.

June 19

SPONSOR: Diane Daniels

PRIZE: Autographed copy of Over the Moon (YA fantasy romance, print copy), by Diane Daniels

QUESTION: Who is Andrew's evil x-girlfriend, Sonya, named after? (HINT: Read the May 14, 2011 blog entry)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://www.overthemoonseries.com/

OPEN TO USA

Winner: Megan Swanson of California

Answer to today's question: "Sonya is named after my wicked orange cat who died last summer."

June 20

SPONSOR: Margaret Larsen Turley

PRIZE: critique for up to 5000 words

QUESTION: Margaret Larsen Turley is administrator for ______________________________ group. They hold fund-raising events for Cancer Research. (HINT: You’ll find the answer in one of her website tabs)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://margaretlarsen.com/

OPEN TO INTERNATIONAL ENTRIES/ENGLISH LANGUAGE ONLY

Winner: Rachel Rossano of Connecticut

Answer to today's question: Writers Unite to Fight Cancer

June 21

SPONSOR: Anna Arnett

PRIZE: Autographed copy of Lolly's Yarn: a memoir (older YA to adult), by Anna Arnett, with a hand-crocheted bookmark

QUESTION: What was the verdict regarding Anna's radar photo speeding ticket? (HINT: Click on the Blogs tab and read “I Fought the Law and Guess Who Won?”

WEBSITE/BLOG: htt:www.annaarnett.com

OPEN TO USA

Winner: Debbie Roberts of Pennsylvania

Answer to today's question: No definition of "reasonable and prudent" or "Case dismissed," or "You may go now."

June 22

SPONSOR: Joyce DiPastena

PRIZE: Autographed copy of Loyalty’s Web (sweet medieval romance), by Joyce DiPastena

QUESTION: How do people win Joyce’s “Light Bulb Award”? (HINT: Answer is found in the right hand column of the blog)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://jdp-news.blogspot.com

OPEN TO USA

Winner: Barbara Hightower of South Carolina

Answer to today's question: By helping her solve a particularly knotty problem with her WIP

June 23

SPONSOR: C. Michelle Jefferies

PRIZE: 52 page hand-sewn weekly planner, with ribbon bookmark.

QUESTION: What rank is Michelle in martial arts? (HINT: Look in right hand sidebar under “MY TANG SOO DO PROGRESS”)

WEBSITE/BLOG: HTTP://cmichellejefferies.blogspot.com

OPEN TO USA/CANADA

Winner: Jennifer Hernandez of North Carolina

Answer to today's question: Red belt

June 24

SPONSOR: Valerie J. Steimle

PRIZE: Choice of two books: Home Is Where The Learning Is (homeschool how-to book, non-fiction; autographed print copy) OR Dogs, Blogs and Hobbits: Writings from a Widows Perspective ---(non-fiction articles about everything from being single and single moms to inspirational stories; autographed print copy), both by Valerie J. Steimle

QUESTION: How many children does Valerie have? (HINT: Look in the right hand column in "About Me")

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://valeriesteimle.blogspot.com/

OPEN TO USA/CANADA

Winner: Amy Lopez of Arizona

Answer to today's question: Nine

June 25

SPONSOR: Karen Adair

PRIZE: Crocheted Book Tote with matching cell phone case.

QUESTION: What commenter recently called me (Karen) "The Queen of Sugar Land?" (HINT: Select “January 2011” under Archives and read the COMMENTS on Karen’s January 6, 2011 post on “The 20 Minute Sprint”)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://www.kbadair.com

OPEN TO USA

Winner: Sheila Heather Martinez of California

Answer to today's question: Shannon Hale

June 26

SPONSOR: Jaimey Grant (www.jaimeygrant.com) and/or TreasureLine Books & Publishing (www.treasurelinebooks.com)

PRIZE: Winner's choice of 1 of 5 Regency romance eBooks by Jaimey Grant (Honor, Betrayal, Deception, Spellbound, or Redemption. Please note: Honor contains some marital "heat".)

QUESTION: Which of Jaimey's previously self-published titles has recently been picked up by a publisher? (HINT: Click the "Purchasing Options" tab)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http:// www.jaimeygrant.com

OPEN TO INTERNATIONAL ENTRIES

Winner: Dara Roberts of Pennsylvania

Answer to today's question: Heartless

June 27

SPONSOR: Heidi Murphy

PRIZE: Autographed copy of Small Deceptions (sweet Regency/Georgian romance), by H. Linn Murphy

QUESTION: In what country is the bridge found over which 'we' were fighting? (HINT: Find “Blog Archive” in the right hand sidebar, click on April and read the post titled: “The Far Bridge”)

WEBSITE/BLOG: www.murph4slaw.blogspot.com

OPEN TO INTERNATIONAL ENTRIES

Winner: Brenda Child of Utah

Answer to today's question: France

June 28

SPONSOR: Kenneth Rosenberg

PRIZE: One e-book copy of my new romantic comedy, Sweet Ophelia and the Tinseltown Blues, any format

QUESTION: What instrument does the character Warren August play? (HINT: Click on the cover image for Sweet Ophelia and the Tinseltown Blues. Read the first few paragraphs of the excerpt.)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http:// www.kennethrosenberg.com

OPEN TO INTERNATIONAL ENTRIES

Winner: Susan G. Haws of Arizona

Answer to today's question: Saxophone

June 29

SPONSOR: Michael Young

PRIZE: Autographed copy of The Last Archangel (YA Urban Fantasy, print copy - Release date July 14th)

QUESTION: What is the name of the fallen angel who is the main character in "The Last Archangel"? (HINT: Click on the Reviews tab. Frank Cole thinks this character “rocks!”

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://thelastarchangel.weebly.com

OPEN TO USA/CANADA

Winner: Marie Kacerosky of Florida

Answer to today's question: Xandir

June 30

SPONSOR: Joan Sowards

PRIZE: The Star Prophecy: a Book of Mormon Adventure (LDS novel), by Joan Sowards

QUESTION: Why do Enoch and his friends sail to Jerusalem? (HINT: Read the blurb under The Star Prophecy book cover in the right hand column of the blog)

WEBSITE/BLOG: http://joansowards.blogspot.com

OPEN TO USA

Winner: Jessica Tidd of California

Answer to today's question: To find the Christ child

Excuses

2011-06-03T11:45:00.000-07:00

Well. Here comes the litany of excuses for my inattentiveness here. You might as well sit back and have the popcorn ready to hand.

It's summertime--the slack season when I get much less written. My teenagers are home making noise and needing the stiff end of my boot to do anything beyond watching movies and playing video games. For some strange reason, several wasp's nests are daunting enough to them that they feel unable to spend any more than about 2 1/2 minutes cleaning the shed.

So I've been doing battle with said nests with some kitchen tongs and a flyswatter. To date I've stomped two nests and am needing to find the Mother Ship. The busy little stingers try to inhabit all my bird houses too. Stinky wasps. At any rate, I am hoping my example of fearless persistence has been enough to shake the offspring from their torpor.

Right.

Less amusing: on the day of my daughter's promotion, my eldest son's arm began to turn purple. It would have been a lovely color if it hadn't been so alarming. I immediately thought of blood clot but couldn't imagine a person so young getting one. So I had him moving it around and massaging it to no avail. After the promotion I called my hubby who turned out to be on his way home anyway. Lon took Perry in and it did indeed turn out that he had a blood clot in his shoulder.

So while I went to my second son's high school graduation, Lon sat in the ER with Perry. Two days later Perry got out and is now on blood thinners. The strange thing is that I wasn't worried. I know the Lord has a plan and this may have been His way of giving Perry a little honorable reprieve before Perry's mission for our church. Now he needs to go get another job to help pay for it all.

Hunter graduated from high school. His grades weren't stellar but he was quite busy with many good things ie. 3 choirs, several plays, a musical, swim team, and finishing his Eagle project. That last month was chuck full of concerts, awards nights, and parties. I'm so glad he wasn't out getting drunk or stoned or laid. He's a fantastic boy with loads of talent.

Courtney and Jessa play cello and violin in the Tucson Jr. strings and their school orchestras, meaning they had 4 performances. Barret plays tenor sax and he shared one of Jessa's performances. Plus there were rehearsals to take them to. The lovely thing is listening to all that good music. They're finally getting out of the lower symphonias which are much less pleasant to listen to.

Jessa had her Nat'l. Jr. Honor Society awards assembly too. She worked quite hard this year and got wonderful grades. We're so proud of her. It definitely makes up for the many times she brained the boys with their toy trucks. Who'd have thunk it?

We spent hours and hours helping Hunter work on his Eagle Project. He made gates and a fence for Colossal Cave Nat'l. Monument (at least I think it's a monument). I'm so glad that project is done as it is over ten miles away. There were several set-backs and hitches but we were blessed with kind donors and a great amount of help (you reap what you sow). Now he can say to his grandkids, "Look! I built that fence and those gates! (If, that is, they don't get wrecked by having kids swing on them.)

Last but not the least of my excuses, I have been trying to be a good example by not using the computer so much so we can save money. Since it's harder for me to write when my children are awake, I've been spending more time on my manuscripts in the morning and less time here. I have two MS in Beta testing as I write this.

That, my friends, is the whiny set of reasons why my posts have been sparse of late. I shall endeavor to do better. It doesn't look like things will let up any time soon. I know I've forgotten things too. I was supposed to go to cub camp in there somewhere but nobody let me know when, so I think I missed it. Bad dog, no biscuit.

Life is a roller coaster. Sometimes you barf over the side and hope it doesn't hit you on the loop-the-loop. Wheeeeeeee!

Squandered

2011-05-25T09:10:00.000-07:00

It's an ending day. And a beginning day. I asked my youngest today whether he felt he'd filled this year full enough with good things. He wants to change to another school so he can be with his friends. That's all he could think about.

I, on the other hand, think about this subject frequently. I know I don't fill up my year full enough with the right things. I waste too much time on trivialities and fluff. I know I'm doing it, and yet I can't seem to stop grasping at those stupidities that give me a temporary sense of accomplishment (like the card game Beleaguered Castles). I spent my middle daughter's whole babyhood playing on MUDs (Multi-User Dimension game--a text-based, coded game). I even coded for a MUD (wrote the code that makes the game work) for a little while.

It all came crashing down, though, when I realized I'd just squandered those precious hours for mental candy floss--gone with the first lick. Courtney's first steps were obscured by the need to kill another orc or figure out another quest. Sometimes I'd look up from a romp across whatever they called their country then, to see the sun beginning to paint the sky with the first golden gleam! I'd be horrified that I had played all night. And now...

