Mary's Blog

Summer Time

2009-08-03T10:02:00.000-07:00

I hope you all enjoyed Faithful.

I'm going to take the rest of the summer off from blogging. We all know I've been a little sporatic this summer. My daughter heads back to school in a few weeks and I want to spend more time with her without worrying about keeping up with some of this stuff. I'll come back in the fall and try to be more consistent. I may wait to return to blogging until after a big writers conference I'm going to in Denver in the middle of September.

But I'm I may jump on a few times to blog about books I'm reading and such.

Have a great rest of the summer.

Blessings,
Mary
:-)

Faithful, ch. 27

2009-07-24T08:09:00.000-07:00

Hannah woke to the sound of whispered voices. Her head throbbed. She blinked several times. The unfamiliar room was dim and a fire glowed in the hearth, but she could tell the furnishings were expensive. The whispers had stopped and a woman moved about the room. Hannah pushed herself up to a sitting position on the chaise lounge.

“Not so fast.” The woman hurried over and set a tea tray on the table then assisted her.

Mrs. Coughlin! Hannah swung her feet to the floor and sat up proper. More than her head ached; her shoulder, her back, and her leg for starters. How had she gotten here? And why was she here? The last thing she remembered was being up at her father’s old mine. She’d gone into the old cabin to retrieve the letters.

And it had falling in on her. No wonder she hurt. It was amazing she was alive she supposed. She remembered thinking this was her end. No one knew where she was. But eveidently someone had.

Mrs. Coughlin sat on the chaise next to her. “How are you feeling, dear?”

How could she look this woman in the eyes after all the terrible things she had said about her? “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

“I had tea made for you, hoping you would wake soon.” Mrs. Coughlin poured then handed her a cup and saucer from the coffee table.

Tears stung her eyes as she took the offered generosity.

“There is someone who is quite anxious to see you.” She stood.

“Wait.”

Mrs. Coughlin sat back down. “Yes, dear.”

Hannah took a deep breath. “I must beg your forgiveness for the many unkind things I have said about you and Mr. Coughlin that were unwarranted. I thought . . .”

Mrs. Coughlin patted her hand. “It’s all right, dear. We have always understood the difficulties you were under. We don’t blame you at all. You were not told everything you should have been. Those who should have told you are gone, and those of us who could still tell you were bound by promises of secrecy. It was unfair to you.”

Words choked in her throat and a tear slipped down each cheek. She didn’t deserve to be forgiven so easily. “Still I should have . . .”

Mrs. Coughlin patted her hand again. “Now, now, dear, think nothing more of it. It is finally over.”

Hannah dipped her head and sniffled. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Coughlin produced a handkerchief from her skirt pocket. “Now dry your eyes. If I don’t let my son in to see you soon, he’s likely to break down the door. Firemen are trained for that sort of thing.”

Smiling, Hannah dabbed at her eyes. “Is he how I got here?”

“Of course.”

It was truly a miracle that he found her. When she had composed herself, she nodded to Mrs. Coughlin.

Mrs. Coughlin rose elegantly and glided across the room before sliding the parlor door open and stepped into the hall. “Don’t tire her. She’s been through a lot.”

“I know, Mother.”

At the sound of Gerrit’s voice, a lump formed in Hannah’s throat. She turned to the fire. How could she face him after the way she’d treated him and all she had said? She sensed him sit on the end of the chaise.

“Hannah. How are you feeling?”

She turned but didn’t look at him. “Terrible.”

He stood. “Maybe you should lie back.”

“It’s not that. I have been so wrong. Please forgive me for my cruelty to you and your family.”

He eased back down. “Of course. I never meant to hurt you.” His voice was gentle and kind.

“It is I who hurt myself and everyone around me. I took up my father’s dream, his obsession really, and trampled anyone who got in the way, just like Father.”

“You were never told the whole truth.”

She nodded. He had only wanted to set things right by his parents. She had read more into his actions and let her feelings run free once again. “I’ll not speak out against them again. I’ll leave Faithful.”

“But Faithful’s your home. How can you leave?”

“There is nothing here for me anymore. Faithful was built on one man’s dream. A man who was too busy building that dream to notice he had a wife and daughter who needed him. He’s gone, Mother’s gone, and so is Duncan. I don’t even have the bitterness anymore. There is nothing left for me in Faithful. This town will carry on without Sam McConnell or any McConnell. It’s nothing special. It’s just like any other town, people come and people go. I need to leave Faithful. I don’t know where I’ll go yet but I trust the Lord will direct me.” Possibly east.

“And your shop?”

She surmised that he was finding it hard to believe she could leave the town she fought so hard for. But once truth had set her free . . . “Alice can handle it or I’ll sell it.”

“Oh, Hannah.”

She didn’t want to hear any tender good-bye. She just wanted to go and let her heart heal once again and for the last time. “You cleared your family’s name. You got what you wanted.”

He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “The reason I didn’t tell you my full name was that I didn’t want to lose you. I was trying to take away your pain as much as clear my family name. What I want is you.”

She met his gaze for the first time. He meant it. He really meant it. Her heart leapt. “How can you?”

“I love you.”

Her heart skipped at those words she so longed for. “Oh, Gerrit.” Hannah leaned into him, pressing her face against his chest. “I love you too!”

He wrapped his arms around her, then tipped her head up to look at him. “Would I get slapped again if I kissed you?”

She shook her head and closed her eyes in anticipation. His lips were warm and tender. In his arms she knew she had come home and found a place to really belong. The love she had struggled her whole life to attain had come at last with Gerrit . . . a Coughlin!

THE END

Faithful, ch. 26

2009-07-18T07:50:00.000-07:00

From his perch on the ladder, Gerrit reached for a book on the top shelf. The bell over the door jingled. Alice hurried in. He put his feet on the outsides of the ladder and slid down.

She was solemn faced. “Mr. Fin- Coughlin. Hannah has gone off upset. I think she may have gone up to her father’s old mine. A storm is blowing in fast.” She pointed toward the front windows.

Gerrit hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten outside. “I’ll find her.” He grabbed his coat and a wide brimmed hat of his uncle’s and marched up the mountainside.

As he walked, the wind grew stronger, and he had to hold his hat on. He hoped Hannah had not gone up there but to Tiny’s instead. He should have checked, but too late now. Best to make sure she wasn’t up there. If she was at Tiny’s, she would be safe. If she was on the mountain side, anything could happen. He quickened his pace.

He crossed the bridge and a large drop of rain hit his hand. Thunder clapped overhead and rolled across the sky. He started running and caught a glimpse of a figure kneeling. Hannah. She rose and darted inside the little cabin as the sky broke loose. He yelled to her, but the wind carried off his words.

The cabin shifted in the gusty wind and groaned, slowly shifting to the side and folding onto the ground.

“Hannah!”

He ran faster urging his legs to already be at the cabin. “Hannah!” He willed her to crawl out of the wreckage that used to be her home all those years ago. He saw no movement except the rain beating down almost sideways, punishing the old timber.

He knelt where the doorway used to be. “Hannah!”

He didn’t even wait for an answer and pulled loose the first board careful not to shift the remains down harder on Hannah. It came away easily enough. Sam had not built this cabin to last. It had only been a temporary home. He pulled away another board and could see inside. He sucked in a quick breath at the sight of Hannah’s booted foot and the hem of her purple calico dress.

He knelt down to see how she was situated inside. Rain ran off the front of his hat. It was pitch black inside. Then a flash of lightening gave him a brief glimpse of her full body huddled on her side. She seemed to be in an open pocket held up by one wobbly chair. He touched her ankle. “Hannah, can you hear me?”

She didn’t move or make a sound. She had likely been hit in the head and knocked out when the ceiling came down on top of her. He hoped she’d only been knocked out. On the slim chance she could hear him, he explained to her what he was going to do. “Hannah, I’m going to straighten your legs and pull you out.”

He took a deep breath knowing that any movement could shift the boards and trap Hannah more fully. He pulled slowly, watching for any change in the timber. Hannah was lying flat on her back now. As he tried to pull her out, she seemed to be hung up on something. Another flash of lightening reveled that one of her arms was wrapped around the chair leg. If he pulled her, the chair would likely move and bring the rest of the cabin down on her.

He belly crawled up under the boards next to her. She was breathing. He gave a sigh of relief. He could hear the whole structure moan under the weight of the wind. There wasn’t much time. Untangling her arm from the chair, he moved it slightly. He held his body over hers and waited for it all to come down on him. When it didn’t, he inched out a little and slid Hannah with him, he kept backing out slowing bringing Hannah with him. If the cabin came down, he wanted to protect her from further injury. At the opening he pulled himself up onto his knee and free of the boards then pulled Hannah free holding her close. He lifted her into his arms, heard a crack from inside, and saw the structure go flat.

Gerrit tipped his head over Hannah’s face so his hat would help keep the rain from her face and leaned into the wind. Rain hit the back of his neck and ran down his back inside his shirt. He didn’t care and headed for the Majestic.

Faithful, ch. 25

2009-07-13T11:37:00.000-07:00

Hannah sat on the small boulder Father had placed beside the mine entrance. She was never allowed to go any farther than that. But she did . . . once. Hannah shivered at the memory.

The boards X-ed across the opening were cruel reminders of that day. She could still feel the fear and loneliness of being trapped and helpless. The udder darkness had paralyzed her. But she was rescued. Father never was. He was still in there somewhere.

Hannah shivered again either from the memory or the chilly wind coming down off the mountain. She pulled out the first letter, and it was almost snatched from her by a sudden gust. She tightened her shawl around her and headed for the cabin. She sat inside the door on the floor out of the wind, the wall adjusted to her weight.

She opened the first letter from Mr. Coughlin to Father then refolded it. She couldn’t do this. It was as though she were betraying Father. She closed her eyes. Lord, help me read these letters as I promised. She paused and drew in a deep breath. The next part was hard to pray. If there is truth in these letters, reveal it to me. She was ready for the truth. She took another deep breath and opened her eyes.

She read Mr. Coughlin’s words. On Duncan’s request, Mr. Coughlin had found several investors for the mountain hot springs resort. She folded it back up and caressed the writing on the second envelope from her father to Mr. Coughlin. He loved Mother so much. She turned the page and began reading. Her father had replied that Mr. Coughlin had been misinformed and declined the offer. He did not like being beholden to others and would manage on his own.

She folded the letter. So Duncan had gone behind Father’s back. What kind of friend was that?

The next few letters were between Duncan and Mr. Coughlin after Father’s death. They hashed out the details of the sale of the land and the plans for the resort. Father’s plans! Had Duncan stolen them? Duncan was specific that they had to follow Sam’s plans as closely as possible and it must bear the name Majestic Resort. He had secured the original plans from her mother and the project was moving forward.

How dare he! Taking advantage of Mother like that when she was devastated and vulnerable. Poor Mother. Hannah recalled how mean she had been to her mother. She wouldn’t listen to one word on the topic of the resort or the people and blamed her mother for letting it happen. It was years later she understood that the sale of the land was necessary to pay off Father’s debts. But how could her mother hand over her father’s plans, his dream? Her thoughts drifted back to her father’s letter. If he was in debt anyway, why not take on investors. He could have climbed out of the mine once and for all and still be alive.

Oh Father.

What was the verse in Proverbs? “Pride cometh before destruction...” The same destructive pride of her father she could see in herself. Would it destroy her as well? Lord, don’t let the same pride that destroyed my father destroy me as well. Save me from my foolish pride.