Now I have nothing to show for all of those wasted hours.

I see my children doing the same thing. They'll even tell me to 'wait a minute' while they get to the next stopping place even though I tell them "It's a GAME for crying out loud!" They cannot see that they are throwing away this precious time hand over fist. This time while they are fit and lithe and young and lovely should be used for...LIFE.

But how can I tell them that when I still squander the hours I have left doing stupid things? Physician, heal thyself! Stand on your two legs and be a human instead of a thoughtless amoeba! Throw off the yoke of insipidity!

Now I'm getting off of here and only playing ONE game of Beleaguered Castles. Yeah. ONE.

Parachutes and Tiger Lilies

2011-05-23T08:21:00.001-07:00

As the final hours of my son's senior year ebb away, I find myself waxing a little misty-eyed.

I can see the regret roiling in Hunter and it brings my own regrets to the fore. He regrets stuffing all of his extra character-building, rounding-out efforts into his final year of high school. I know that he feels badly that he never got faster than a 29 second 100 fly on the swim team. He feels badly that he didn't even know he had any potential as a tenor until they begged him to join choir this year. He regrets just missing going to State by a hair's breadth. He wishes he'd done more in musical theater. Perhaps he even regrets not having run track in high school.

I feel the yearning in Hunter as he watches the last events of his childhood unfold, inexorably dragging him closer to that precipice of the unknown. He sees his friends taking that leap into the wild and terrifying abyss and wonders if his chute was packed well and will open.

Hunter's regrets trigger my own, both for him, and for myself. I wish I had somehow done more; more for him, and more with him. As he tests his chute in preparation to take to the wind, I find myself already missing him. Why didn't I ever go and meet his Russian teacher? Why didn't I take him along to church choir with me when he was a freshman? Why didn't I ride him more to get better grades? Why didn't I talk to his English teacher and see if he could really write? He never showed me his papers after he hit high school. I can't imagine why I didn't go ASK except at conferences.

I remember my own failings in high school--my own wastes of time and energy. I spent too many hours anguishing over the fact that I was a weed, not a lily. Too many thoughts were centered on why I never seemed to measure up. There was always some much cuter girl hogging all the hunky boys. There was always someone less clumsy, or better at German (my dad was the teacher), or less clumsy, or more intelligent or less clumsy. I struggled in math and struggled in P.E. (I couldn't keep the stupid tennis ball in the stupid court. I don't know how many times I set off car alarms hitting cars.)

I forget the fact that I was on toe as a dancer, making stellar grades, beginning to sweep the art world in our school, touring Europe at 16, punching cards for the one computer in school, learning to climb and rappel, and cementing life-long friendships. I look back, now, and wish that I had danced more and worried less. I suppose that I was simply doing what every teen does at some point--dealing with the angst of finding out exactly who I am and what I am worth.

Now I am still evaluating the worth question. I am at the middle of my life, now. Somehow it feels like the end. Why does it feel like the previous half means more than the next? Why am I constantly feeling like my potential wanes with the seconds? Where is my capacity to break out of the dark, cramping earth and burst into bloom?

My boy may perceive that he is just one of those lilies which was caught slumbering still in the Spring loam, his potential still latent. He thinks that all of his friends have bloomed and he is doomed to fall bloom-less. I, on the other hand, have seen him blaze forth in all his tiger lily splendor. His talents, though somewhat unhoned, are there in abundance. He fills the air with riotous, flamboyant color. The infectiousness of his grin, his bright wit, the intensity of his dedication, and the will to do the right thing have all bloomed in him, auguring a fine career as a human being.

What of me? There is no going back, whatever regrets I have for not having seen or done everything. I stand, now, at the same kind of precipice as does Hunter. Ahead, only empty air. Have I checked my chute? Or will there be a very messy squashing sound as I hit the ground?

Will I be a weed or a lily? Will I rise above the earth, tuck my head into the sky, and see the face of the Son? Will it matter all of my life that I'm a dandelion or a tiger lily to other people? Or will I shuck off all of that angst and nonsense and just blaze?
I guess it's up to me. And It's up to me to show Hunter that same truth.

He is my bright, beautiful tiger lily.

The Entitled

2011-05-18T11:51:00.000-07:00

I had occasion to visit my child's educational facility today. It should be better termed a holding cell. As I walked past the open doors, I saw row upon row of blank, bored, over-painted stares. The 'Bumpits' and shorty shorts and peekaboo pants (the ones which can't seem to fit over the boys' rumps) all bore mute witness to the fact that those individuals were there, not to learn, but to mark time. Their stares seemed to dare anyone to try to pry them open enough to get one concept into the wasteland in their heads.

These are the children of entitlement. They know that they have merely to hold out their little manicured hands, and whatever it is for which they wish, will magically appear there. These children believe that they are entitled to all of the good things they can possibly ingest without thought for the sacrifice others have made to provide them. They fully believe it is their right to 'man' the joystick 24/7/365. When they are balked, they squeal like hogs. If you take away their cell phone or their car keys or their game system or any of their other toys, at best you get 'the look' which would freeze lava.

These little girls live for sex without responsibilities. If they get pregnant, "Oh well. Mom will raise it", thus perpetuating the whole sorry program. Or they're treated like princesses. The State will care for it.

What has caused this phenomenon? I am certain I am not the only one asking this question. Many Babyboomers are looking with terror at the 'rising' generation. Where will we get the rocket scientists? Where will the physics professors come from? Who will write the literary masterpieces? Who will conquer cancer and the common cold? Who will care for us when we become decrepit? More to the point, who will care for these children?

This new generation is generally not interested. If the exercise is not exciting, fun, tasty, or makes them look sexy, the children of today will not be asked, lead, pushed, begged, pleaded, bribed, or coerced into having anything to do with it. If there is nothing monetary in it for them, they won't do it. And Heaven help you if you try to force them to it. They are Entitled.

It isn't all their fault, though. They are being trained to be this way. They are being groomed by nearly everything around them to be wards of the State. Everything they see on TV leads them to be desensitized, amoral, irresponsible, lustful, and uncaring. They are being groomed to be a generation of drones, who then morph into a generation of colorless, thoughtless, unquestioning workers. They will have no idea how to make a family and keep it together with love and dedication and loyalty. They won't know how to think independently. They won't know how to solve problems themselves. They are being told how to think and how to vote (at least until the vote is gone).

The funny thing is that this same treatise could have been written by many of the previous generations. I remember my own parents bemoaning the hippies and loose morals of my own age.

How do we stanch the flood? I'm not sure. It seems like a daunting prospect. We can teach our children to pray, to rise above their petty wants, to sacrifice, to serve, to be responsible. We can be the examples they don't have anywhere else. We can teach them about God and about the way things should be. We can love them. Most of all, we can hope. Will it be enough to help them swim upstream against the torrent of evil coming at them with bludgeoning force? I don't know.

The One-Buck Vanpire

2011-05-17T07:38:00.000-07:00

I drive a car of such a random undependable nature that I never know whether I will ever reach home alive or the trip will be relatively angst-free.

We got the 'ark' for a dollar from some fantastic friends who had come by a nice inheritance and no longer needed an oil-sucking hulk anymore. I was in charge of Cub Scout camps at the time and the van would be handy in hauling both people and supplies. It's a 15 passenger ex-border patrol vehicle with a host of quirks and flaws; for a buck, we couldn't pass it up.

We've taken it on several trips to Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, Nevada, New Mexico, and through Arizona. That van has chugged up mile-high peaks and through volcanic beds, past herds of deer and elk, across canyons, and out to the sea. I've hauled ten people plus all my camp supplies out of a snowed-in camp to the safety of the desert valley. We've gone four-wheeling and countless trips to the store in it. Somehow Lon, my husband, keeps the vanpire ticking away with some kind of magic husbandly ju-ju.

A while back I was hit from behind by an illegal alien (possible retribution for its previous usage?), who then fled the country, leaving us with a $3000 repair bill. Thus started a long affair with various car repair shops. There have been at least two trips to the brake shop, transmission work, several changes of tires and a host of repairs done by my sweet husband in his less than spare time. Right now, it rattles loudly as the suspension is mucked up. Everywhere we go, the rattling of our van herald's the advent of the Murphy herd long before we pour from its doors.

This van's favorite trick is to quit randomly at intersections. The behemoth sails blithely out into traffic and dies dead. Life surges up out of my stomach and, choking as it passes my throat, sluices away, in a gush of past memories and present regrets. It leaves me shaking like an aspen leaf in the wind once the wretched van gets re-started. I gulp my guts back down and put the stupid thing back into drive.

As I drop my children off at school, I gaze at them, drinking in the sight of them, wondering if this is our last farewell kiss. They tell me 'good-bye' as if I'm going to a firing squad. Sometimes I wonder.

There was once an old lady walking her dog faster than my van was chugging. Her look of glee matched the annoying yap of her toddling dust mop. I only spared a glance, since I was willing the vanpire to go at least far enough to get to the house, since I was wearing my pajamas. I don't do the pajama thing anymore.

I have had to push that thing through intersections by myself (since our city police won't sully their hands helping anymore) and up hills to gas stations. At such times I must admit that I curse like a longshoreman. The crossing guard on the way to school knows my van and has seen my blanched face of sheer terror as the thing squats in the middle of her intersection. I can see her mouthing words of encouragement and advice (none of which is valid). I don't hear her as I'm too busy yelling for the kerschmackin' thing to GO!

Lon never seems to have these heart-stopping episodes. For him, the staccato sound of back-firing merely means that he's put on the gas a little too strongly. He calmly takes his foot off the gas and re-applies it and the car sails along just fine. I think he thinks my tales of traveling terror are pure bunk or my own inability to coddle the thing correctly.

I'm certain that you are asking yourself whether I am insane or simply incredibly stupid. Believe me, after a morning like this one, I am asking myself the same thing. I suppose I must say that it's mostly a supreme gamble, one which has most of my friends berating me for my negligence.

We are going to get a new car. Eventually. I just have a very deliberate husband, for whom change is difficult and time is short. Eventually, however, the planets will align, the forces of nature will converge, and we will put the vanpire out to pasture along with our other two rusting hulks. At such time, I, if I am still alive, will greatly rejoice.

Spider and Solitaire

2011-05-16T09:33:00.000-07:00

Survivor is a guilty pleasure of mine. I watch it for the sociology value. I used to think it might be fun to go on the show, but people are so hurtful and evil on there, that I think not, now. I'd rather go on Amazing Race and travel and do things from all kinds of foreign countries. Much less needing to back-stab on that game.

This season featured a visit from Boston Rob, a recurring nightmare of a player. For me, he epitomizes all that is wrong with the game. And that he got not only a million dollars last night, but also the $100,000 extra, makes my stomach do pike flips. He sat there in full view and wove his machinations very carefully like a big fat spider. Now and then he would jiggle a strand to see if his juicy, stupid, entrapped fly was still trapped. It always was.

Rob 'befriended' Phillip, a loon so crazy that people were trying desperately to get him off. They were amazed that Rob kept Phillip on the string. I wasn't. I knew Rob wouldn't take any of the cute little girls with him to the end without giving them that last little mercy killing sting to put them out of his way. Phillip was his meal ticket to the end because Rob knew nobody in their right mind would vote for the loon. What I couldn't imagine, was that if Phillip were really at all smart, why he would have continued to be obnoxious and loony at the very end, when it obviously could hurt him.

I have to say that there was one young man on there who impressed me more than a survivor has in many a season. Matt made it clear from the start that he was a stellar person. He voted with his conscience and tried his best to work an honest game. I LIKE that. What impressed me the most was that he made it no secret that God was the one in charge for him. Matt spent more time alone on the island than any other survivor. That to me means Matt is the Survivor.

I felt so badly for Matt when people voting for the extra $100,000 gave it, not to him, but to Rob, who didn't need it. I felt like Matt deserved the money much more. I felt like people were voting that way so that it would prove that God didn't do anything for Matt.

But they are wrong. And I was wrong. I was thinking about it this morning, thinking how badly Matt got skunked. But then it occurred to me that God never said he'd help Matt get a million dollars. But He did succor Matt through those times when he was alone and hungry and depressed. He did clearly help him get through more bouts than anyone else in the game. And Matt gave God the credit.

That's why I like Matt.

Boston Rob said he wasn't really a cutthroat spider in real life (I'm paraphrasing here), that he drew the line when he went home to his wife and children. But I don't think that's right. I think he is exactly the way he appeared in four seasons of Survivor. When push comes to shove, he shoves. He showed his true colors and Survivor rewarded him for it.

Matt (and before him Ethan) showed that a person doesn't have to be a jerk. I think they are the ones who win in real life. There were one or two other players this time, who, to a smaller degree, stepped up and were decent. I vote for THEM.

Rob needs to go get a real job, now. If he can.

Light

2011-05-13T23:28:00.000-07:00

I just watched Tron. I love how they play with light. I'm entranced with it. I'm entranced with the whole idea of light as intelligence, and beings of light. I love how a person's eyes 'light up' when they are happy and are dull and lifeless when they aren't happy. The eyes are the windows of the soul. When one looks out of a window, one either sees nothing, or one sees light.

We look up at the stars in the night sky--trillions of tiny points of ancient light. They are a scattering of diamonds flung upon the cosmos by a God who glories in light and intelligence. From a distance, our own world glows with the same light lent to it by our sun, as does our satellite. Earth becomes one of those little points of light.

It is written that our world will become one of glass and light in the end of this era (or is it the beginning of a new one?). I can't imagine being on Earth when such a thing comes to pass. Will it be a ballet of melting sand? A symphony of destruction? Will I witness it from a place of safety? Will there be a place of safety? Or will I be part of the melting river of light? Will I be a being of such surpassing whiteness that light pours from me and swirls round me in a crazy confluence of rainbows? I can't imagine knowing that much.

And yet, we are star seeds, planted here so that we may become beings of light.

I wish I could have used white or yellow type but it won't show up against my background.

Soaring

2011-05-11T08:31:00.000-07:00

Hunter's Eagle Project is finally falling into place. I've been badgering him to get to it for three years, now. True to form, he waited until the month before his birthday to get started. To Hunter's credit, he's in three different choirs, the school musical, art club, swim team, and loads of church activities. He's not a lazy boy--just busy. Luckily Hunter is fairly tractable and he gets things done cheerfully when he finally puts his mind to it.

The project has been fraught with problems from the start. First, the man who said he had a project down at the church ballpark strung him along and never got back to him, so this one was his back-up.

The people in charge of Colossal Cave park are often out of town or otherwise unavailable. They also sent over the wrong hinges for the gate and several of the fence posts were substandard. Several times they have canceled scheduled workdays without any notice, which meant that people were confused about when to come to help out.

Getting the right supplies has been interesting. Because the hinges were different than they previously indicated, the latches for the gates don't meet very well and we had to jury-rig something to make them fit. And the existing gate posts canted so far outward at the top that we had to shim the gates to make them even work, which meant that the wheels we bought don't work and we'll have to take the gates back off and remove the wheels. We'll do that when we get the cables for them.

Through it all, Hunter has been grace under fire. He kept people doing what they were doing, for the most part (a great feat in itself), and has been pretty good at trouble-shooting. I think he has earned this Eagle.

That said, now I have to go clear out there and put on a latch and a cane bolt to finish it off. I can't say I'm looking forward to it, but a mom does what she can for her eagle chick. Anything for a chance to see my son join that fantastic brotherhood.

An Ode to M&Ms

2011-05-10T08:29:00.000-07:00

O rounded O's which sit and stare
And make me anxious not to share
You taunt me ever with your taste
Which, though delicious, wrecks my waste.

You sit there waiting for my love
While I hover from above
Green one? Blue one? Orange? Brown?
The mind just boggles--makes me frown.

Shall I eat in twos or threes?
Shall I make you look like trees?
I'll make two sides of chocolate war
With greens on one side, reds before.

Something hits the orange side
Have to eat them. Purples, hide!
All too soon the battle's o'er
Now I must go and hunt for more.

Star Seed

2011-05-09T14:05:00.000-07:00

He came up over the orb of the earth trailing a blazing, cometous glory of rainbow hues in his wake. He bent his new trajectory to match the bright curve of Earth's face, dipping like fiery crystal into the troposphere.

There was a thunderous crackling, tearing, roar as his wake burned a trail through the cerulean sky. "Here I rest," he thought as he streaked towards the planet's green-furred surface.

He felt old today--old as a quasar; as old as hydrogen.

"Here I rest."

And it was good.

Paean for a Dying Knight

2011-05-09T13:58:00.000-07:00

Lie ye down, Sir errant knight
Lie ye down in the tall, tall grasses
Cover ye over with May rose
As your red blood stains the meadow.

Lay ye down your war-blunt spear
Also, your notch-ed great sword
Last breath mingling with the breeze
Last sight sees the raven.

No more to see the hills of homeward
Nor to kiss thy lover's lips
Gone are the banners bright and snapping
Gone are thy marching soldiers.

Hush, let the night breeze sooth your brow
Let the pain subside, now
Follow ye on to a new frontier
Away with you into the sunlight.

Bridget's Father

2011-05-09T09:50:00.000-07:00

Bridget's tears cascaded down her cheeks as she listened to the song a girl sang about her father. Bridget had always wanted a dad like that--one who wasn't a walled up, impregnable castle. She was starting to forget the few times when he had actually talked to her without being stone cold angry. She remembered long ago as her daddy danced with her on his feet. He had been a great dancer. She remembered the joy on his face as they twirled around the room. It was so long ago, now.

Apparently before his stint as a medic in the Korean war, he'd been a happy-go-lucky guy. His friends had all loved his open, sunny personality. Since the war, and for as long as Bridget could remember, his remoteness had set him apart from the rest of his family. How she longed to come into his arms and have him tell her he was proud of her. How she longed to hear him call her his Princess and tell her she was beautiful. She'd try to ask him about his life and what he was doing or thinking, but he'd give her a one-word answer or merely smile a little inscrutable smile and go back to fixing the car, or cleaning his rifle, or some other important task.

Bridget's voice cracked as she tried to sing along with the song. Finally she left the singing to the professional. She looked over at the gaunt man in the bed. Her dad smelled like musty old papers, split pea soup and cleaning astringent. He wore an oxygen cannula and a heart monitor. An IV fed him pain meds on a drip. A tracery of new lines in his face bore testimony of the constant pain her father faced. Now and then he opened his eyes, but they were glazed over. She could see him retreating hour by hour further into that other world where it was sunny and pain-free.

Suddenly it became paramount that she get through to him. She couldn't let him go without connecting at least once. "Dad. Dad, can you hear me?"
His eyes opened a crack and then closed again.
"I know you can hear me, Dad. I just wanted..."
There was a long pause and then he rallied a little. His lips moved slightly but no sound came out. Bridget bent to hear what little she could.
"What...can you want...from me now?" His voice was raspy, like steel sponge scraping on the kitchen counter. What could she want? Tears coursed down her face and dripped onto the pillow. She shook her head, trying to negate the accusatory tone in his voice.
"You never...got...enough."
She stood upright and reached for his hand. The skin was papery and thin and nearly transparent. His hand shook with the effort of living, as if that hand was the only thing holding him here in this life.
"I wanted you to know that I've always loved you. I wanted you to be proud of me, Dad."
There was a long pause while he martialled his forces. The effort was costing him in pain. "You want...me to say...I love...you."
Bridget looked away, out the doorway to the nurse's station. She wanted him to say those words so much she could taste it. But, more than that, she wanted him to say them on his own. She wanted to have to drag a confession of fondness out of him about as much as she wanted a root canal without anesthesia.
"Not if you don't feel like it."
He snorted a little and took a ragged breath. "You'll never...know...how much..." He never ended the sentence. The heart monitor suddenly flat-lined and the alarm went off. Nurses and a doctor poured into the room and edged Bridget out of the way. They briskly went about trying to revive her dad, but he had gone.

Bridget stood there in a haze of anguish. None of the flurry of activity registered on her. She was caught in that last sentence. She shook her head and tried to stanch the torrent of tears. Searing anger boiled up to choke her.
"You're right, Dad. I won't ever know, now."

Diamonds

2011-05-05T16:04:00.000-07:00

I spent the day helping hunt down a friend's runaway son with her. We have been scorching the ground out from under him, making it uncomfortable for those who help him to run. I hurt for this fine family. I can't imagine the anguish they must be feeling, knowing as they do, that they love their son and want him to live happily with them; wanting him to understand their love and the measures they must take to keep him safe and help him to reach his potential.

We go to church and see these families who have such mountainous problems and we secretly rejoice that at least that is not our family. And then suddenly it is. We find ourselves facing things we never ever thought would happen to our own, back when we were wide-eyed innocents and planning out our perfect lives. For some reason we think that we will be the perfect ones, slipping unscathed through life's cavalcade of drama. We think for some reason that none of life's unconscionable, painful, or embarrassing disasters will stick to us like the 'oobleck' in Dr. Seuss's 'Bartholomew and the Oobleck' book. But they do.