The next letter was from Mother to the Coughlins.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Coughlin,

Up until now Duncan has graciously taken care of all the details communicating with you about the resort. I felt it was time for me to let you know how truly grateful I am for all you are doing. I would not let just anyone build this resort. I believe you understand Sam’s vision and will honor his memory in fulfilling his dream for me. I know you have made some personal sacrifices, and I am indebted to you for more than I could ever repay.

Cordially,
Mrs. Sam McConnell

Hannah stared at the letter. Mother? It was all her idea? The Coughlins hadn’t practically stolen it. He mother willingly handed it over.

She pulled out the next to the last letter.

Dear Mrs. Sam McConnell,

We are most happy for this opportunity to help fulfill the dream of a man with a heart bigger than his resources and to help the needy people in Faithful. I only wish your husband had taken me up on my offer years ago. I would have been proud to work beside him.

It is taking longer to raise the capital than I would like but when Sam turned me down, we sought an avenue closer to home to reach out to those in need. Most of our funds are tied up in a local orphanage. But we have found some people to take on this task. The resort seems like just the sort of challenge I will enjoy, and the potential to help those in need is the real appeal in this whole endeavor.

He understood. It was never about the resort with Father but being able to finally help others.

The last letter was from her mother.

Dear Mr. Coughlin,

I have asked for so much from you with nothing to give in return. But I must ask one more favor from you and your wife. I have spoken to Duncan about this. He is not in agreement with me but has conceded to abide by my wishes. I must ask that you and your wife do not reveal to my daughter Hannah your relationship to Duncan. Hannah has not accepted her father’s death and is having a terrible time of it all.

Looking back, Hannah could see just how poorly she handled it. She had often come up to the mine, sat on her rock, and imagined her father digging himself out, even though she knew in her heart, it was impossible. He was . . . dead. She never liked to think of him that way, just trapped. Eternally trapped. But it wasn’t the mine that had killed him, it was his own pride and stubbornness. He wouldn’t let anyone help. Not even her or Mother.

Her mother had tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen. She searched her memories and recalled several time when Mother would mention either the resort and how beautiful it looked or the people who lived there. Every time she would close her ears. It hurt too much. It was like someone stomping on Father’s grave . . . only he didn’t have one.

She finished the letter.

I worry about Hannah so. She grieves so deeply for her father.

Nothing had hurt worse.

If you would do this one last thing for me, I would be most grateful. One day I will explain everything to her when she is old enough to understand. I am in your debt.

Respectfully,
Mrs. Sam McConnell

Her mother’s last words to her had been, “I love you, Hannah. Please forgive me.” Hannah hadn’t known what her mother needed forgiveness for, but forgave her for anything she thought she needed absolution for. If she had known what it was she was forgiving, could she have still given it at the time? She had been difficult after Father died and could now understand Mother’s secrecy. Mother had been wise. Even now the truth was hard to bear, but she was willing to face it no matter how painful.

Mother had done it for her, to protect her from her own hurt. She was as stubborn and muleheaded as her father. If he had taken Mr. Coughlin up on his offer, he would be alive. Oh Father. A tear slid down her cheek.

One letter remained in her bag; the one that accompanied the news of Duncan’s betrayal at the reading of his will. He had betrayed no one. He had only ever done everything Mother asked of him. She longed to read his final words to her. It was dated one year earlier to nearly the day of Duncan’s passing.

My Dear Sweet Hannah,

I hardly know where to begin. I have so much to tell you. You were the daughter I never had. From the day you were born I loved you as my own. I have tried to be a father to you since Sam’s passing. You are a beautiful and lovely young woman. I look forward to seeing you marry and have children. I have secretly hoped and tried to arrange your meeting my nephew, Gerrit. By the time you read this you will probably already have met. He is a wonderful young man or so my sister tells me.

Your mother knew for some time that her health was failing. Her heart was never strong. She would be happy to know you have a piece of your father’s dream. She had it built for the two people she loved most, you and Sam. I asked Irene to marry me, but she turned me down. She said it wouldn’t be fair to me when she knew she was going to die. But before she died she did tell me that she had grown to love me.

Your mother, knowing her time was short, didn’t want to spend one minute of it with you angry with her, so she felt it best to not tell you about Mrs. Coughlin being my sister. She meant to spare you pain by keeping this from you. I hope she was right.

I feel a great burden has been taken from me for finally telling you all of this, though you won’t read it for some time.

I pray your life is happy and I will miss you.
Forever,
Duncan

Duncan was in love with Mother. He always had been. How she knew this she wasn’t sure, but she knew it was true. Duncan had always been the father hers had not.

Tears pooled in Hannah’s eyes. She blinked to bring the words back into focus.

Everything seemed so clear to her now. And not so much because of the letters. It was as if God had lifted a veil and her whole life came into focus. Like dissolving sugar into water; it’s cloudy at first but becomes clear.

Father had put his whole life into making his dream come true. He had literally given his life for it. It was the most important thing in the world to him. More important than anything . . . or anyone. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

She bundled the letters back up into her bag and headed straight for the mine, her father’s grave.

She stood in front of the opening. “Why couldn’t Mother and I be enough for you? Why couldn’t we be more important? You never were a father to me. All you could see was the castle you wanted to build. It blinded you to what was right in front of you. Just as it has blinded me. Duncan was always the father you should have been to me. I love you, Father, but I won’t carry your burden any longer.”

The wind whipped some of her hair across her face as she knelt by her mother’s grave. “I’m sorry I never listened to you. You tried to tell me so many times. All I could see was my bitterness and hurt.” The first rain drop landed on her cheek next to her tears.

She tipped her face and heart toward heaven. Sweet Jesus, please forgive me for all my bitterness. I have been so wrong in this whole affair. Please let Gerrit and his parents forgive me. Thunder rolled across the sky, vibrating the ground.

Another drop and another. She stood. The wind whipped her hair and flapped her skirt violently as if trying to tear it loose. She looked to the mine for shelter. She would never go in there again and headed for the cabin. Though rickety, it had stood this long, certainly it could weather one more storm. The cabin groaned as she approached. Maybe this was one storm too many. She would grab the bag with the letters and make for the mine.

Faithful, ch. 24

2009-07-06T14:22:00.000-07:00

I'm really having a hard time keeping to a schedule during the summer and my daughter off from school. The days seem to melt together. Here is the next chapter.

Hannah glared at the letters Mr. Gerrit Coughlin had given her. Her hands trembled as she picked them up. She had nothing to fear from them. They meant nothing. But something inside her told her they could change her life...if she let them. But she wasn’t about to let that happen. Her world had already been shaken with the news of Duncan’s betrayal being related to the very people whom she disliked. Why hadn’t he told her? Why hadn’t Mother told her?

The last thing she wanted to do was read more lies of Duncan and the Coughlins’. Alice’s laughter crossed the room as she showed Anna Isabelle the millinery sample book.

She pulled the letters tight to herself. She couldn’t read them here. The mine would give her the strength she needed to fulfill her promise and get this over with.

She wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders and put the letters in a crocheted bag. Then she gathered up her two bundles for the Wilsons and headed for the door.

“After I’m done here, I’ll finish the lace on....”

Hannah barely heard Alice as she spoke. “I have to go out.”

“It looks like it could rain.”Alice motioned toward the window with the darkening sky on the other side.

“I’ll be fine.” She walked out the door. She had an important visit to make.

She had made two dresses for Sophie’s doll; one out of some left over peach satin, the other a red gingham to match the dress she made for Sophie. She also had made Sophie a blue calico dress to match the one she hoped Iona would accept for herself. A customer had ordered it then changed her mind. But Hannah thought it would fit her.

Without too much protesting from Iona, Hannah left the doll and dresses with Iona and Sophie. Iona offered to pay her but Hannah refused. Iona didn’t have the money to spare. And Hannah would not take money that could put food on the table for the Wilson children.

Hannah headed up to the mine, the one place that always gave her strength.

Cascades Galley

2009-06-29T14:05:00.000-07:00

In September my next book comes out, Cascades. It is a historical compilation of Uncertain Alliance, The Captain's Wife, and Reckless Rogue. Each of these is set in a different Washington State town; Seattle, Port Townsend, and Cashmere.

I have been working on the galley for this books for a week or so, so this post won't be very long. I'm just taking a short break between loads of laundry and reviewing the galley to pop in and say hi.

I haven't read these stories in over a year and am finding that I'm really enjoying visiting with these characters. I am liking them all over again, feeling for my heroines and falling in love with the heroes.

I can't wait to see what they choose for the cover. Washington State is so beautiful.

Back to work. :-)

Faithful, ch. 23

2009-06-26T15:52:00.000-07:00

“Let me ask you a question. What do you find so appealing about Miss Hannah McConnell, besides her beauty?” his mother asked from the chaise.

“Everything. I think I’ve always been in love with her - or at least a vague image of her - and finally met her. I feel like I’ve known’ her for years and still every time I see her it’s like the first time.”

“That’s how it was with Irene and Sam.” She paused. “I’ll tell you what you see in Hannah. The very things Irene saw in Sam, a strong backbone and a sharp mind. And she has Irene’s grace and spiritedness.” His mother sighed. “I always wondered if you would ever find a good woman and settle down. You have fallen hard but with the one woman who won’t have you. You always did like a challenge.”

His mouth hitched up on one side. Was it the challenge that drew him? Or the reward if successful?

Later, Gerrit walked inside Hannah’s dressmaker shop. She glared at him and went to the back room, returning a moment later with a wrapped parcel. “I was going to have Alice deliver this when she came back.” She tossed it at him.

My shirt. He nearly dropped the letters he brought catching it.

“We have no further business.”

“Oh, but I do have further business with you.” If he could just make her understand the truth . . .. “I have debated with myself about giving you these personal letters. I prayed and believe the Lord would have me give them to you.”

“I’m not interested in your letters.”

He set the bundles on the table she used to cut fabric. “These are correspondence between Uncle Duncan and my father regarding the Majestic Resort.”

“I said I’m not interested.”

“There are a few from your father and mother.”

Hannah jerked her head up. He had surprised her but then she lowered a veil of indifference. “I’m not interested.” She turned and walked toward her living quarters. He stopped her in the hall, trapping her between his arms with his hands against the wall. A little Coughlin control, but that was tough; she had to know the truth. “Promise me you will read those letters.”

She pushed on his arm but he wouldn’t relent. She ducked to go under but he slid his hand down the wall.

“I’ll stand here until you do.”

The bell over the door jingled. “I have a customer.”

He could wait her out.

She shoved his arm and appeared to be putting all one hundred or so pounds into it. Then she looked up with a sly resigned hitch to her mouth.

He didn’t like what he saw in her eyes and wouldn’t let her make a false pledge. “All you have to do is promise, because I know a McConnell’s word is good.”

She gritted her teeth and glared at him.

“Let me make it easy for you. Promise or I’ll kiss you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He most definitely would. He felt an obligation to fix this misunderstanding before he left town. “I’ll count to five. One.”

“How dare you!”

“Two.”

She stomped her foot on the top of his boot.

He clenched his jaw, trying not to show the pain her heel caused. “Three.”

She pushed on his arm. “You’re going to loose me a customer.”

“Four.” He could see in her eyes that she knew she was trapped. Either way, he won. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Fi-”

“I promise, I promise, I promise.”

Neither moved or breathed. The bell over the door rang again.

“You promise what?”

“You know good and well what.” She pushed and swatted at his arm.

“I want to hear you say it.”

She huffed. “I promise to read the insidious letters, but they won’t make one bit of difference. May I go now?”

“I’m disappointed. I would have liked to kiss you.” He turned and walked away. “Good day, ma’am.” He tipped his head to the customer. He tipped his head to Alice who must have come in on the second bell. “Good to see you again.” Then he walked out, leaving part of himself behind.