Sooner or later we must all pass through the Refiner's fire and be proven either a diamond of rare water or a smudge of dross. It is said that the only difference between a bit of carbon and a fine diamond is great pressure. We float through life hoping we will magically become a diamond, avoiding the massive stress, without which a diamond cannot be made. It will not happen. A diamond can only be made after having passed through the experiences that will perfect it, re-aligning bonds to make it not only the most beautiful of stones, but the hardest.

Christ himself knew these principles. He knew He could not fulfill the measure of His creation without passing through the fire to come out the other side. How can we, his little brothers and sisters, think that we can arrive where He is, without at least some of the same kind of testing?

The wonderful, saving grace is that we don't have to go through this process alone. We have Christ to stand with us, as Daniel's friends stood together in the Babylonian king's fiery furness. Christ has already passed through the fire, and now shows the way for us. He stands sentinel and helping friend and guiding light all in one. How very thankful I am that I don't have to do it alone.

I only hope that I can withstand the tempering process to emerge, if not unscathed, at least a diamond of pure water.

Internal Warfare

2011-05-04T12:04:00.000-07:00

Half of my brain is partying today. It thinks it has the day off, since yesterday I sent my latest offering to a few Beta readers, entered a magazine contest, and started Beta testing a book for a friend. What more could one ask on a day when one's head was being pulverized by a migraine? I mean, really.

The more intelligent half is jeering and throwing popcorn and cans of unopened soda at the other half. Of course there is no holiday. The migraine was yesterday, Pansy. I have two books to finish writing (which I have been neglecting to get Rodeo Queen off the skids) plus three to re-write. Am I crazy? Then it answers itself: "Clearly. You've been Face-booking and playing Beleaguered Castles like you have all the time in the world. Get to it, idiot."

And then my other brain half gets all disgusted and goes to hibernate while thinking up awful and disgusting things to do to the other half.

Life is a party in my head...;o)

Windsor Wedding

2011-04-29T16:35:00.000-07:00

I watched the marriage of William and Kate Windsor today. Such a magnificent show of pomp and circumstance! Westminster Cathedral is breathtakingly beautiful with its Gothic traceries and arching vaults. Kate's dress was splendid and her veil gorgeous. The bridesmaid dresses were adorable. I liked the understated elegance. Everything was quite chic. I could see Princess Diana's taste everywhere.

The hats were perhaps the most entertaining part of it all. Who knew there could be so many ways to look completely ridiculous? I can't think how some of them--like Victoria Beckham--could see anything past the doohicky in front of their eyes. And what about poor princesses Beatrice and Eugenie (I mean, come on...they already have the most horrific names. Why saddle them with the most horrific hats as well--unless they wore those to make a humorous statement)?

Amidst all the pealing of bells and royal coaches and troops of horse guards and fly-bys, I couldn't help wishing that they had been married in the temple. Wouldn't that have been fantastic? Not only would they be married in the Lord's house, but forever, not just for this life. I was just a little sad to hear that they already had a parting clause built right into their ceremony, just as countless newlyweds have had for centuries.

Maybe someday...

The Far Bridge

2011-04-28T07:33:00.000-07:00

I had pulled an early watch and come back to camp to rest a little before the coming battle. I knew there would be fighting this day, as my king was restless. We had sailed from England and now waited to uphold our sovereign's lawful bid for the French throne. I had come without my liege lord, who was too ill to leave his keep. I, as his squire, must keep his honor bright and proudly wear the Mightrinwood colors. I raced to don the last of my armor as the trumpets blared.

All too soon I stood at the ford, sweating in the morning sun amidst a welter of knights and men-at-arms. I could feel the sweat trickling down my body beneath my gambesson. The anticipation and dread clawed at my stomach, threatening to bring forth the porridge I had hastily eaten for breakfast. This could be the day in which I met my Maker. I felt the talisman my sweetheart had given me resting beneath my jerkin. "For you, love, and for Mightrinwood, England, and God." I prayed, knowing that those around me did so as well. Who would come away from this fray whole and alive? I prayed that I would at least die with honor.

The trumpets rang out, heralding the coming of the king. We knelt as one as the king came to the fore. I heard nothing of his speech as the blood pounded in my ears and threatened to strangle the life from me. Soon it was over and we were rising to meet the glares of the assembled French knights. This ford lay at the back door to their heart. Whoever controlled it controlled the rich heartland of France.

Trumpets blared once more and we tightened our formations. I could see the penons of the angry French tossing and snapping with the breeze which funneled up the river. Was that the Oriflamme, there behind the press? That banner meant there would be no quarter given. We would hold this nameless bridge or die trying. Acid rose in my throat, searing and raw. A shout rose around me and I added my hoarse voice to it. "For England and St. George!"

Again the trumpets blared and the two monstrous factions surged to the middle of the bridge. I was smashed from behind and knocked to my knees. I could only curl up beneath my shield and wait for a chance to rise again. I hoped I would not be trampled to death. The air was filled with the stench of unwashed bodies and the curses and cries of the wounded. Both sides bristled with spears and halberds, swords and maces. From somewhere behind us the English bowmen were hard at work sending cloud after cloud of the great clothyard arrows in a killing rain to fall upon the French.

The battle surged over me, the noise deafening, the stench cloying. I felt another's blood seeping through my gambesson. There was a tiny lull and then the battering on my shield came from a different direction. I peeked out and found myself staring up at the underbelly of a French knight. The French had moved over and past my hiding place and I was in enemy territory! Terror caught at my innards. Surely someone would dispatch me with his dagger before I could even make a single strike! I waited, in dread, for the sting of that dagger to enter my ribs or the 'snick' of one of our own arrows to find my heart.

At last a ceasefire rang out. The bridge was clogged with the dead and dying, stacked like wood in a bonfire. No progress could be made one way or the other. Both armies had fallen back while men dumped the bodies into the chill, black torrent of the river to clear the bridge. Now was my chance!

I struggled up and dragged the wounded knight on whose leg my head had rested, back across the gap. I could hear the astonished and angry French behind me. My heart lifted as my English mates cheered to see me rise. "The blood is not mine!" I yelled in amazement. They drew me back into their arms, pounding me on the back in brotherly bonhomie. We had somehow cheated Death's impartial scythe.

I turned. Now I was almost in the van of the new press. The French had an ax to grind with me, now. I could see the blood lust rise scarlet in their eyes as they searched me out in the second wave of men. They would be coming for me in vengeance. I breathed another plea to the Almighty that I would once again feel the tender arms of my sweetheart around me and breathe the clean air of Britain. The sheep would be lambing, back on the farm. Would I be there to sheer them in the fall?

Again the armies crashed together, the sound deafening--ominous with the cries of the wounded and dying. I could feel the tentative poking of several spears, trying to feel out my defenses. A halberd came over the top; it tried to hook my shield down to let the razor-sharp spears in. I knocked it away. Again. Again. Again. Spears thundered on my shield and skipped across my helm. Splinters of wood and droplets of blood and gobbets of other men's flesh filled the air.

I took every chance to catch the spear-men unaware. One good yank and a man could be rendered weaponless, allowing one of ours to end his life. Our own spear-men worked around and over me, hiding behind my trusted shield. Now and then they sent me a thankful smile as an incoming spear skipped harmlessly off, or I trapped it and sent it behind me for our own to use.

Inch by excruciating inch we crept across the bridge, stepping over the fallen, trying not to trip. The time dragged onward, seemingly forever. Hacking, slashing, bleeding, dying. My face and legs bled from a hundred cuts, but still I fought on. My muscles screamed from the effort of holding up the shield, from the sword, and from the battering of my men behind me and the spears and halberds in front.

At last we began to see the French weakening. The men in their rearguard had endured too many of our stinging arrows and were fleeing the field. At once our king bellowed a charge and we thudded into the French line, pushing, yelling, slicing into them; bludgeoning over them. I could see those eyes change from rank disdain to abject terror as we ran up their sharp spears to kill them.

All at once we were through, like a stopper removed from a dam. Into their backfield we raced, dispatching the wounded, imprisoning the survivors. I stopped, gasping for breath, when I found no enemy left to fight. I doubled over retching into the French dirt. At some time my colors had been torn from one shoulder and hung dripping with blood, sweat, and filth. I had not dishonored the Mightrinwood name.

I had done it! God had kept me alive to see the end--to see my fair one once again--to return to till my good English soil. Perhaps I might even reach home before the lambing was over!

Snick.

On Shopping

2011-04-27T12:22:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you, but I think shopping rots.

I think going from store to store looking at things you never really intend to buy is tantamount to time robbery. My philosophy is: Go to one store, get in, get 'it', get out, go find the bookstore. I'd almost rather have a root canal than trail around to several places, check all the prices, decide which item makes me look less like a hippopotamus on water pills, decide it's too expensive, and start the whole excruciating process all over again.

Once I decided to make myself a plate rack/curtain rod set for my living room. I designed everything and wanted to go pick out the lumber and get down to business. Unfortunately I took my beloved husband along. When I go to Home Depot, I go straight to the man in the little orange apron and ask for exactly what I want. For me, looking at boxes of screws and bags of cement and plumbing pipes isn't all that gripping. My husband is one of those men who walks up and down the aisles for several days, looks at everything, and then goes home to think about it. And that's what he did!

I figured that maybe measuring the windows and the walls above said windows could possibly be a good idea, so that time it was acceptable (even though I knew I'd have to have at least six long boards for the project and we have a stinkin' saw). I measured twice and came away with what I felt were acceptable measurements. My second mistake was taking him back with me! He still wasn't happy with my measurements and it was my project!

I was nearly apoplectic when he dragged me home lumber-less that second time. I was beginning to doubt my admittedly slight prowess as a persuader of husbands. I felt that if we went home a third time without my shelves, I'd be bucking a straight jacket. I don't know whether he saw the tic in my eye or that slight trigger finger twitch but the third trip we finally left with lumber. And the shelves look spectacular, I might add.

My sister, Lisa, is a shopping maven! She might take a month moving around one store but she comes out with slamming deals every time. We know that if she's shopping, she's going to be at least two hours late for whatever we were going to do together. But she has peerless taste and doesn't settle for garbage. I bow in awe of her shopping prowess.

I, on the other hand, glance around quickly, see what looks like something resembling what I want, and sprint for the checkout stand. I've come away with some truly repugnant messes, only lightly disguised. I'd almost rather go on wearing my dowdy, outdated, dumb-looking hand-me-downs than go shopping for clothes.

I don't know if you noticed the bookstore reference. That is a different fish altogether. I'll shop for books. I could support one of those Barnes and Noble clerks for a whole year on the money I spend there on books and the occasional Gaelic Storm CD. I still never leave book-less, though. That's massively counterproductive.

Now if only Lisa could find those dancing shoes I want...

Eagles, Hardware, and Scouting

2011-04-26T14:46:00.000-07:00

I've been quite busy this week helping my second son work through his Eagle Project. He is building gates and fencing for Colossal Cave National Park. His birthday is May 13th, so it's push time right now. I have no idea why he waited 3 whole years to do his project, but there it is. He waited. Silly son.

At any rate, he decided to go down and ask Home Depot, Lowes, Ace Hardware, and Frys for donations. None of the other boys in our ward have been able to get anything from Home Depot for various reasons. I was almost loath to even ask them, since it was an extra trip. But Hunter donned his uniform and we went down there.

The stores all told us that they'd get back with us. To me that meant that there was a distinct possibility that we'd be doing fund raisers for the money and that I'd just wasted three hours of precious time I could have spent writing. True to form, none of them called back.

We decided to go down anyway. Again, Hunter put on the uniform and got spiffed up and we drove down there, braving traffic and road construction. On the way, I told Hunter we needed to pray. He looked askance at me, but then said a very heartfelt prayer asking for help in this honorable endeavor.

We got to Home Depot and they could not have been more kind. It wasn't a matter of having to dredge up the money from somewhere, but of finding the cheerful, helpful, complementary man who was going to give us the money. We left with $25 worth of free lumber, several pats on Hunter's back from old scouts, a card for a free bowling game, and an amazing feeling.

I looked over at my son and said, "Hunter, that was a direct answer to our prayer. God takes care of His servants." He agreed. He seemed a bit amazed that it had worked out so well--that God had helped us so incontrovertibly. I wasn't.

Next we went to Lowes where they said they'd exhausted their extra funding helping out Japan. They did, however, say that their regional manager might be able to help us. So we are waiting on confirmation for him.

Next we went to Ace, where they showered us in cement, screws, fittings, and every bit of hardware we needed. Again, they absolutely couldn't have been more wonderful, helpful people.

Then we went to the other Home Depot, where they said they'd call us today. We'll be down there in a little while in a scout uniform and smile. Frys helped him out with food.

Can I just say that I am, once again, brilliantly, and unquestionably blessed? I have once more seen the hand of my Best Friend in the workings of my life. He shows me daily that I matter to Him. I hope I have made it clear to my son that it wasn't a coincidence--that he knows exactly why several busy people took time out of their busy lives and money out of their tills to help us out.
@~-->--->------------------------

This is Monday. On Saturday we went out to Colossal cave. I was glad to see so many people there. Many of them were people we had helped through their own Eagle projects.
We clipped the old barbed wire, pulled the old fence posts out (including a rotten railroad tie), re-dug holes, clipped spiny bushes back, and then cemented the new poles into the ground. At the end, we cleaned up the area cleaner than we'd found it, and finished building the last gate.
For next Saturday we just have to screw the crosspieces to the fence, and hang the gates. I'm hoping that the uneven ground won't bollix the 'wheel' idea Hunter had for stabilizing the big gates. If it does, though, I'm confident that he'll be able to drop back and punt. He's done well at that so far. It has been a very worthy project.

I must say that the Scouting program is truly inspired. I wish the men in charge could really catch the vision of that and make a fantastic program for our Venturers. After the Scout level, our program tends to fall apart, somewhat. I've seen so many boys have to rush like crazy at the last minute to finish their projects before they turn eighteen, like Hunter and like my eldest, Perry. Hunter has been ready for this project for three years! In all that time, he mostly played sports, instead of finishing up more merit badges.That is a break in the system.

I'm not speaking out of my hat, here. I am a unit commissioner in charge of several units, both packs and troops. I have done Woodbadge (yeah Bears!) and was a troop guide there (yeah Eagles!). I've been to National Camp School to certify as Camp Director/Program Director. I've trained countless leaders. I've run many Cub Scout camps and staffed those and Boy Scout camps. I've been an Asst. Den Leader, Den Leader, Cubmaster, and Assist. Cubmaster.

I see the later boys getting lost, like hikers in a dense fog. Their leaders rarely get enough training and can barely figure out what they need to do for the boys. It's easier just to let the boys play basketball. After all, the boys are supposed to be doing it all now, aren't they? It's the blind leading the blind, and a colossal waste of time, in my opinion.

Leaders need to GET TRAINED so they know what the heck they're doing--so they know how much to do or influence--and how often to step back. They need to care about the boys enough not to waste their time with babysitting measures. They need to care about them enough to show enough leadership so that the boys learn what it is to be a real and effective leader.

Don't even get me started on girls. I think the girls have been robbed in this area for years. Nearly everywhere else in the world girls go right up through the Scout ranks along with boys. Here, they're relegated to lame Girl Scouts, which is a whole other can of centipedes.

In Defense of Big Words

2011-04-20T11:25:00.000-07:00

I LIKE big words. Words were put on this earth to help us communicate effectively. They allow us to make pictures in our heads which carry meaning and feelings. Words help us grasp concepts which might otherwise get obfuscated by misunderstanding.

Too many people nowadays are starting to lose the capacity to communicate effectively. They are lost in a maze of one-letter words they text from a hand-held device. Those words generally convey very little. We are the generation of the Twitter and the text. Gone is the poetry and the sense of wonder; gone the pithy description. Gone too, is our memory.

Sad, that. We lose the capacity to see a vision in our mind's eye simply from reading the written word. Now it must be spelled out for us in a 3-D movie. Now our children entertain themselves for hours shooting little figures with big cartoon guns instead of romping in the fields of the written word. Our husbands can hardly write sentiments in our birthday cards. Thank goodness for Hallmark.

Bring me words such as pyroclastic, insensate, ambulatory, lapsus, proprioception, and glaucous. Shower me with extravagant fireworks of episememes and dispersoids and primogenitors. Confront me with gyrofrequencies and attenuators. I want to be indefatigable in the quest for knowledge and a champion of those poor, foundering words. I shall endeavor to indemnify those souls I can reach, against the loss of words such as obvolute, laconic, and pallor, rout and spicate, swathe and philately and ineradicable.

Power to the word and words have power, I say.

The Siren

2011-04-19T10:43:00.001-07:00

This blog is like a siren, luring me away from the real writing I should be doing on my manuscript. It tempts me seductively to come and present my opinions and maundering for the perusal of my friends, drawing me ever onward with another thought or fresh string of words.

I can see it now: the evil fairy cackling as she devises new methods of distraction, weaving her spells of rhetoric and imagination. At times she throws a phrase into the boiling cauldron, which doesn't seem to fit. Then I have to plunge my brain in there and fish it back out; the brain gets goopy and unclear. But can I leave it and go onto my desktop and into my documents? Nope. Must extract icky phrase.

And the clock ticks on.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.

Issues and PC

2011-04-15T09:54:00.000-07:00

Alright. We're having this out right now. I HATE the word 'issues'. "Why?" you ask.
Heh. Now you've done it. You've opened up a whole can of issues--or worms--or cockroaches for that matter. (I don't know why one would keep cockroaches in a can unless they were doing their insect study merit badge for Scouts.)

Why does everybody use 'issues' until it's ground into the pavement like a body that has fallen off of a ten story building? It's just as messy! If you're wanting to say that you have problems...SAY IT. Don't stand around it just watching the word struggle to drag itself off the ground and mean something.

When I hear someone say they have issues, I'm tempted to talk like my dad, who was an English/German teacher. I can hear him now: "What newspaper? I don't see you holding a newspaper." Issues is an over-stuffed suitcase word. People use the word 'issues' to hold too many meanings.

My other pet peeve is 'political correctness'. What the heck? When did it turn political to be tactful and mannerly? When a person labels something "not politically correct", that's when I decide to say that very thing as much as possible, just so they don't get to tell me how to talk. Saying something is not politically correct brings the government MUCH too close to my face. Saying something is unmannerly or rude merely sounds like my beloved mother trying to raise her children correctly.

One might say that I take issue with 'political correctness'...:o)

True Love, Wasps, and Bodice-rippers

2011-04-14T08:52:00.001-07:00

I just have to say that it aggravates the heck out of me when I buy a book and find out it's full of trash.

I bought a book for my birthday last month by an author who I have enjoyed reading in the past: Marion Zimmer Bradley. I enjoy her world-building and her characters sparkle. The problem, I believe, is that she has been dead, now, for some time. Other people are using her name and worlds onto which to build their own junk.

These authors who build bad things onto good structures are like the wasps in our atrium, which appropriate my birdhouses, causing the birds to nest elsewhere. They move in and daub their trash onto the walls of the birdhouse, so that I'm constantly having to clean them back out again. The effect is disheartening.

So I went back to the bookstore and returned the book. It had serious garbage of a kind with which I just can't fill my mind. I looked around and found what I thought was another good book. Usually one can't go horribly wrong with a Jane Austen spin-off. One would think.

This one, however, was chock full of sex. I can't imagine how an author can get Jane
Austen so wrong. Her books were so completely the opposite of bodice-rippers. Her characters got to know the real person instead of feeding the forest fire of sexual voraciousness. The main characters actually fell in love, not lust (I'm not counting Willoughby or the Wickhams here). We knew that those who strayed off the path were very much in the wrong.

This new book could not be more different. The scenes were engineered to raise the blood in increments to the boiling point and then leave off, just like a bodice-ripper. The characters knew they were doing something illicit, but they continuously slapped themselves on the wrist and called it done.

No!

That is exactly the opposite of what Jane Austen stood for. It was probably as bad as net or phone sex, I'm guessing (not having partaken in said activities). I won't say, here, what I think this book would be in aid of, but you get the picture. It was engineered to perform a certain service--which is NOT an evening's light entertainment. This book would not be one which I would read in the company of my two-time missionary mother.

This book left me feeling completely robbed. I wanted more insights into Elizabeth and Darcy after the wedding. I haven't really found a book which does that justice. People can't seem to write great love stories about people who are married to each other. I've read many spin-offs from Austen's books and none of them really feature the same people. Why is that?

Why can't a person still be learning how to love their spouse after the wedding? It's not as if life suddenly becomes boring and stodgy the second one gets the ring on. They often have the same struggles they had before the wedding. I'm sure Elizabeth had to struggle all her life with a man who could, at times, be prideful and arrogant. I'm sure she misunderstood him regularly. He hadn't had a mother for the better part of his growing up years. Of course he'd have difficulties. I want to read about how they work through those difficulties. I want to see their love blossom into something full-blown, enduring, and real.