It was all in the Lord’s hands now. He could do nothing more to make her see the truth. It was time to head back east and forget all about Miss Hannah McConnell. If that were even possible.

Faithful, ch. 22

2009-06-22T14:27:00.000-07:00

"Last week was really crazy with getting ready for a big Father's Day event at our church, a car & motorcycle show with a silent auction and ATV raffle. So this chapter is a little late. I hope you enjoy."

At the sight of Hannah returning, relief settled on Gerrit like a warm blanket in the winter. When Holace had stormed out, he wasn’t sure if he should follow him or not. “I didn’t want to leave your shop open with no one to attend it.”

“I’m here now.” She swung off her shawl and set it aside.

Her words were a dismissal, but he wasn’t ready to leave just yet. “He shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”

“It’s none of your business.” She perched her fists on her hips.

“But he--”

“It’s all taken care of. Good-day, Mr. Coughlin!”

He clenched his teeth. “I was only trying to help.”

“I never asked for your help.”

His hands clenched. “You are the most obstinate, opinionated woman-”

Hannah held her head high. “Many women hold very strong opinions about a lot of things but choose not to say anything.”

“So why don’t you?”

Hannah set her jaw and thinned her lips then walked toward the door.

He caught her by the arm and turned her around. “No words of wisdom?”

“Let go of me!”

“Not until you answer my question.”

She jerked her arm but his grip held. “What question?”

“Why don’t you keep your opinions to yourself like other ladies?” He really didn’t care if she held her tongue. He didn’t have to guess what she was thinking that way. And he wanted to keep her talking to him.

“I didn’t realize that was a question. I thought it was the polite Coughlin way to tell me to be silent.”

“I would never do that.”

“Isn’t that what Coughlins do,” she glanced at her arm in his grasp, “control people?”

He released her. “No, we don’t. And I’ll have you know that my parents weren’t trying to take away the Wilsons’ home or anyone else’s home. They were trying to fulfill a promise they made to your mother to help those less fortunate. They will build better housing for the people who live down on the river whether you like it or not. Just because you protested didn’t mean my father backed down, he has made all the plans. He was trying to include you in it. Once they are built you will see for yourself that my parents aren’t the evil overlords you have made them out to be.”

“Good day, Mr. Coughlin.” She yanked the door open and held it.

He growled. She was the most infuriating woman he had ever met . . . and the most intriguing. “Can’t we at least talk about this?”

“You have nothing to say that I want to hear.”

“I think I do.”

“I don’t want to hear another lie from you. Now, please leave.”

“Very well, I’ll show you.” Gerrit swiftly cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

Hannah shoved him away and drew back her hand. The smack was loud but the sting to his cheek was greater. He thought to surprise her and didn’t expect her to react so fast. The slap didn’t hurt nearly as much as the menacing look in her eyes.

“Get out!”

Should he play stubborn too? Nothing came to mind, so he turned toward the door. He stopped at the threshold, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time he crossed it. He needed guidance from the Lord and his parents’ counsel.

Renaissance Festival

2009-06-15T07:42:00.000-07:00

We have a great Renaissance Festival in our area. We go every year. We wouldn't miss it. This past weekend was opening weekend. We had a great time and took one of my son’s friends with us who never knew the festival was there. He had a great time.

If you've never been to a Renaissance Festival, you are missing out. It allows you to step back in time. Food, entertainment, and harassment.

The food is great. We always have a turkey leg. They are delicious. There is also frozen flavored ice on a half of an orange, funnel cakes, baklava, corn on the cob, beef kabob, turkey sausage, shaved ice, smoothies, and much more.

There are shows going on all over the festival all the time. There’s a magician, acrobats, jugglers, ventriloquist, hypnotist, comedians, musicians, storytellers, and much more. We have our favorite shows and usually find a new one or two each year. Last year Cast in Bronze was there. He plays Carillon Bells and is fantastic. If you go to the link below and wait for it to load, you can hear him play. Or go to Cast in Bronze Web site.

There are dozens of little shops. There is pottery, glass blowing, swords, period clothing, jewelry, leather journals, crowns, wings, stained glass, artists, hair braiding, and so much more.

The festival hires actors to roam the park or to stand around and harass you. They are great. They call out to you as you walk by and some times they might start walking with you. They are always in costume and in character with old world speak. One of the ticket taker girls at the gate was calling out my son and his friend (they are both 20) to come over to her. My son and his friend were far to shy for that. Their eyes got big and they stayed with us as we entered. It’s always fun. Especially when your son turns red at a pretty girl calling to him.

Of course, King Henry is there every year with his full court of ladies.

I look forward to going a couple more time this summer .

For more information on my local festival go to http://www.coloradorenaissance.com/
You can also Google Renaissance Festival to see if you can find one in your area.

Have fun!

Faithful, ch. 21

2009-06-12T10:43:00.001-07:00

Hannah grabbed her shawl and the key to her shop. She needed to find Alice. When Alice told her that Holace had finally proposed, she’d lashed out at her this morning. Alice had left upset, and Hannah needed to apologize.

Last night, Hannah had tossed and turned. Her bed looked like a cat and dog fight. Then this morning she couldn’t stomach any food and had only a cup of tea which she didn’t finish. Alice hadn’t deserved the tongue lashing she had given her on the uselessness of men. There was only one man in particular that she found utterly impossible. She swung on her shawl and headed for the door.

Before she got halfway across the shop, Holace Bourne stormed in like a rabid grizzly bear. He jabbed one thick finger in the air. “Never thought you would let your bitterness hurt some one you claim to care about.”

“Holace, I kno-”

“Alice is weeping all over the place and threatening to call off the wedding!”

Oh no! Her temper had certainly gotten the better of her.

“You had no right to come between us.” Holace’s face was red and his voice loud. “Just because you’re unhappy doesn’t mean you have to make everyone around you miserable!” He took a breath to continue.

He was correct, and she would fix it.

Another male voice spoke, equally as angry. “You can’t speak to her that way!”

Holace swung around to face Mr. Coughlin.

She glared at Gerrit. “What are you doing here?”

Gerrit stepped between her and Holace. “I think you owe Miss McConnell an apology.”

“I would sooner kiss a hog!”

“I could arrange that!”

Hannah took a deep breath and exhaled. Would it do any good to talk to these two while they’re locking horns? She turned and walked out, hoping they wouldn’t get into a fight and ruin her shop. She walked straight to Alice’s house.

Alice sat on a lawn swing Holace had made for her. Hannah sat in the seat opposite her. Alice sniffled. “Alice, I’m so sorry for upsetting you. I’m just ill-tempered today. Will you forgive me for my abominable behavior?”

Alice nodded.

“Now, what’s this about you calling off the wedding?”

“The things you said kind of made sense.” Alice dabbed her eyes with a wadded up handkerchief.

“No they didn’t.”

“I’m not sure if I should get married.”

“Of course you should. You love Holace, don’t you?”

“Yes, I think so - or at least I thought I did.”

“Holace is a good man and will treat you well.” Both women turned and saw Holace, hat in hand, standing in the yard a few feet away.

Hannah stood. “I’ll see you in the shop tomorrow, and we can start designing your wedding dress.”

Alice bobbed her head and gave her an appreciative smile.

As Hannah passed Holace, she said, “I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble.”

Holace gave her a tentative smile. “Thank you.”

Hannah nodded and returned his smile, then left them alone. At least that was one thing she could fix. Other problems in her life weren’t so easy.

History & Air-Conditioning

2009-06-08T12:05:00.000-07:00

I used to hate history. In school it was dry and boring. You would say the word history and everyone would grunt or groan as if in pain.

But now I find history fascinating. I’m not sure why. Little known stories about real people or inventions. Our history classes told us about some inventions like the cotton gin, penicillin, and the automobile. But what about all those everyday items we use that we don’t even think twice about.

I found a fascinating book call Origin of Everyday Things by Johnny Acton, Tania Adams, & Matt Packer.

Did you know that air-conditioning dates back to ancient times? People in hot environment have always sought out ways to cool their environment. The Babylonians splashed water on the outside of the dwellings to draw heat from the inside as it evaporated. Egyptians would moisten mats/veils and hang them so the warm breeze would cool as it went through them.

British scientist Michael Faraday (1791-1867) discovered air could be cooled by compressing ammonia. American physician John Gorrie (1803-1855) used tubs of ice to blow cool air over his patients during an outbreak of yellow fever. In 1902 Willis Haviland Carrier (1876-1950) built the first modern air-conditioner for a printing plant to keep the paper dry so it could be aligned correctly.

So due to these ingenious people, we can stay cool and dry on hot summer days or when traveling in our cars.

Faithful, ch. 20

2009-06-05T13:04:00.000-07:00

Gerrit waited impatiently in the dressmaker shop for Hannah to return from her errand. Maybe she had gone to visit Tiny on her way back. He headed for the door.

Once outside, he saw Hannah striding toward him, but she was looking to the ground with her brows knit together and her lips pinched. What had put that scowl on her face? He had hoped she would be in a good mood to receive his news. Maybe he could fix whatever was troubling her and put a smile back on her face. He crossed the street to her. “Hannah.”

She looked up and her glare deepened.

He hesitated. “You look troubled.”

She pulled her hand back and slapped his face without breaking stride. She stepped off the boardwalk to cross the street.

He stood stunned. It hadn’t hurt. She wore gloves and hadn’t hit that hard. It was the action itself and in public that was the real affliction. He didn’t have to ask what it was for. She had found out his secret. He pulled himself together and caught up to her. “Hannah, I can explain.”

“You lied to me, Mr. Coughlin.”

That removed any doubt about her mood. “I never said my surname was Finnley. You took it upon yourself to call me that. I asked you to call me Gerrit. And my middle name is Finnley.”

She stepped up onto the boardwalk on the corner by the bookstore and turn on him. “A lie of omission is still a lie.” She swung back around and into her shop.

Gerrit stared after her a moment. He couldn’t deny he had kept the truth from her. He knew it was wrong and that it would hurt her. Leaving his heart behind, he walked to the Majestic Resort. As it said in the Bible, there is wisdom in counsel. Entering his parent’s apartment at the back of the resort, he stretched out on the couch and plopped a pillow onto his face.

“What is wrong? Are you sick?” He could hear the concern in his mother’s voice.

“Hannah found out the truth.”

“Found out? Oh dear.”

He removed the pillow. “She slapped me.”

“As well she should for keeping something like this from her. You should have told her from the start and won her from there. You are far worse off now than you would have been if you had made an honest start of it.” She handed him a cup of coffee.

He sat up. “You and father never told her.”

“That was different. We made a promise to Irene, her mother. It has not been easy. I, for one, am glad it is finally out in the open.”

In a way, he too was glad it was out in the open. Hannah was right. He’d lied. The weight of it now lifted left him with the ruins he’d created.

Chapter 19

2009-06-01T13:14:00.000-07:00

(Pardon the tardiness of this entry. I've been really sick and haven't had two brain cells to rub together. Enjoy!)

Two days after the Howard’s house fire, Hannah received word that Duncan’s lawyer wanted to see her. She hoped it wasn’t bad news. She needed something to lift her spirits. She had been out of sorts since the Howard’s house burned down, only having seen Gerrit twice. The first was the next afternoon, but he was contemplative and in a hurry. Then this morning she had hardly been able to say good morning when he smiled and said he had some important business to attend to and would see her later.

She was ushered into Mr. Humphry’s office at his residence by his wife. His mahogany paneled office, though spacious, felt small. The heavy velvet drapes cut off half the light that struggled to gain entrance. Even on this bright, sunny day he had a lamp lit to read his papers. She resisted the urge to throw back the drapes and tie them out of the way.