I want it to still be about them, though, and not just hop forward to their children. It's a cop-out (if you bill it as their continuing story) and it's been done. In fact, I and my sister have a fairly decent library of Austen spin-offs and continuations. Don't get me wrong, many of them are pleasant--just not about Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam.

So now I have to take another book back to the bookstore? I suppose if I did that enough times, they might get the hint about the kinds of books they sell. Or not. I'm certain that for every cruddy book I bring back, there are a load of others going out to other people.

Maybe I'll have to be the one to write this story, sometime when I actually learn the secrets of life.

O Bubble Wrap

2011-04-13T08:49:00.000-07:00

(disclaimer: This post is not meant to be sacrilegious in any way--just light-hearted.)

1. And it came to pass that the boy did find bubble wrap in two great rolls upon the side of the road. And he did rejoice exceedingly. And he did take the unwanted rolls and put them in his pack.
2. The boy began to lay plans for the wrap with great joy. And his mother did ask whether he would share the wrap with his friends. The son did treat the question with great consternation at the beginning.
3. Soon the boy did come to see that the bubble wrap had been a gift and must be shared by all, equally.
4. And it came to pass that the boy did tear off a piece of the wrap and did cause his mother to carry the rest of the wrap home with her, enjoining her to refrain from popping the wrap exceedingly. And the dutiful mother did lug the wrap home after extracting a promise from the foolish son to rub her back and play with her hair.
5. Yay verily all was done as the boy said. And there was great rejoicing in the house of the boy, for his brothers and sisters returned home before him.

Justice, the Imbecile

2011-04-12T13:23:00.000-07:00

I spent all morning going down to the courthouse to be a character witness. The whole case makes me feel sad for the person who only wants to make life better for at least two people who need each other. One being a tiny boy who cannot speak for himself.

Sometimes it seems as if justice is not only blind but dumb as a bag of wet hair. It ignores the plight of the weak and unrepresented in favor of the loud, powerful, and rich. It isn't supposed to be that way, but it is. Why should it be that justice favors the liar?

Meanwhile the boy suffers. Who shall stand for him?

Buzzards

2011-04-11T09:41:00.000-07:00

It's bulky pick up time again. This means that people put perfectly good stuff out on the curb for other people to pick through before The Claw gets it. Of course the perfectly good stuff is sometimes hidden by a great deal of less appetizing garbage, but if one digs, one can find gold.

Today, for instance, I found: a rusty heart-shaped cake pan, two hatchet/hammer thingies, a Skilsaw case without the saw, a heart-shaped lawn ornament, a life jacket, and a china hutch.

Pure Gold I tell you!

Just imagine how I looked walking home in my purple velvety pants carrying all that crap...:o) (except the hutch. I had to go back later and get that with Grumpy Perry) I'm sure my neighbors think I'm an absolute loon. Just thinking how absurd I must look, was making me crack up. So not only was I looking like some freaky kind of bag lady, but I was giggling maniacally to boot. I suppose I see why my daughter flees the house early so she doesn't have to arrive at school in my extremely embarrassing presence.

Now I'll have to get back to that Adirondack chair before the little Mexicans in their pick-up trucks get there to scavenge it first.

30 Days of Poetry

2011-04-07T11:25:00.000-07:00

I have greatly enjoyed participating in Poetry Month. It did take time away from my regular fair, but sometimes it's good to exercise the brain in alternative routes. I hope you enjoy my small offerings.
H. Linn Murphy

Day 30-Last Poem of Poetry Month

Light the bonfires
In the night
Raise the beacon
Burning bright
Light the lamps
Their fires aglow
Place them in
The dark ships bow
Light the candle
And its match
Light the fire
Its tinder catch
Set the lighthouse
light aglow
That its light
Might wax and grow.

All the light
Makes darkness flee
The dark can't stand
In one spark's lee.
Christ is come
As world's light
He is the torch
The beacon bright.
Here He stands
A God aglow
Banishing dark
From world below.

Day 29-5 W's Poem

Ethel Zipporah Muzzlethumper
Found a rotten banana,
Beneath her pillow,
After a very sleepless night,
It squished in her ear causing a squelching sensation.

Day 28-Clerihew Poem

There was a man whose name was John
Who came to steal his brother's throne.
He met a man all dressed in greens
Who tickled him to smithereens.

The man in green was Robin Hood
A man who stood up for the good.
But when he had none bad to fight
He tickled rich men with his might.

Day 27-Lantern Poem

Tool
Hammer
Hits things hard
Banger of nails
Rock

Day 26-If You Were Poem

If you were a wing nut
And I was a screw
We'd stick so tightly together
We'd be one, me and you.

Day 25-Quinzain Poem

This rising generation
Will it last the night
That comes now?

Day 24-More Free Verse

Easter eggs so smooth and round
Rainbows play
Across your skin
Never two alike
And yet
Beauty in perfection found

Beauty fleeting
Like sunsets
Like sand paintings
In the sun
Just a moment
Bright and luscious
In a second
Cracked and gone.

Perhaps your beauty
Is not only
On your outer
Smooth skin found
But inside
The golden center
Wrapp'ed in white
A treasure bound.

Day 23-Free Verse

I saw the Savior
Standing there,
His robes billowing
In the wind
My tears streaked down
As I knelt to touch
The wounds in
Hands and wrists and feet.

I had given Him those wounds
My pride, selfishness,
My greed and shame.
I wept to see them
But He smiled.
He lifted me and touched my face
He dried my tears and
Kissed my cheek.
"You," He said "are my loved child.
Come into my arms to stay.

So I came.

Day 22-Free Verse

When I see the sunset's paint
I see the Author of it all,
The sparkle of the firmament

Reflected in His eyes so kind.

Flowers arrayed below His feet
A springtime carpet spread for all
He set the lion and the lamb
Released blue whale, and silver minnow
Flamingo pink and Mockingbird.
He gave us all to use with wisdom,

To serve his plan and cause
Keen joy.
May we keep His stewardship bright
With Knowledge, kindness, hope and love
Let us care as His children,
loved.

Day 21-Rictameter Poem

Easter
Christ' sacrifice
Given for all the world
A gift none else could ever give
He paid the price to open up death's door
And shed his own life at the cross
The cross was not the end
An atonement
Easter

Day 20-The Real ABAB Poem

When the teacher says to sit
Instead I like to go and play
She gets so mad that she could spit
My wry shenanigans make her day.

Geography, science and some math
She asks for papers by the score
Instead I skip right down the path.
It's not for me, I won't do more.

Finally when the day is done
And teacher is a frazzled mess
I realize I have had my fun
Now it is time to go confess.

I go up to the teacher's knee
Apologetic look in hand
She's crying as she looks at me
Why that is I don't understand.

Day 20-AABB Poem

I see you there beyond the gate
Laughing, joking with a mate,
With your golden haystack hair
And your eyes of azure fair.

Laugh with me and be my beau;
Dance with me alone and slow;
Speak to me with honeyed phrase
Of your heart and better days.

Rock me in your arms so strong;
Kiss me gently all night long.
As you did once long ago,
Woo me, woo me, my sweet beau.

Day 19-Alliteration Poem

Mary Muldoon made much of the moon
Making mud-pies in May to a marching tune
She mixed up some mud
And added a spud
Making Mary May Monarch in the month of June.

Day 18-Holiday Poem

4th of July
Parades marching
Hot dogs grilling
Bands playing
Chicken yummy
Fireworks popping
Flags flying
4th of July

Day 17-Nature Personified Poem

A tiny breeze
Tiptoes in
To lift your hair from your sweaty neck;
It plays with airy fingers
Through your hair and across your face.
Then stealthily it dances away
Leaving you
Refreshed.

Day 16-Monorhyme Poem

Yesterday I crav-ed sleep
I needn't count those fluffy sheep
A harvest of long hours I reap
At least my meetings I did keep
In them I made not a peep
When I got home I did sleep
My slumber was so long and deep
My Sunday clothes were in a heap
My snoring echoed loud and deep
For wasted hours I truly weep
But finally I need no sleep.

Day 15-What if...Poem

What If...

What if Wiener schnitzels walked around in herds like sheep?
I might bring my fork and snack 'til sleep.

What if I walked around in a cape and pink boots?
I could hide out in comic book stores with all the fruits.

What if they banished you to the land of Cooked Carrots?
I would follow you there with my tweezers and ferrets.

Can I wake up now?

Another day 14 poem
(This was written for our eldest daughter who was going off to serve a mission for the LDS church in Ecuador.)

Natassia

Off you fly, my own songbird
To sing songs of Joy
In faraway lands.
Though my heart yearns ever
For friendship gone south
Not for the world your wings
Would I clip.
Fill the damp air
With crescendos of Joy,
Touching hearts with Christ's love
Bringing light to the darkness
Spread your wings
And be free
To fly home again
With honor.

Paul

Sandals striding dusty roads
Urgent tasks of love
So little time
So long the road
Bearing burdens of the heart
Listen, hear, lambs of the Lord
See, the Shepherd beckons.

I come, a weary messenger
To point you to His shelter
Follow me back
Down dusty roads
Stones and hatred dog our heels
Peace awaits and cleansing tears
Enfolding arms of the Shepherd
A job well done

Another
Day 14
Freestyle poem

Old Growth

Who are these people
Whose lives are lost
Among the scarlet autumn leaves of time
Layers lain down in Eternity
Whose rich, moist soils now make up who I am?

Who were these singers of distant lullabies
Whose voices soothed countless seeds of generations,
Roots now spread lace-like to bind us to them?

I hear their faint echoing, those voices
Calling us home from our games at twilight
Begging remembrance.

I am new leaf;
Fresh sap rising
I am their sum.
Are they proud of me?
Will my voice someday
Fill hearts with longing
And a wish to spread
Up towards the radiance of
The Son?

May I stand so firm a tree.

Day 14-Anything Goes Poem

(I wanted to post another poem I wrote a couple of years ago here, but I can't find it. So here's something wacky and completely fabricated I wrote back at Christmas.)

The night before Christmas and all through the home
The people were sleeping except me; I roam.
With visions of I-pods and Cellphones replete
They hoped against hope that their haul would be neat.

While I in my sweat suit sat down on the floor
Wrapping the presents and bundles galore
When what to my wandering eyes should appear
But another lame TV show and adverts for beer.