He clasped both his plump hands around hers. “Miss McConnell, it’s so good to see you. I hope you are holding up well in spite of your grief.”

“I’m doing well.” She sat in the offered chair.

“Good. I haven’t much time right now, I’m expected at the courthouse, so I’ll get right to business. I have good news for you.”

That was a relief. But she couldn’t imagine what he required of her good or bad.

“I wasn’t sure how long I would have to hold on to this and am pleased to be able to turn it over to you.” He opened a file cabinet drawer and withdrew an envelope from one of the files, handing it to her.

She broke the seal and slipped the contents out. There was a smaller envelope with her name on it in Duncan’s handwriting and a document that had Majestic Resort on it. “What is all this?”

“Duncan owned a share of the Majestic Resort. Now it’s yours. He asked me to wait until I thought you were ready. I figured after how well you are getting on with Mr. Coughlin, that the reservations Duncan had were all for naught.”

She looked up sharply. “You have been misinformed. I do not get on well with any Coughlin.”

“But at the Howard fire?”

She hadn’t known any of the Coughlins were there. It surprised her that they would dirty themselves to help others.

“You have been seen about town with him.”

Had Mr. Humphry gone daft? “Not only do I not socialize with Mr. and Mrs. Coughlin, but I have never set foot in that resort and never plan to do so.”

Mr. Humphry leaned back, supporting his ample weight on the edge of his desk. “I am not referring to the senior Mr. Coughlin, but rather his son, Gerrit Finnley Coughlin. I have seen you myself in his company, smiling. I assumed you got on well with him.”

Unmoving, Hannah stared at the lawyer. Gerrit Finnley...Coughlin!

“I see I may have put the mule before the cart. But what is said is said. I have betrayed Duncan’s confidence, for that I am deeply sorry. I truly thought you knew.”

“This-this is impossible. Gerrit is Duncan’s nephew. He can’t be a Coughlin.”

“Duncan was Mrs. Coughlin’s brother.”

“No. I would have known. Duncan would have told me.”

“Your mother made him promise not to reveal his relationship to Mrs. Coughlin.”

“No, this isn’t right.” She handed the envelope and its contents back to him.

He refused it. “Whether you choose to believe or not, you own a share of the Majestic Resort. You have since Duncan’s passing.”

How could he have lied to her all these years?

She folded the papers and put everything back into the envelope. She stood and stretched out her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Humphry, for all you have done. Good day.” She turned and left.

How could she have been so blind for so long? Her mother lied to her. Duncan lied to her. And Gerrit lied to her. He was the worst of them all. The only one who hadn’t lied was Father.

No, Mr. Humphry, this was not good news at all!

Memorial Day

2009-05-25T08:28:00.000-07:00

“Memorial Day, originally called Decoration Day, is a day of remembrance for those who have died in our nation's service. There are many stories as to its actual beginnings, with over two dozen cities and towns laying claim to being the birthplace of Memorial Day. … It is more likely that it had many separate beginnings; each of those towns and every planned or spontaneous gathering of people to honor the war dead in the 1860's tapped into the general human need to honor our dead, each contributed honorably to the growing movement that culminated in Gen Logan giving his official proclamation in 1868. It is not important who was the very first, what is important is that Memorial Day was established. Memorial Day is not about division. It is about reconciliation; it is about coming together to honor those who gave their all.” (Text) (Photo)

To honor those who gave their all. We live in a country that is free because of ALL the men and women through the centuries who have fought and died. Who gave their all.

“Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13NIV) If a friend would have no greater love than to die for me, how much more love is it for a stranger to die for me. For our country. For our freedom.

People you don’t know and will never meet have died for you and are dying today for you to remain free. The love. The sacrifice. When I think on this, I am in awe.

“In 1915, inspired by the poem "In Flanders Fields," Moina Michael replied with her own poem:

We cherish too, the Poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led,
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies.”

(Text)

Just remember, freedom is never free. Someone, somewhere has paid for your freedom. And that blood of heroes never dies.
(Photo)

Chapter 18

2009-05-22T15:29:00.000-07:00

Hannah lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. What a night! She thanked God that no one was more seriously hurt and that Gerrit was able to rescue all the children unharmed. But as incredible as the fire was, she could only think of what happened before it. Or almost happened. She had been as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rockers when Gerrit said he was going to kiss her.

Lord, I’m so confused. How could I be scared and excited about the same thing? A kiss. Is it a sin for me to want a man to kiss me? No, I don’t believe it is. Not if he is very special and you are in l-

She stopped and took several small breaths. Could it be? Could she be in love with Gerrit Finnley?

Lord, is this what love feels like? Am I in Love with him?

She’d had strong feelings for Duncan but it never felt like this. With Duncan it was amiable and she would have been content to spend the rest of her life with him but Duncan hadn’t returned her affections in the same way. But this feeling she had for Gerrit touched every part of her. And she thought about him all the time, no matter what she was doing.

She felt her mouth pull up hard on both sides. She was in love!

Did Gerrit feel the same way? Could he love her too? He had to feel something for her or he wouldn’t have asked to kiss her. Would he try again? She hoped so.

Thank You, Lord. Thank You for this feeling. Thank You for Gerrit. And thank You for love.

Snym is back!

2009-05-18T07:14:00.000-07:00

Snym is a beautiful white Siamese. Please don't ask what his name means. My son named him. Snym doesn't really mean anything. It just is.

Snym is my son's cat, and he is moving back for a while so his cat is coming too. Snym has arrived a couple of weeks ahead of my son. Three of our cats and our dog are adjusting just fine even after one night, a few hissy fits here and there, but nothing serious.

My cat on the other hand will have the longest adjustment period. She is a people cat (madly in love with my husband) and only tolerates the other pets. When snym comes around, she sounds just like a cougar. Seriously! I didn't know a little domesticated house cat could make those large wild cat sounds. Given time she will quit freaking out.

Now I can't wait for my son to get here.

Faithful, ch. 17

2009-05-15T07:44:00.000-07:00

Gerrit ran as fast as he could toward the explosion. He had just left Hannah standing there without a word. He would explain later. Smoke rose from a nearby house. He had hoped it was a business closed for the night.

In the front yard lay a woman with a charred skirt. He rushed to her, unconscious but still breathing. He dashed to a man lying on the front steps. His head was bleeding. Had these two been thrown by the explosion from the house?

Hannah came up beside him as other neighbors gathered. “Is Mr. Howard dead?”

Not yet. “They both need a doctor. Stay here, I’ll get one.”

“What about the children?”

Gerrit looked at the smoky house in horror. Oh sweet Jesus, no. Flames began to spill out the broken front window. “How many?”

“Five little ones.”

Gerrit turned to the gathering neighbors. “Someone find the doctor.” He pointed to several men. “Come with me.” Hannah followed as well while neighbor women ministered to Mr. and Mrs. Howard.

Father in heaven, protect these little children and help me find them and get them all out safely. A familiar energy surged inside him. It would give him the strength he would need. Everything from here on out would be like the beat of his own heart. He knew what needed to be done and would just do it.

He went to the side of the house farthest from where he guessed the explosion occurred. “Stand below this window.” Gerrit grabbed the trellis that flanked the window and climbed like a squirrel. It was old and should be replaced, but he needed it to hold his weight a little longer. He kicked the glass with his boot, clearing as many shards as possible. He took a final breath of clean air and stepped inside the smoky interior.

He could hear frantic crying immediately and picked out the huddled figures on the far side of the dim room. The bulk of the smoke had not found its way to this room yet. “Come on, children, let’s go!” Two small ones stood up, and he ushered them toward the window. He went back for the others. Only a young girl, crying hysterically, with a baby in her arms remained. He hauled her to her feet and half carried her to the window. “Where’s the other one?” The girl tried to answer but he couldn’t understand anything through her frenzied panic.

“Oliver ran in the other room,” one of the little boys said through tears. “Is he gonna die?”

“No. Where did he go? In that room?”

“He hides under Prissy’s crib when he gets ascared.”

He scooped up the first boy and hoisted him out the window. “Move closer together,” he called to the men below.

The men squished in shoulder to shoulder, arms tangled together. “We’re ready. Drop him.”

The boy’s eyes were huge with terror. “You’ll be fine,” Gerrit soothed and released him.

By the time the men had caught him and set him aside Gerrit had the next boy out the window. This boy was struggling to grab hold of him. “They’ll catch you,” he said, releasing the child before he could get a good hold.

Gerrit reached for the baby. The girl resisted. “Give me Prissy!” He wrestled the baby from the girl’s tight grasp and dropped her down.

The girl stepped away from the window. “Oliver,” she managed to sob.

Gerrit yanked her back to the window. “I’ll get him.” He swung the girl into his arms and pushed her through the window opening. She clutch him in a death grip around his neck and screeched. He grimaced at the pain to his ear. “Let go. They’ll catch you, I promise.”

“No. I can’t.” She scrambled to climb over him.

He pulled her back inside. He didn’t have time to cajole her. “You stay put by this window. I’ll get Oliver.” She nodded her consent.

“Which way is Prissy’s crib from the door?”

She pointed to the left.

He took a gulp of fresh air before continuing. He kicked a few things on the floor in the dark, but managed to make his way across the darkening room to where he remembered the vague outline of a doorway had been. He went left and groped in the thickening blackness until he located the crib. A weak cough sounded from underneath. Reaching under, he caught a foot and pulled Oliver out. The child was practically lifeless in his arms. Making his way back to the window, he dropped the child to safety and turned to the girl.

“I can’t.” She turned back into the smoky room.

Gerrit caught her wrist. “Will you go piggyback on my back?”

Her timid nod was not convincing.

“Okay, climb out after me.” He kept hold of her and spoke to the men. “Stay below us.” He swung out the window and straddled between the windowsill and the trellis. He hoped it would hold the two of them. He wouldn’t let go of her wrist until she started climbing out, reluctantly. Once she was on his back, he descended the trellis slowly. The trellis wobbled free from the house. “Catch her!” he yelled as the trellis broke away from the side of the house. The girl’s scream was cut short when the men broke her fall. Gerrit turned in the air like a cat, knocking two men down as he fell to the ground but no one was hurt. The men rolled over and slapped Gerrit on the back for a job well done.

Hannah ran over to him. “Are you all right? I was so scared.”

“I’m fine, but this is far from over.” He pulled away from her and moved to the front of the bucket-brigade at the threshold of the front door. When a bucket came to him, he took a step inside and tossed the water. It hissed on the hot flames. The volunteer firemen arrived and attacked the fire from the back of the house.

Hours later the fire was out, much of the house destroyed. As far as anyone could determine this soon, it was a coal-oil gas leak ignited by a spark. Mrs. Howard had a concussion and was being taken care of. Mr. Howard had some burns and a gash on his head. The children were safely tucked away at a neighbor’s house.

With most of the people gone, he took Hannah by the hand and escorted her home. She didn’t seem to mind his sooty hand around hers. He didn’t want to say good-night but he did.

He headed off in the direction of the Faithful mine. He had too much blood pumping through his veins and never was able to sleep after a fire for hours. So he hiked up the mountain toward the little cabin where Hannah McConnell began her life.

What was he still doing here in Faithful? And what was he doing with Hannah? Toying with her affections? He hadn’t meant to. He would be leaving and should have left a week ago. Hannah would likely stay in Faithful the rest of her life, protecting the town she loved from an enemy who wasn’t a threat. Could he go back to his life in Harwood without Hannah? His mother always wanted him to move out here after Aunt Enid passed away. Could he do that? Did he want to?

He walked past the mine and up the hill behind it. Lord, what would you have me do? Do I give up my work with the orphans back east and move here? Toby is such a great boy. I had thought before I came to adopt him myself, with one leg half gone, he is virtually unadoptable. I could go back for Toby and bring him here. But would Hannah accept him?

He looked out over Faithful and tried to locate Hannah’s shop. If he had it figured right, her lights were out. He hoped she slept well.

Or do I give up Hannah and go back to the work You put before me? But then I won’t likely have to give up Hannah at all. Once she finds out the truth, she will give me up. Lord, soften her heart toward me and my parents. Show her the truth so she can understand and forgive the wrong that was never done to her.

He knelt beside the boulder above the mine and continued to pray. He went to his parents to avoid running into Hannah until he had answers and was prepared to face her with the truth.

For Me

2009-05-13T07:22:00.000-07:00

I’m studying Hebrews in my Bible study.

In Hebrews 2 it talks about Jesus as man. Whenever people would teach on or talk about Jesus as man, they would say something along the lines of “because Jesus was a man as well as God and suffered and was tempted, He can understand me and my troubles.”

And it hit me.

God did not need to come down to earth and be a man to understand my troubles and trials. He already understood all too well and came down to show me how much He understands. He knew that humans needed to see Him as a man so our little brains could comprehend that He does identify with us.

Don’t think I am saying if we understood, He wouldn’t have come down as man. For it says in Hebrews 2:14b-15 “For only as a human being could he die, and only by dying could he break the power of the devil, who had the power of death. Only in this way could he set free all who have lived their lives as slaves to the fear of dying.”

He had to become human to save us but not to fully understand us. He created us.

Also in Hebrews 6:17 & 18, “God also bound himself with an oath, so that those who received the promise could be perfectly sure that he would never change his mind. . . . it is impossible for God to lie. . .”

If it is impossible for God to lie, then He need only to say something for it to come to pass. If He says He is going to do something, it will be done. He does not need to make an oath. But He knows man well and knows that man needs the oath to be sure. God does not need the oath to keep his promises as man would.

I just think this is all so neat how God does things He doesn’t need to do prove to man and to me that He understands and will keep His promises.

Not for Him but for me.

God goes the extra mile.

Blossoms!

2009-05-11T08:41:00.000-07:00

I have been trying for 10 years to grow fruit trees in my backyard. I have not had much luck. They seem to do well the first year, but don't come back the next year. Then I rip them up and plant a new tree. Last year my two new cherry trees came back and I had one whole cherry on one of them. I was so excited. My first fruit. It tasted delicious! And this year all but one tree came back (It wasn't one of the fruit trees).

My two cherry trees have blossoms on them! I'm so excited. I'm hoping for more than one cherry this year. I can't wait.

I have this pathetic dwarf apple tree that has been struggling for 10 years. It will grow and leaf for a couple of years and then the branches and trunk will die and not leaf, but up from the ground shoots a new trunk and we start all over again. It's done that 3 or 4 times. My two-year-old cherry trees are bigger than the 10-year-old apple tree. Maybe some day I'll get to taste an apple from it.

Chapter 16

2009-05-08T07:54:00.000-07:00

Hannah was pleased to see Gerrit waiting for her in the same place he had run into her last week when she’d left Tiny’s home. After escorting her to Iona’s and staying for a short visit, he walked her home.

At her back door, Hannah turned to him with a smile. “Good night, Mr. Finnley. Thank you for the escort.” She really didn’t want the evening with him to end just yet.

He shook his head. “Gerrit. Why are you so stubborn about calling me by my Christian name?”

This was so much more fun. But it really seemed to be bothering him so she would surprise him. Soon.

His mouth turned up in a mischievous smile. “If you call me Mr. Finnley once more, I’ll have to do something drastic.”

“Like what, Mr. Finnley?” She liked teasing him, and it would draw out the evening a little longer.

He thought only a moment before he answered with raised his eyebrows. “I’ll kiss you until your curls straighten. So no more Mr. Finnley.”

He wouldn’t. It was only an idle threat. She sensed he was more determined to get her to call him Gerrit than to straighten her curls. “Whatever you say . . . Mr. Finnley.” She gasped at her boldness. She hadn’t meant to say Mr. Finnley and turned to retreat inside.

“Not so fast.” He pulled her into his arms. “You asked for this.”

Her heart thundered like stampeding cattle. She had never been kissed before. “Gerrit,” she managed to whisper.

“Too late,” he whispered back and lowered his head to hers.

BOOM! Some explosion reverberated through the streets.

Gerrit jerked away, spinning around. “It came from that way.” He took off on foot, running.

What was that?

She felt an emptiness at Gerrit abandoning her at the moment their relationship was about to move in a new direction. But she also knew that the noise they heard could only be an explosion. She hoped no one was hurt and hiked up her skirt to walk faster in the direction Gerrit had gone.

Mini China Dolls

2009-05-06T07:35:00.000-07:00

In the novella Faithful that I’m posting on Fridays, I have Hannah assemble and dress a China doll for little Sophie. So I thought I’d post a pair of mini China dolls I just made some dresses for.

These two little cuties are 5 ½” tall. She was so cute I had to make two. Then I couldn’t decide which fabric or pattern to use for the dresses, so I made several. I may even make a few more.

My doll friends think I’m crazy for making the really small dolls. I figure that I’ll make them while I can still see (with the aid of glasses). Also, small dolls take up less space and I can fit more of them in my house without having to sell any of my children.

The doll that Hannah would have made for Sophie would have been about 15”-16” tall. But I thought these little cuties would give you an idea of the kind of doll she was dressing and maybe the kind of dress Hannah would have made.

☺

NEW RELEASE!

2009-05-04T09:15:00.000-07:00

The Prairie Romance Collection

12 complete stories by 12 authors is ready to be released this month.

Relive history on the American Great Plains as penned by twelve different multi-published authors. Follow pioneers, immigrants, and orphans through their adventures, heartaches, challenges, victories, and romances. You are sure to find more than one favorite among twelve stories in this unique collection to warm your heart and inspire your faith.

The authors are Lynn Coleman, Mary Davis (ME!), Susan Downs, Birdie Etchison, Linda Ford, Linda Goodnight, Joann Grote, Cathy Marie Hake, Judith Miller, Kathleen Paul, Janet Spaeth, and Lena Nelson Dooley.

My story is Love Notes and won in the historical novella category in the Book of the Year contest from ACFW.

Love Notes: Laurel has just lost her father in a bank robbery of his own scheming. She is ashamed of his behavior and the small town is shunning her and doesn't want her around. The only solace she finds is in the sheet of music she discovers propped up on the piano in the church. Each week another line of melody is added to the music. She falls in love with the author of the song even though she doesn't know who he is. She thanks God for sending her the music. Ethan has his arm in a sling because her father shot him in the holdup. She can't bear the shame to face him. Ethan thinks Laurel hates him because he is the one who killed her father.

You can go to Barbour Publishing to find out just when this book is available.

I hope you enjoy all the stories!

Chapter 15

2009-05-01T06:59:00.000-07:00

Three nights later, Gerrit didn’t mind sitting in a not so comfortable chair because he was across the small table from Hannah. When the supper dishes were cleared off the table, Hannah once again took out Looking Backward and began to read, as she had done the previous two nights. He would be late again getting over to see his parents, but he suspected his mother expected it by now.

He watched the movement of Hannah’s lips and the glow of lamplight flickering on her creamy skin. Her voice caressed the air with words as they did his heart. He longed to touch her cheek or feel the silken curls that laid about the perimeter of her face. He no longer knew what was happening in the story and had actually lost track last night.

She glanced up as she read. Her sentence trailed off as she looked at him more fully. “You’re staring.”

He’d been caught but didn’t mind. She probably already knew that he had great affection for her. “Pardon me. Your beauty captivated me.”

She smiled and looked back to the book. “Let me just find my place.”

# # #

Hannah struggled to keep her concentration on the words in the story as she read to the bottom of the page. The look in Gerrit’s eyes when she glanced up from her reading, plagued her mind. “I think that’s a good place to stop.” This chapter would have to be reread as did last night’s reading. She closed the book and set it aside. She didn’t want Gerrit to leave but it was best if he did. She knew where feelings like this would lead and didn’t want to get hurt again. He had said enough times he would be returning East. She walked him to the back kitchen door. “Thank you for your company. I always enjoy it.”

He ran his index finger down her cheek and along her jaw. “Would I earn a slap if I kissed you?”

Her face warmed. “We haven’t known each other very long.”

“Twelve days. I’ve seen you at least twice a day, usually three times for the last twelve days. If I were courting you in the usual fashion-”

Courting? Her breath caught. Was he saying he wasn’t courting her but if he was? Or that he was courting her only in an unusual way?

“-I’d come visiting once or twice during the week, have supper, and sit in your parlor.” He scooped up her hand in his and pressed his lips to the back of it.

A tingle rushed up her arm and clouded her brain.

“And of course on Sunday I would escort you to Church.” He took her other hand and placed a kiss upon it as well. “So in a sense, it’s like we have known each other for at least three months. Would that be so improper?”

Her stomach knotted in confusion. “The custom would be to ask my father or close relative about such matters as courting.”

A sadness clouded his expression before he spoke again. “Unfortunately, you have no close relative to request permission from.” Then a smile turned up his lips. “Of course, if you thought of Uncle Duncan as a relation, then one could conceive that I am your closest relation. So if you will not give me permission, I could give it to myself.”

Her stomach squeezed tighter. She needed more time. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

He placed another kiss on one of her hands before releasing them then dipped his head in a graceful parting and left.

She closed the door after him and drew in an overdue breath, staring at the door. If she knew that everything would work out with Gerrit and that he would forgo returning East, she would have let him kiss her. But with the future so uncertain, it was best to be cautious. Wasn’t it?

What do I do now, Lord? Do I let my feelings loose? I’m afraid he may have already set them free. Please don’t let me be hurt again.

Googlie!

2009-04-29T09:14:00.000-07:00

Besides writing and reading, I have many other interests. One of which is making porcelain dolls. I have been making porcelain dolls for over 20 years. I have made dolls ranging from baby dolls to lady dolls from 1” to 38”. I prefer making lady dolls because I love the beautiful dresses you can make for them. I also really like making fairies and 6” dollhouse size dolls. I’ll tell you more about some of those another time.

I am really good at getting the porcelain part of the doll cleaned, polished, & painted. Where I run into trouble is putting the dolls together and dressing them. I never seem to find the time to finish them. I have many “dollies in waiting” as a friend of mine calls them.

I am trying to get better at finishing dolls. I have recently dressed one called a Googlie. I have never been a fan of Googlies, and never thought I’d make one. But several years ago when my daughter was young and very much a fan of the Power Puff Girls, I made her a porcelain doll that looked like Bubbles. It was a bit scary looking, but my daughter loved it. She is older now and recently changed rooms and did some cleaning out of her things. She was ready for the scary Bubbles to go away . . . forever.

So I made a new head for the body, because I hated to waste the perfectly good all-porcelain body. When I attached the head and put on the wig, I fell in love with her. She is soooooo cute. I had to dress her right away.

Her name is Sweet Pea. Take a look.

Snow

2009-04-27T06:07:00.000-07:00

I woke this morning to an inch of snow. And it's snowing again. Fortunately the pavement is warm enough to melt what hits it so the roads are just wet.

I thought we were done with snow for the school year. I was hoping so. We had a big storm a week ago Friday. It was a snow-day for the schools. But the roads weren't too bad. We had over a foot of snow and when I drove twenty minutes to the south end of town, they had no snow, dry roads, and the sun was shining.