I turned off the tube and was turning around
When down from the roof came a thief with a bound
He was dressed in black jammies from his head to his foot
And was bound and determined to swipe my new boots.

He turned in a moment with his bag full of toys
And climbed up the chimney stealing toys from my boys.
I flew to the window with my shotgun all full
And said to the burglar "Please get down or you'll fall."

So I settled a round of rock salt in the gun
And had just a little target practice fun
Then I heard him exclaim as he tore out of sight
"I am NOT going back, 'cause they put up a fight!"

Day 13-Grammar Poem

Bubble wrap
Soft and squishy
Waiting to be popped
As pillow-y as a cloud
If only the roll would last forever

Day 12-Tanka

Clothes on the clothesline
Myriad rainbow colors
Flapping in the wind
Like flights of brilliant birds
Rising up to greet the sun

Day Eleven- Limerick

Our invisible dog named Blinky
Got hold of a ten year old Twinkie
He was barfing out back
'Cause he'd eaten the sack
Now he looks like a sprung out slinky.

Day Ten-Spring is...

Spring looks like paint on cactus tops.
Spring sounds like rain splashing big drops.
Spring feels like fuzzy quail chicks.
Spring smells like creosote at dawn.
Spring tastes like Popsicles on the lawn.

Day Nine-Cinquain 2
Son
Eagle Project
Rear in gear
Before you turn eighteen
Finish!

Day Eight-Cinquain

Round Stones
Many-colored
Waters gliding over
You are so diff'rent yet the same
Shining

Day SEVEN-If I were...

If I were a wing nut, proud and true,
I’d be one that sticks tight especially for you
I’d hold your skates and gates and weights together and
I’d not come undone 'til I rusted away.
I’d be your very own trusty wing nut.

Day SIX-I Am…

I am creative and vulnerable.
I wonder sometimes what people say behind my back.
I hear them whispering and wonder if it's about me.
I see their looks as their heads are bent together
I want to leave all of that behind and fly free
I am creative and vulnerable.

I pretend that someday people will say they 'knew me when...'
I feel hopeful that my God will lift me out of self-reproach
I touch His hand and know that I need not be vulnerable anymore.
I worry that this realization will come too late.
I cry, "Help Me, Lord, to light my lamp."
I am creative and vulnerable.

I understand that God loves us despite our flawed state
I say that He gave me talents as gifts to His servant
I dream that someday I will stand shining before Him
I try to light the lamp now
I hope He welcomes me with a smile.
I am creative and vulnerable.

Day FIVE-Onomatopoea Poem

The Murphy Mobile as it toils down
The road has a language all its own.
Hunk jugga hunk jugga bunk bunk
It says. Then, going over a
Speed bump and into the driveway:
Clang clang uuuuurk ba-chunk
Hunk jugga hunk jugga bunk bunk
Squeeeeeeeeeeee be-chunk
bugga bunk bunk
sighhhhhhhhhhhh urga bunk
POW! Bunk.

Day FOUR-Haiku

Discouraging day
Already begun badly
Remedied with prayer.

Day THREE-Acrostic Poem

Another anniversary of Christ' birth
Paints our land with flowers bold.
Resplendent in their flamboyant finery
I am amazed at their gift of abounding
Love.

Day TWO-Triplet

All this day a pounding head
Has kept me haunting my old bed
So it's hard to write and read.

Day ONE-Couplet

Watching Conference can be fun
'Specially if you've had some sun.

We'll come sit and watch the Brothers
So we know how to treat others.

On Houses and Dreams

2011-04-06T09:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a disheartening day. It was all I could do to edit what I'd already written. I had a headache and some problems I felt were insurmountable.
Today, however, the sun has slanted its rays into the dark corners of my mind and those problems seem manageable with the help of my Eternal Best Friend.

Today my son and I were fantasizing about the kind of house we would love to have someday. Mine had gables and turrets and Victorian gingerbread. It was a rambling house full of rooms quite like the house in which I lived when I was a foster mom for delinquent girls. That house had ten bedrooms and crannies I never even saw. It was amazing! My dream house would, perhaps, be a little less run down, but the serendipity of it would be there. I want to go around a corner and say, "Oh! Where did this room come from? I never noticed that before!"

I would love to have my computer perched in the top of a tower so that I can look out into the huge trees lining the street. (I'm remembering my friend's house which was actually a working mortuary. Her room was a tower. It was sa-weet! I can just see those gorgeous trees all fiery with autumn leaves.)

Barret's house mostly had to do with his magnificent tree house in the back yard. He even specified that it should be a huge old oak or a rowen. It should have a round floor, which wraps around the tree. There should be a balcony and a concealable ladder. He wants crenelations so he can shoot people with his nerf guns and they can't get him. I hope that we can make this dream come true at least a little, before he gets too old to appreciate it. Most of the trees around here are scrawny and full of needle-sharp spikes.

Now my mind is working on this dream for my son. He has mentioned it before--this wish for a tree house. I've got to at least find him a giant spool and some 'found' lumber so he can build it himself. I think that would really teach him that he has to actually do something if he wants his dreams to come to fruition.

Maybe I should remember that as well. No dreamer's dream ever came true if they only slept there dreaming.

Tender Mercies and Easter Eggs

2011-04-01T08:25:00.000-07:00

As Barret and I walk to school together we talk about a wide variety of subjects. Today we were discussing God. He has a friend who, at the tender age of 12, has decided that he is an atheist. I told Barret that to decide that without any proof is absurd.

God shows me that He is there and He cares about me on a daily basis. I look for those tender mercies. It is always evident to me that it wasn't a coincidence--ever. One can look anywhere and see something which man cannot make, and coincidence cannot explain.

Sure there is evidence to support the Big Bang. There is also evidence to support the Big Crunch and String Theory. So what. Is God probably sitting in some tiny workshop somewhere putting things together like Legos? Probably not. Who is to say what processes he uses? Who is to say what chain reactions he sets into play and how far back in history?

So today I found that I really had to go to the bathroom. It was getting to be a pressing situation. I had already dropped off the boy and started back and I was wondering how I was ever going to make it home intact. So I had a little chat with God. I asked him to help me make it home in one piece.
He said, "Why don't you turn around and go at school?"
"'Cause it's back there and I'm already on the way home."
"Then go at the CPA's office."
"But I've never been in there. How do I even know it's open? Why would they let a stranger come in and use their potty?"
"Have faith."

So I did. The office was not only open, but the nicest receptionist on the planet showed the way to the Room of Comfort and Great Relief. When I came out, ready to be human again, I told her she was my new best friend; she commiserated with me about the woes of walking.

As I was leaving the office, I put my headphones back on. I never use them on the way to school, so I can talk to my children. On the way home, however, I use them to set a good pace. I have a fairly wide variety of music on my MP3--anywhere from Drop-kick Murphys to hymns to Skillet. I turned on my MP3 and just as if God were speaking to me through my headphones, I heard the Leahys sing, "I am yours and you are mine." The song went on to say that He loved me and considered me His follower. I tell you that I felt it with the force of a gale in my soul. As I trudged through the desert, tears were streaming down my cheeks with the knowledge that He loves me enough to consider me His follower. He loves me enough to answer the prayers over silly little things that might not matter to other people.

Then, when I had calmed down a little, a Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young song came on. "I am yours. You are mine. You are what you are." So just in case I missed it the first time, there was another message nearly identical to the first, done by completely different bands.

It reminded me of a Dr. Who episode called, "Weeping Angels' in which the Doctor leaves Sally Sparrow 'easter eggs' (embedded messages one must search for) on a bunch of the DVD's she owns. The whole concept is delicious. I love that episode. My MP3 song thing is just like the easter eggs left for Sally Sparrow. It's another of the millions of ways God can use simple things to bring across His messages.

I am in awe that God can and does manage such magnificent weaving of myriad time lines, even though we all have our free agency to choose what we will do or not do. Still He accomplishes His works. The scope of it boggles the mind! Each little sparrow knows the touch of His hand as it fills the measure of its creation. Each spider, as it weaves its web; each dolphin as it sports in the waves; all follow His pattern. Each water molecule and graphite nanotube has a pattern and a course to follow.

How can I not?

Flash Mobs, TV Screens, and Zombies

2011-03-31T08:39:00.000-07:00

I see on the TV that they are making a program called 'Mobbers'. They'll film people doing flash mob things around the country (or world). I have enjoyed seeing flash mob sites on the Internet. I won't lie. But the Internet is impromptu. It's not a regimented, sucked-dry-of-all-imagination kind of media. Television is to an extent. And it's sucking the imagination right out of the normal mouth-breathers who sit glued to the screen. It channels people into seeing exactly what they want them to see.

I just have to say that I find this 'Mobbers' offering obnoxious. The whole idea of a flash mob is that it's FLASH, meaning that it's very nearly impromptu. It's free and innovative and serendipitous. To have a set program about flashes is to completely ruin the whole concept of flash mobbing.

How many times do we go from channel to channel looking for something to watch? It happens often, for most people. For some, they watch television every single night and much of the day that they aren't at work. People will even watch junk just because it's less disgusting than other junk. Why? What is the pull of shows full of soft porn or violence?

The movies do this also. There are so few actual good movies that we settle for dreck in order to go to the movies once in a while. And we've almost all done it (unless you're about to be translated or something).

What WON'T they exploit? Will it be baby birthings next? Will they have a program on bathroom problems or how to euthanize your grandma? Where does it end? Why do we have to be voyeurs on every single aspect of life? Where is the dividing line between good taste and paparazzi? Do we really have to know what Madonna had for breakfast? Why do we need to know what kind of deodorant Justin Bieber wears or what kinds of gunk he puts in his ridiculous hair?

I'm thinking that there is a reason they are shoveling all of this manure on our doorsteps so fast, now. They are steering society in a distinct direction. They tout teenage mothers in tabloids because they know there will be that young element who, then, think it's cool to get knocked up early. They're driving those girls to do those things. They want teenage moms who have no education and no bonds of love to anyone else. They want our young men to be unable to maintain a loving relationship with a person of the opposite sex. They want them to stand alone so that sometime down the line they'll be good little worker drones.

It's almost like kissing. First there is 'that' look. It sets you on fire and makes you giddy with infatuation. You MUST have more of it. Then he touches your hand and you are hyperventilating and picking out china patterns in your head. But soon, hand-touching and 'looks' are passe. You're ready for the next step because you're addicted--hooked. So then he kisses you and, of course, sets off a forest fire in your head the likes of which you may never recover from--until the flames burn everything to the ground and there is no more fuel left. Humph. Kissing. Whatever.