Some times it seems like my end of town is in an alternate dimension.

I'm so ready for spring. But what can you do when you live int he mountains.

So I'll snuggle up with a cup of tea and do a little sewing or reading.

Faithful, ch. 14

2009-04-24T12:37:00.000-07:00

Gerrit wished he understood Hannah’s distrust of the Coughlins. He wanted to press her further on the matter but let it drop .

The earlier Sunday clouds had succumbed to the sun’s heat. Gerrit ducked out of the way as Hannah pushed up her parasol to keep the strong heat from her. They walked along Church street up Duncan Ave and across on Jack street. She said she preferred not to walk up McConnell Ave and have the Majestic Resort looming before her the whole way. It mattered not to him which route they took.

He hoped she was in a talkative mood today. There was more than just the Coughlins he wanted to know about. “I must admit I have found myself concerned about you. I fear that your mourning for my Uncle might be too great for you to bear.” His mother had warned him to tread carefully on this subject and no matter how desperate he was to hear the words from Hannah, he was not to ask her out right.

“I miss him terribly. It was nearly unbearable until your arrival.” Her lips turned up in a gentle smile.

His heart thumped out an erratic beat. “I’m glad to hear I have been of some comfort. I was afraid your hurt was deep and would take a great deal of time to overcome.”

“My grief is deep indeed. Though not related by blood, he looked after me as a father. He even told me he thought of me as a daughter or a niece.”

That didn’t tell him how she felt about his uncle. “And you thought of him likewise?” That was close to asking her if she had been in love with his uncle. He hoped he hadn’t stepped over the boundaries of propriety.

Silence seemed to wrap around Hannah. He wondered if she would say anymore on the subject.

She spun her parasol. “Would you permit me the privilege to bend your ear on the subject of your uncle?”

“Permission granted.” It had been the point of him bring up the subject. Now if she would willingly give up the information he desired.

“I didn’t always think of Duncan as a fatherly figure. When I was eight, I told him I wanted to marry him when I grew up. After Father died when I was nine, I noticed something in the way Duncan looked at Mother. I was a child and didn’t understand. Now I know he was in love with her. After Mother died, Duncan was the only one I had left. He took care of me and soothed my aching heart. For a time I thought I loved him.”

This was it. What he wanted to know. His heart felt heavy at the knowledge, and he could feel his shoulders droop with the weight of it.

“Your uncle was so sweet. The pain in his eyes when he broke my heart touched me, though I cried for a week and refused to speak to him. He told me he understood how painful it was to be near the one you love and not to have them. I feared he would leave me and I would have no one. I thought if I cooked and cleaned for him he would see he needed me and would marry me. Somewhere along the way my love for him changed. When he passed away, I mourned the death of another father.”

Surprise would not adequately describe Gerrit’s reaction to her forthrightness. But there he had it. She had been in love with his uncle but upon his death, she grieved him as a father. Relief washed over him like a summer rain. Her heart was not buried with his uncle. His heart became lighter, and he smiled.

A Writing Journey Story, part 2

2009-04-22T07:41:00.000-07:00

BEYOND THE MIDDLE:
It’s not right putting “the end” for this last part, because the end doesn’t come until the Lord takes her home. Her story is an ongoing one.

Anyway . . .

So the grownup little girl started writing fiction for adults; prairie romance, contemporary romance mystery, even a futuristic adventure romance. She joined a writing group and started attending writer’s conferences. She submitted novel proposals and got no thank you letters in return.

She submitted a couple of sample chapters at a conference for an author to review. A new editor had come to that publishing house and assumed the slot that the author was going have, including the chapters she had to review. The grownup girl was mortified. It was hard enough to have a favorite author of hers read her chapters, but an editor, and particularly this editor. She was scared witless. She wanted her chapters back.

A friend of hers sat at this editor’s table at lunch because she knew the grownup little girl needed to talk to this editor. The editor wasn’t there yet. Her “friend” finished her lunch in a hurry and left. The editor arrived and sat . . . right next to the girl. The editor kindly asked each person around the table what they were working on. Lunch was almost over and there wasn’t going to be time for the grownup girl. Yes! She had succeeded at being invisible.

But the editor turned to her and asked what she was working on. Immediately every thought, story idea, and all words fled her brain.

Uh . . .

She did manage to get out a word or two about the editor having a couple of her sample chapters. The editor said she had them in her bag but hadn’t read them yet, but the grownup little girl should make an appointment with her. “Sure,” she said, while wondering if she could snatch her chapters from the editor’s bag. It was right there on the floor between them. She could drop her napkin and when she bent to pick it up, she could slip the pages from the bag. Well, it was more like she would have to rifle through the editor’s bag and search for them. She didn’t know how to do that all while looking like she was picking up her napkin. The editor walked away with her bag and the grownup little girl’s chapters.

The grownup little girl walked into their meeting with fear and trepidation. She figured if she could get through the meeting without fainting or throwing up, it would be a raging success.

She didn’t embarrass herself too bad, even found a word or two in her empty brain, and the editor liked one of her story ideas. The editor was willing to work with her. It took a few years to go through the process, but finally her first book was born. Someone had finally chosen something she had written. Since then, she has been chosen many more times.

The grownup little girl’s writing journey is far from over, so this is not “the end” either. The Lord has been with her through it all, guiding her and teaching her. If not for Him, she’s sure she would have given up a long time ago. She’s a better reader now than she has ever been, even if she still reads slow, still has difficultly writing, and her spelling still couldn’t save her life, but she’s so thankful for Spellchecker, even if it doesn’t know what she’s trying to spell half the time.

And the journey continues . . . . . . . . .

A Writing Journey Story

2009-04-20T13:56:00.000-07:00

THE BEGINNING:
Once upon a time there was a little girl who couldn’t write well, could hardly read, and couldn’t spell her way out of a wet paper bag to save her life, but she was creative and had people running around in her head with whole lives of their own.

The little girl thought she was stupid and people told her so. But not the people in her head. They liked her and told her she was smart. When other kids were reading chapter books by the armloads, she struggled through a simple picture book.

The little girl loved creative writing in school. The teacher would give a prompt and a story would immediately start swirling in the little girl’s head. She would start scratching out words with her stubby little hands. The letters were crude and the spelling atrocious, but her story was fun and adventurous. She couldn’t wait for the teacher to choose those few stories that would be read aloud in class. She was sure hers would be chosen this time. She had a great story and everyone would see that she was not stupid.

The stories were chosen and the little girl sat disappointed while others read their stories aloud. No one would know that she wasn’t stupid.

She continued to make the space between her ears a haven for characters to live out their lives.

THE MIDDLE:
The little girl grew up and married. She decided to write a special story for her new husband, a picture book. She typed it, edited it, rewrote it, typed it up again. When she had it perfect, She typed up each page, leaving room for the planned pictures. Since her typing ability wasn’t any better than her spelling, she had to type some of the short pages several times before she had one good enough to use.

When the pages were all typed, she sat down to do the artwork. (FYI: She was not artist. Not by a long shot. But she loved her hubby and would do the best she could.) She first drew rough drafts then held them up to the window to trace them onto her finished pages and colored them in, afraid of making a mistake that she would have to type the page over again.

Finally all the pages were complete. She bound them together and created a fabric covered cover. She even made a teddy bear to accompany the book. Her hubby loved it. Her family loved it. Her mother had the audacity to say, “You should get this published.”

She almost laughed out loud. Her? A published author? That was about as likely as getting oil and water to mix on their own. Maybe her mother needed helped. Don’t worry her mother is perfectly sane, but she got the grownup little girl thinking. Eventually, the grownup girl enrolled in a correspondence course.

She started writing children’s stories for magazines. But like with her teachers, her stories weren’t chosen to be published.

This is too long for one blog post, sooooo . . .

TO BE CONTINUED

Faithful, ch. 13

2009-04-17T07:49:00.000-07:00

At church on Sunday, Hannah took Sophie aside after the service and spoke to her in confidence. “I am happy to tell you your doll has a body and some of her under-things.”

“Oh, can I come over and see her.” Her smile faded and she ducked her head down. “Mama said not to bother you.”

“You tell your mama I have invited you for tea tomorrow and I will be very hurt if you don’t show up.”

Her smile stretched wide across her thin face and she ran off in the direction of her mother. She skidded to a stop and came back part of the way. “Thank you. I will come. Mama just has to let me. I’ve been invited!”

Hannah smiled after the girl then swung her gaze around the crowd still lingering on the church lawn in the bright sunshine. Mrs. Coughlin’s gaze was upon her. She wore a cream linen dress, her brown hair pulled up into an elegant twist with jeweled picks. The woman gave her a gentle smile and a regal nod. Hannah still didn’t understand how people like the Coughlins could one day try to take people’s homes and the next sit in church. Though it was not her preference, Hannah politely returned the nod then turned to walk away.

“Leaving without your escort?” Gerrit came over to her. He looked particularly handsome today.

“I don’t see how people can sit one pew away from the very people whose homes they tried to take away.”

Gerrit looked in the direction of the Coughlins. “Maybe they weren’t trying to take the Wilson’s and their neighbors’ homes but trying to make them better for the people who live there.”

“Knowing what I do of them, I find that unlikely. They have done nothing but swoop in and try to take over the town. I fear oneday they will succeed. I would like to leave now.” She started walking.

Gerrit fell into step beside her. “Do you know the Coughlins well?”

She honestly didn’t know then at all and preferred to keep it that way. “I know all I care to know about them. Can we speak of other things?”

Ever since Duncan’s death, she sensed that there was more change in the air for her. It gnawed in the pit of her stomach. And the Coughlins would be at the heart of it. If that were the case, it wouldn’t be good. For her or the town.

Humming Birds, Camera Lenses, & Clutter

2009-04-15T10:16:00.000-07:00

Today I feel like a humming bird. You know how those little birds look like they are hovering in the air and dart to and fro but never really land anywhere. That’s how I have felt lately. I have so many things I need to do but can’t seem to land on any one project. I want to do them all and none of them all at the same time.

I dart over there and look at that then hover over here and gaze at this, but I don’t know if I’m accomplishing very much. I can see it all, but I have a hard time focusing on any one single thing. I think I’ve always been this way. There are too many things I like.

It’s like looking through a camera and having it out of focus. I can see everything, but nothing is clear and I can’t tell what anything is. Until you turn the lens to make everything clear, you can’t pick one thing to focus on and enjoy.

So what am I trying to say here? I haven’t a clue. Maybe it’s to get rid of some of the clutter, both physical and mental, so I can see things more clearly. So I can focus on what I really want to do and enjoy it.

Springtime in the Rockies

2009-04-13T08:15:00.000-07:00

I woke up Easter morning to 4” of snow. I wasn’t expecting that. The weatherman said it was supposed to be in the 40s on Sunday and therefore the precipitation we were expecting should have been rain. Imagine that, the weatherman was wrong.

It was one of those really, really wet, mushy snows. Shoveling that kind of snow is really hard. It’s heavy and it sticks to the shovel. It snowed that way all day.

And today? We have sunshine and it’s supposed to get up into the 50s. Most of this snow, if not all, will be gone by the end of the day. This is what is meant by springtime in the Rockies. Snow shovels one day and the next day you may need your shorts.

My daughter is ready for the snowy, cold days to be over. She wants a real spring.

Some real spring weather would be nice but then it would be harder to be indoors at my computer all day. Work, work, work. And all of mine is the indoors kind. Even so, I too look forward to nicer weather. Hopefully it stays.

Hope you had a good Easter.

Faithful, ch. 12

2009-04-10T08:57:00.000-07:00

Gerrit waited until he was sure his mother was up or at least should be, and went over to the plush apartment. If she wasn’t up, she soon would be. Or maybe his father would be around.

When Gerrit walked into his parents’ living room, his father was wrestling with his tie in the mirror. “Your mother can do this the first time around.”

Gerrit smiled. “I assume Mother isn’t up yet.”

“She was up again last night fretting over her eldest son.”

“I’m sorry to be a bother.”

“There I got it.” His father turned from the mirror. “It’s no bother. She misses having you children around to worry about. If it wasn’t for your sister Penelope being here, we might have moved back east. She wants to be close to her grandchildren. But with Duncan gone now, we may just sell this place.”

“You would do that?”

His father walked over to the credenza. “Coffee?”

Gerrit nodded and went over, picking up a cup.

His father filled it. “Your mother still hopes to talk Charlotte and Hugh to move out here. I think she might be wearing them down. Hugh could be a big help here. I’m not getting any younger. I wish your brother had chosen to stay here. But you didn’t come to talk about all this. You wanted to talk to your mother. Is it anything I can help you with?” He stirred cream into his coffee.

“It’s concerning Miss Hannah McConnell.” He took a sip of the steaming, dark brew.

“I was surprised you’ve been able to converse with her at all until your mother told me your secret. Are you wanting to know how to confess to her?”

“No. I’ll tell her soon. Mother gave me some old letters. One of them alluded to the possibility that Hannah was in love with Uncle Duncan.”

His father took a drink of coffee. “This is definitely your mother’s area of expertise. But I think you should just ask Miss McConnell about it. You don’t want to have a thing like that lingering in the shadows.”

Gerrit set his cup down with a clank. “I can’t just ask her!”

“Not all the same social rules apply here as they do back east. It’s a different kind of country out here.”

Gerrit nodded. He had felt the less high-strung atmosphere, but there were changes in the air even for the most uptight circles back east. They might be long in coming, but change was inevitable.

“Women are not always easy to figure out, Son, that’s for sure. Your mother and I have prayed for Miss McConnell often.”

“Keep praying because I’m going to need a lot of it here real soon.”

His father swung on his coat. “I’m sorry. I have to be off. This place won’t run itself. I hope I’ve been of some help. You can wait for your mother if you want and see if she has some other advice. She would know better than me in matters concerning women. And she would love to be able to help.”

Gerrit poured himself another cup of coffee and waited.

Upcoming 2009 Releases

2009-04-08T07:31:00.000-07:00

In May, A Prairie Romance Collection will be released by Barbour. My novella, Love Notes, will be one of twelve in the collection.

Laurel’s father robs a bank, Ethan accidentally kills him in the hold up. Does love have a chance to blossom between these two?

Love notes won the American Christian Fiction Writers Book of the Year contest in the historical novella category. You can order it through the Barbour Web site. As of this posting, it wasn't listed on the site yet, but should be soon.

In October, Cascades will be released by Barbour as well. Cascades is a compilation of my three historical Washington state novels. I don’t have a cover yet to show you, but when I do, I’ll post it. It will also be available through the Barbour Web site in the fall.

Astrid & Veronika

2009-04-06T08:00:00.000-07:00

Book Review
Astrid and Veronika by Linda Olsson is about two hurting women. Astrid is eighty-years old and is a hermit, staying in her own house, having no friends, and socializing with no one. Veronika is thirty and has come to live in the house next door to Astrid. These are the only two houses in the area. Veronika has come to write her book and to recover from the loss of her fiancé.

Astrid is inexplicably drawn to Veronika and the two women head out on the road of friendship. They each tell the other about their life and their hurts and their darkest secrets. Both women heal from their pains.

As I read this book, I didn’t really enjoy it. I couldn’t connect with the characters. I thought the story that was being told was good, but I just couldn’t connect with either Astrid or Veronika.

I read this book for the book club that I’m in. After going to book club and discussing this book, I like it better. This is not a surface book. It is better appreciated when you have time to think about it. Maybe if I wasn’t in a hurry to read it so I could pass it on to the next person in the group to read, I might have found the beauty in it as I read.

Faithful, ch. 11

2009-04-03T08:46:00.000-07:00

Gerrit sat in the leather chair in the corner of the store where he had found Hannah the other night. He sorted the letters his mother had given him by the date and filed the ones he had found here in Uncle Duncan’s things with them in order.

September 7th, 1870.

My dearest brother, Duncan,

I was so delighted to receive your letter. I was afraid you perished on your long journey. I hope you are tired of Colorado and are ready to return home.

The letters unfolded a story of love and commitment and determination to succeed on ones own. Apparently Uncle Duncan tried a number of times to get Sam McConnell to get investors and get him out of that dreary mine. But Sam didn’t want to be beholden to anyone and wanted to be sole owner of his resort hotel.

He read half the letters before he succumbed to reasoning and headed off to get a little sleep.

It was two days later before he could get back to reading the letters. The last one he opened was dated after his mother and father had moved to town.

My dear sister, Eleanor,

I shall be at your apartment on Thursday for our usual visit. I have a concern I wish to discuss with you and wanted to give you time to think on it before I come. It is Hannah. She worries me more than ever. If she is not working in her shop, she is at the bookstore fussing over me. I have invited several young men over but none have caught her eye. I’m afraid her heart is set and not where it should be. I would be ever so grateful for any advice you could bestow on me.

Your loving brother, Duncan.

Who was Hannah’s heart set on that was so disagreeable to Uncle Duncan? He pictured Hannah in the bookstore curled up on the couch, then her tears as she hurt for her loss. He envisioned her a few years younger sitting there, reading with his uncle. Cooking him meals. Measuring him for a new shirt.

He reread the letter and stood completely still forcing the fledgling thought at bay. When he could wait no longer, he drew in a breath and the thought took form. Hannah was in love with Uncle Duncan!

He set the letter aside and stood abruptly. No! It couldn’t be!

Works In Progress, part 2

2009-04-01T07:25:00.000-07:00

Now for my fantasy.

It is a three-fold project. I have this fantasy world swirling around in my head and am trying to create three different series from it for three different age groups; early readers, learning disability middle schoolers, and adults. My fantasy world is set around warrior faeries.

The early reader would be for those beginning readers in 1st – 3rd grade. The ones learning to read. Think Flat Stanly, ABC Mysteries, & Berenstain Bears Big Chapter Books with simple black and white line drawings on most pages. Also Junie B. Jones, Hank the Cowdog chapter books, & up to the Animal Ark books that don’t have all the pictures.

My idea for the middle school series I might be most excited about. I want these books for those resouce kids with learning disabilities like dyslexia who don’t want to be embarrassed about carrying around a little kid book because that is all they can read comfortably and enjoy but the stories are below their interest level. I myself am dyslexic and know what it is like to be standing in front of the room giving a book report on a picture book while all your classmates are reading chapter books. My oldest son is dyslexic and was struggling his way through Harry Potter. He eventually made it through the whole book but it took him almost the whole school year. I say bravo to him for keeping at it.

My books would have a very low reading level but with fast paced, high adventure and stories of interest to middle school boys in particular. I want short, short chapters with an occasional line graphic picture to complement the story and help relieve needing to read all the details to make the story read faster. I only have a title for the middle school series: Flying Warriors, book 1: The Outcast.

My adult series starts with a human young woman being taken to the faerie world by a faerie cat. Here is a teaser for the series: In a parallel world, a broken warrior, an old man, and a cat struggle to reinstate the rightful heir before evil forces takeover the land and destroy both worlds.

So that’s what I’m working on at the moment.

Works In Progress, part 1

2009-03-30T09:57:00.000-07:00

I thought maybe someone out there might like to know what I’m working on in my writing. At the moment I have a three-fold approach. Historical, nonfiction, and fantasy.

My agent has recently sent out a proposal for a full-length historical novel that we are hoping sells. The working title is Untamed Angels. Five sisters—in a town of men. Love and fireworks fly in every direction, while one man walks a thin line to keep the peace.

I also have a historical series at Heartsong that I’m waiting to hear about. The Knight brothers are all struggling to find their place in the world. Book 1: Knight Refuge: A stubborn ranch owner meets a tenacious healer and together they must fight social injustice to save a papoose and themselves. Book 2: The Gambler: A young farmer struggles to hold on to her land when her brother loses the farm and her in a senseless wager. Book 3: Courtship of Katie MacGregor: Barely a teen, a young girl fights against her father’s wishes that she marry a young doctor in training.

I also have a contemporary story with historical elements that is sitting on an editor’s desk waiting to hear. It’s a seventy-year-old treasure hunt mystery dealing with Confederate gold. The working title is One Came Back. A feisty female guide and a determined stranger clash in search of the truth and treasure in the desert.

My nonfiction is a craft book on making new things out of worn out jeans. I call it Do It Again Denim. Go Green with blue jeans. Recycle. Reuse. Repurpose. Jeans are an American icon. But don’t throw out your old, worn-out jeans. Give them a second life.

On Wednesday I’ll describe my flying fantasy series.

Faithful, ch. 10

2009-03-27T07:53:00.000-07:00

Gazing around the bookstore, Gerrit knew he was too wound up to go to bed after escorting Hannah safely home, and it was too early for him to settle for the night. Hannah had shared something special with him today, something intimate. He sensed she didn’t take many people up to her parents’ resting place . . . if any. That was not lost on him. The mine and cabin had meant something to him today as it hadn’t when he’d stolen up here by himself.

He strode to the back to do a little straightening up. He had gone through a considerable amount of Uncle Duncan’s papers, dividing them into personal and business. He still had much to do. His uncle didn’t keep very good business records, and Gerrit would have to inventory all the books before he felt comfortable selling this mess. Then again he could just sell it and it would become someone else’s mess.

He picked up an apple crate with personal papers in it and moved it upstairs with other personal belongings. On top in the box was a bundle of letters from his mother. He pulled them out and slipped them into his trousers pocket. He would give them back to her. He went back downstairs and moved several more boxes, had a quick bite to eat, and headed up to bed to read awhile.

As he was getting ready, he pulled the letters from his pocket to set them on the bureau. His mother had written Uncle Duncan often enough. What had she written to her brother? He pulled a letter from the packet and read.

My Dearest Brother Duncan,
I have missed you terribly and do so look forward to seeing you again. It has been too many years. You have written so many time on the beauty of your Colorado, I am anxious to see it. We shall only be bringing Landon with us. As you know, Penelope is attending college to be a doctor. It is difficult being a woman doctor, especially in the east. Maybe she will come west and settle in Colorado.

And she had.

Gerrit has one more year of schooling and doesn’t want to leave his friends, so he will stay here with friends to finish. I hope with all my heart he comes out after he finishes school, but my heart says he will not.

He had disappointed his mother on that one. He liked it back east and didn’t know if he could settle out here and be as content as in Massachusetts. He was sure his mother understood, but he would make it a point to visit more often. He turned his attention back to the letter.

I have saved the best for last. Charlotte has married. When we announced we would be moving, her young beau got nervous and had a long talk with her father. His name is Hugh Thompson. He is a nice young man and will be a good husband for her. I have hinted on more than one occasion that Colorado would be a nice place to raise a family. I do so hope they will move out west. It was a beautiful wedding. I cried tears of joy for my baby who has grown into a lovely young woman.

Speaking of weddings, shall I make plans for attending yours? Irene is such a lovely woman. I always thought the two of you would make the most wonderful couple.

What! Uncle Duncan and Irene McConnell?

It has been a long time in coming. Maybe you have a second chance now.

He lowered the letter without reading the rest. Uncle Duncan and Hannah’s mother? He tapped the letter on his finger tips, then folded it and headed out the door. His mother would have answers for him.