You see my drift? The whole idea with society, for our future, is to have them so anesthetized that they can watch their neighbor or even a family member killed in front of their eyes and they won't think a thing about it. They probably deserved it. They had it coming because they didn't comply. In fact--maybe the family unit will be gone by then. Maybe the people in charge will decide that parents are stupid and families are outdated. Let the State rear the children to be good little worker drones.

This is why the whole 'zombie' craze bothers me. What is it doing, but causing you to think about scenarios in your mind where you need to figure out how to kill your erstwhile loved one or friend because they have turned zombie. It allows a person to bring himself to 'go' there. It tears the underpinnings of society apart so that a person will be left standing isolated, alone and shorn of all help. They won't know how to love someone else enough to stand by them through thick and thin.

You ask how this all ties into flash mobs.

I say break out of the box they're trying to cram us into. Fly and be free to think your own thoughts. Reach for the light instead of letting 'them' shut you into tiny, squalid little boxes. Be FLASH!

Author Review

2011-03-28T10:53:00.000-07:00

I'd like to take this opportunity to review an author I've been reading. Joyce DiPastena is another Arizona author with a degree in Medieval History. That fact already interests me about her, as I like medieval history as well. Joyce has a duet of books out now, with another on the way, which are set in France about the time of Henry II and the Plantagenet brood. I have never really read a work from this point of view. Most books on the subject I've read, are more favorable to Richard, who is one of my favorite Kings (and incidentally a relative).

That said, I really enjoy her books. They are well-written, well-researched, and fast-paced. Joyce has a wonderful grasp of court intrigue and knows how to work a good villain. Her main characters are likable but well-rounded--not Barbie cut-outs. She brilliantly details the difficulties the nobility had back then, in deciding who to back and how best to listen to one's conscience while still keeping one's head attached to one's body.

I'm impressed that she had a good grasp on how a tournament was supposed to run (as opposed to, say, the A Knight's Tale version), and knowledge of policies such as forcing the razing of castle walls to negate the power of the local enemy nobility.

So far, I've read Loyalty's Web and her newest work-in-progress, but have yet to read the middle one of the trio. Joyce's books can be found at Leatherwood Press. I give them a most stupendous thumb's up! Now I can't wait to read the rest! Hurry and finish, Joyce!

Mortification

2011-03-25T08:13:00.000-07:00

I have just had an experience so embarrassing that it actually dwarfs all other embarrassing situations. If one took all of the embarrassing experiences of this year so far from everywhere within a 250,000 mile radius, jammed them all together, distilled them down into the very essence of mortification, and made a tincture of it, that potent brew would still be a pale copy of this experience.

In fact, all of the trolls worldwide, who feed on embarrassment and mortification are at this moment booking flights to this very area. One hopes they do not explode from over-glut. That would be a huge debacle indeed.

In the history of mortifying instances, this one ranks far above that of the Titanic's owner boasting that his ship would never sink. Mine would rank above the whole global warming idiocy. It would rank above Henry 8's announcement that Anne Boleyn was now not going to be queen after all, as she was losing her head shortly.

If there were a worldwide summit to discuss embarrassing situations, mine would be first on the agenda. In fact, they would have to clear their slates of all other minor snafus and gaffs, be they presidential or otherwise. This one would hog all of the time at the summit. The other minor annoyances would bow down to the puissance that is my unbelievably embarrassing experience.

I am expecting momentarily to be crowned MRS. EMBARRASSING SITUATION UNIVERSE. There'll be a sash and crown. One wonders what kind of conveyance the pageant would send to pick up said winner--or rather loser...;o). The bouquet will most likely be dead of shame.

Because of this very situation, the motion picture academy has agreed to add another classification: E for Embarrassing. I'm going to have my own square on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. It'll include a fire hydrant.

I would add an image to substantiate the mortifying nature of this situation, but the blog could not support a picture illustrating embarrassment of such magnitude.

Yes, folks, I am utterly embarrassed.

Killing Her Gently

2011-03-23T12:25:00.000-07:00

My family members laugh sometimes when I announce that I've just killed off Frank, or Emily or any number of lurking characters, mainly because I don't qualify that statement. They breezily inform their friends that their mom 'is always killing people'. I've gotten some extremely disturbed looks because of it.

I remember reading David Farland's Runelords series. The first time he killed off a main character, I was jolted out of my seat. "You CAN'T do that!" I yelled, shocked.
"Sure I can," he proceeded to prove. It got me thinking about books in general. We think that because a character is handsome and talented (and the main character for Heaven's sake) they'll certainly be the one at the end of the book spiking the ball into the end zone.

However, life isn't like that. People don't get to finish what they were working on. They don't make it to the Olympics or to the New York Ballet as the Grand Ballerina. They don't go back to the spy base and sip a cocktail and snog the gorgeous file clerk. Their bodies get old and pain-ridden. We get fat and can't run as fast or do those karate kicks or tour jettes or our bum knees will go out.

For the most part they get sick and die. Or a car hits them. Or they actually do fall off that cliff they are trying to hang onto. And when they get to the bottom, they splat messily instead of limping away to use their cell phone for a ride. I enjoy Louis McMasters Bujold's Vorkosigan books for that reason. Her mc gets badly hurt all the time. And he's aging with the books. It's harder for him to do the hot-doggin' things he used to do when he was young. He has a wife and children who actually love him and are waiting for him to come limping back home.

What it all boils down to, though, is that we writers are in the business of hope. We hold the character out there on his spit over the fires of opposition, but at some point we let him climb back down off the spit and join the feast, for the most part. We want him to be what we cannot, so often: successful. We want to know that despite our foibles and miseries, there is a chance for us at the ends of our stories, to pull off the Great Escape.

So how, then does one jive nature with hope? Justice and mercy? To kill or not to kill? It's a heady feeling, contemplating character assassination. There is a certain responsibility to the reader to tell the story the way it was supposed to be told. I almost feel as if my characters are telling their own stories, somehow. I just hold the 'pen' and wait for them to tell me what to write. The more 'true' your story, the more your readers will cleave to it, and take it into themselves. I think that's why lots of trash romances urk the living daylights out of me. Somebody in the story needs to be butt ugly or have a speech impediment.

That said, I'm writing the ending scene for my new book first. I'm hoping it'll tear your heart out and stomp on it, and then...maybe a glimmer...

Whirlpool

2011-03-22T12:23:00.000-07:00

Just a snippet:

She was flung viciously, haplessly, dizzily round the lip of the thirsty maw. Suddenly the whirlpool disappeared, leaving her staring raggedly at an inky sea.

She watched as splintered shards of her little boat began to surface, tinged by the dying golden rays of the westering sun. There was no hint of land in sight. any sense of direction had been snatched away by the vertiginous whirling.

Just as she was remembering the sun's direction, it gave a last piercing green flash and sank into the mountainous, frigid waves. It would be a long night of treading water.

On God and Bones

2011-03-21T08:18:00.000-07:00

As I was walking today, I looked down and saw the lower spine and leg bones of a bird (probably a dove). Cat-1, bird-zip. It got me thinking, though, about God's designs for His creations. Those tiny, straw-like leg bones looked like they could snap in a stiff breeze, but most of the time a bird's bones last, unbroken, for it's whole life. The bird soars on stiff breezes and spirals through thermals. It swoops away from cars and cats and raptors. For millions of wing beats, the tiny wing bones hold the wing steady and true, though its bones are built like straws.

I caught an edging stone today and tripped and fell HARD onto my knee. I'm pretty sure I re-tore my PCL. Somehow I was able to rise and walk the further mile or so to school and back. The delicate workings of our bodies never cease to amaze me. Incredible detail and forethought went into building our brains so that they produce thought and the capability for music, art, and logic. And yet we can be felled by a microbe so small it can't be seen by the naked eye.

I never thought a great deal about proprioception before I read the book, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat. How amazing it is, that our bodies instinctively know where our limbs belong. We never have to tell our arms, "Go there. Open, fingers. Close them. Pick the fork up. Bring it back to my mouth." We simply eat. Or dance. Or play the base guitar while wailing out a rock song. It's often only when things go wrong that we realize how each little tendon and artery work together to accomplish the tasks we set them.

We can't even effectively copy the human body. Even our best man-made parts break down and wear out much more often and quicker than God's handiwork. We must sometimes stoop to using parts from other animals to bridge the gap.

I find it incredibly arrogant that some people refuse to think that this Grand Design could have an Author. We children who have made such strides in technology and medicine have yet to cause one spark of life to inhabit a body we have constructed out of atoms we made ourselves. And yet we cry in our arrogance, "There is no God! We came from soup at the hand of no being." How like the builders of the Tower of Babel we are in constructing our arguments.

I think God must sigh and roll his eyes a great deal. He must have an incredible sense of humor to be able to deal patiently with his recalcitrant, whiny children. I can hear Him saying, "Heidi, Heidi, Heidi. What have you done now? Look up and know Me."

Now I need to go clean out my cuts and ice my knee.

Slainte!

2011-03-17T08:10:00.000-07:00

Slainte!
So. We're doing our power walk to school today, Jessa, Barret, and I. We're all decked out in our Celtic finery because we Murphys take this one day to celebrate our heritage very seriously. I'm in my family's tartan which cost a cool $600 and a whole lot of blood, sweat, and tears to make. Jessa's in the Stuart tartan, and Barret's just doing the green thing since the guys in our family only have ties in our tartan.

Jessa is as cheerful as a wounded badger, as usual, and stomps ahead of us the whole way (except when we're taking our shortcut--which for some reason--offends her further). We get to school and she immediately packs up with her other jackal friends and tries to ignore the embarrassing chubby lady in the ridiculous kilt. Fine I think. We'll just see how much cabbage and corned beef hash YOU get today!

So I'm doing the power walk home. My shins are screaming because I haven't done enough stretching out but I refuse to stop. The sun is rising over the rooftops to dazzle my eyes. From out of a house on the east comes a whole pack of assorted dogs. The two big dogs are growling, but they aren't nearly as terrifying as the three chihuahuas think they are. The biggest one circles around to take out my hamstring to bring me down so the chihuahuas can tear my throat out.

I stare down that dog and say, "REALLY? You're REALLY going to try that on me? How stupid do you think I am?" By this time the dog has stopped trying to figure out how to chew through my Achilles tendon and is staring at me quizzically.
"Go back in your yard, RIGHT NOW! And take your minions with you!"
I kid you not, he turns tail and goes back into the back yard and the rest of the dogs follow!
YES! I feel like Braveheart for a second there.