After a brisk ten minute walk, Gerrit entered his parents’ living room. “Good, Mother, you’re still up.”

His mother sat stretched out on a chaise lounge near the fireplace. “And good-evening to you, too.”

He crossed over to her and kissed her fire warmed cheek. “Good-evening, Mother. Pardon my rudeness.”

“Of course. You’re up late. It’s after ten. What are you doing skulking about town?”

He pulled his eyebrows down. “Skulking? A visit to ones mother is hardly skulking. And I guess I learned from you and Father the service of staying up to all hours. Where is Father anyway?”

“You know,” her hand fluttered in the air, “prowling about doing work, finding some little annoyance to fuss about. The only difference between he and I is I’ve learned the benefits of sleeping in. He wakes at the crack of dawn like a rooster was crowing in his head then is cranky as a newborn needing to be fed.”

“He works too hard.”

His mother nodded her consent. “So what brings you skulking about at this hour?”

He pulled his eyebrows in again but let the comment go. “How long was Uncle Duncan in love with Irene McConnell?”

His mother arched her perfectly curved eyebrows.

He ducked his head slightly. “I’m sorry, Mother. I came across some old letters you wrote him. I only read part of one.” He pulled them from his pocket and handed them to her.

Tears sprang to his mother’s eyes as she ran a delicate hand over the stack of envelopes. “I miss him dearly.”

He went over to her and rested a hand gently on her shoulder in comfort but didn’t say anything. Silence had worked with Hannah maybe it would his mother as well. He handed her his handkerchief from his pocket and would wait it out.

He had never been close to his uncle. He had only been three when Uncle Duncan moved west twenty-two years ago. Other than his mother talking about him and a handful of letters he had received in recent years he didn’t know his uncle at all. So why had Uncle Duncan chosen to give him a bookstore he knew Gerrit would likely never run?

His mother straightened. “Enough of this wallowing.” She dried her tears and wiped her nose. “Duncan is far better off with the Father in heaven.” She patted Gerrit’s hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, dear. What is it you wanted to know?”

He breathed a mental sigh of relief. Apparently silence had worked again. “In the letter you said Irene was a beautiful woman. So you knew her?”

“You don’t have to stand.” She motioned toward the couch. “Have a seat and stop skulking.” Her mouth twitched into a smile.

He smiled too and sat, stretching his arms across the back of the couch.

“I did know Irene briefly before everything, and the move out here. Not well but I could tell she was a lovely young woman even at age sixteen. If she were even two years older, she probably wouldn’t have been impetuous enough to marry and leave her family.”

“How so?”

“Irene came from a family of privilege. And with privilege comes expectations. Her family would have pressured her into marrying who they wanted her to marry. Even a couple years older and she would have likely thought of her families wishes over her own desires and stayed with a broken heart. But, at the time, she had an ungovernable streak in her, a defiance.”

“And Uncle Duncan was in love with her way back then?”

“All the young men were. Duncan more so than most. She was like a beautiful flower whose sweet scent drew the men to her. Hannah gets her beauty and grace from her mother.”

“Is that what Irene looked like?”

“Very much.”

He quirked up his mouth on one side. “Did she get her stubborn streak from her father then?”

His mother’s light laugh was all the conformation he needed.

“Why would Irene marry someone other than Uncle Duncan? Did they quarrel?”

“No. Two best friends in love with the same girl. Irene chose Sam McConnell.”

“Why? Uncle Duncan was such a good man.”

“Sam filled her head with stories of the west and the town he would one day build . . . and build it for Irene. He told her of the resort hotel he planned to build, a castle, and she would be his queen. How could she resist such ardent claims?

“But unlike Irene, Sam was the poor among the poor, all he had were his dreams. Duncan and I were poor but at least we had a roof over our heads. I don’t even know where he slept. Duncan I’m sure did. Duncan would smuggle food out from our great aunt’s table for him. But having nothing didn’t seem to bother Sam because he lived so much of his life in the future, how it was going to be. He didn’t need anything more until he met Irene. And she only had eyes for him. I’m sure she was aware that Duncan had feelings for her. Sam was strong and confident. He knew what he wanted and went after it. He was a natural leader and people flocked to follow him. He was self-assured and very handsome. How could Irene or any woman help but fall in love with him?”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “If Irene was so in love with Sam, why didn’t she do more to rescue him? Hannah said he is still buried in his mine.”

“Irene was probably like a lot of women who detested their men going into the ground. It’s dangerous work. She understood that Sam was gone and didn’t want anyone else to lose a loved one.”

Gerrit sat quiet for a moment sifting through all his mother had told him. Something vexed him. “Mother,” he took a slow breath, “could Uncle Duncan be Hannah’s father?”

His mother smiled. “No.”

“How can you be so sure? Sam McConnell was a driven man. He often neglected his wife and daughter.”

“Sam was driven to provide for them. Give them a good future.”

“But Uncle Duncan came here with the man who married the girl he was in love with. Sam was quit ambitious, and Irene impetuous. You’re sure?”

“Positive. First of all, your uncle was gallant, one of the most honorable men I’ve known. He would not do anything to hurt to his best friend or Irene. And second, Irene only had eyes for Sam. Wait here. I have something I want to give you.”

Gerrit stood by the dwindling fire while his mother left the room. She returned a minute later with a hat box. “Gee Mother, it’s a nice box, but I kind of like my hat.”

She stopped in her tracks and glared at him as only a mother could. He ducked his head, duly chastised. She set the box on the end of her chaise and lifted off the lid. She pulled out a few loose letters and a bundle and set them aside on the lid. Then she took out a bundle of letters and looked at them closely. “These are from your sister Charlotte.” She put them back and thumbed through some more bundles. She pulled out another bundle and handed them to Gerrit. “These are from your uncle.” She pulled out another bundle from his uncle and handed it over. She pulled out a third bundle. “These are from Sam and Irene.”

Gerrit took them slowly. “You and Father had correspondence with Sam and Irene?”

“Of course.”

“But . . . but . . .” It was inconceivable.

She picked up the letters Gerrit had brought with him. “Take these as well. I think these letters will give you a broader perspective on things.”

“What things exactly?”

“Most everything you have questions about; Sam, Irene, Hannah, this town, the resort. I don’t think they will necessarily be eye-opening but you may see things clearer . . . like after the fog lifts.”

“What about those letters?” Gerrit pointed to the letters she had set aside on the lid.

“Those are to me from your father.” She put them back into the box.

“You kept old love letters?”

She fit the lid back onto the box. “Some of them aren’t as old as you might think. When your father and I are gone, you are free to read all you like.”

Gerrit kissed his mother on the cheek and turned to leave.

“Gerrit?”

He stopped at his mother inquiry and turned in the doorway.

“Have you told her?”

“Not yet?”

“Gerrit, honey, you shouldn’t put it off. It will only make the matter worse.”

His mother’s advice was sound but it was more complicated than simply telling Hannah.

“It should come from you,” his mother prodded. “You don’t want someone else to tell her.”

He just needed a little more time with her. Time to understand her, to convince her. “I know. I’ll tell her soon.” He wasn’t ready to lose Hannah McConnell just yet. If ever.

“Sooner is always the best course of action.”

He waved his mother good-bye and set out for the bookstore. He would tell Hannah soon. He couldn’t put off the inevitable forever. Nor could he keep the sun from rising in the morning.

Hannah would hate him.

Spring Break

2009-03-25T06:57:00.001-07:00

I always have good intentions to get a bunch of stuff done over the school breaks. Take time off from my regular writing and regular schedule and get something different accomplished that I’ve been wanting to get done.

Then my daughter sits across from me in the living room texting, talking, and laughing. We play with the cats and act silly. She’s a junior in HS, a great kid, and a blast to be around. We have fun whether we are shopping for groceries or clothes.

My two sons have grown and moved out. How much longer am I going to have with her? Not much.

So, I’m going to take advantage of one of the few remaining school breaks and laugh with my daughter.

:-D

Confessions of a Blogaphobic

2009-03-23T08:35:00.000-07:00

Almost a year ago I stepped into this blogging arena determined to blog 2-3 times a week. Not because I wanted to, but because I was supposed to . . . I had to. :-P

I made exactly six posts in about two months. I didn’t see the point. No one was reading it, so why bother? Every week I’d tell myself that I’d start posting again . . . next week. Next week.

The year came to a close and next week never came.

The guilt piled up. I would shyly tell people I had a blog. A few people told me that it didn’t count if I never posted. (You know who you are.)

But . . . but . . . but . . . I have a blog.

So with a new year, I had new determination to blog three times a week. What was I going to write about three times a week?! I didn’t wait until next week, I just wrote something and posted it.

Why was I doing this? I was supposed to, I guessed.

I got some needed inspiration and motivation from a friend. I still didn’t know what to write about but at least I was motivated now.

Then I came up with a brilliant idea. At least I thought it was a brilliant idea at the time. I had a novella I wrote years ago. Every Friday I post an edited scene/chapter. This meant I only had to think of new things to write two days a week and my readers would get a free story. Brilliant, right?

What happens when I run out of chapters? Do I start a new story that I write from scratch? What have I gotten myself into?

So I’m posting nonsense two days a week and a chapter on Fridays. I’m inspired and motivated. And I’m having fun.

Yes, I’m actually enjoying blogging. (Shh. Don’t tell anyone.)

I have ten library books on blogging, including the Idiot’s Guide, No One Cares What You Had For Lunch: 100 Ideas For Your Blog, as well as others, trying to figure this whole thing out.

I even started another blog! Can you believe that? I thought I needed a Web site for this other project I’m working on, but a blog is perfect. I have tips, fun facts, and instructions for projects.

I’m even telling other people to start blogs. Me, a blogaphobic!

It’s mind-bloggling.

Faithful, ch. 9

2009-03-20T10:08:00.000-07:00

Hannah had sent Alice home at noon and locked up her shop. She had a regular mission to complete. She had felt better these last few day after being in Duncan’s store again and able to mourn there. Gerrit had been so sweet in comforting her. She sensed he was afraid she would start crying every time they met now. There was something about being in the bookstore with all of Duncan’s belongings around her that helped her come to terms with his death.

She crossed McConnell Avenue and headed down Jack street. Few people knew anymore that it was named after her father. Most only knew him as Sam McConnell. Her father had laid out straight north-south and east-west streets and named them after his good friends. No crooked deer trails to follow in his town.

Gerrit had stopped by earlier but she didn’t expect to see him again until supper time. He had only been in town a week and already had a knack for knocking on her kitchen door just as her supper was ready. Four times they had shared supper, and she was glad for the company. Meals had been lonely since Duncan passed away, and she still couldn’t seem to cook for only herself. No matter how hard she tried there was always more than enough food for two. She had become much more familiar with Mr. Finnley than she ever imagined possible in such a short time.

As she crossed Duncan Avenue, a sadness filled her that this street was all people would have to remember him by. And all too soon there wouldn’t even be that. Just a street name with no meaning.

Hannah looked up Duncan Avenue and saw Gerrit striding the opposite direction on the other side of the street. “Mr. Finnley!” His head came up, and she waved to get his attention.

He smiled back and crossed the street to her. “This is a lovely day to be out.”

“It is a lovely day for a walk. But I didn’t mean to impose on you. You looked to be heading somewhere important.”

He shook his head. “Nothing pressing. I would love to join you for a walk.”

“Far be it from me to stop you from walking wherever you want.”

He furrowed his brow much like Duncan used to do. “You won’t stop me, but am I welcome?”

She knew she was being difficult with him but he had played along. “I am heading out of town and up that hill. You are most welcome to join me.” Did she want company where she was going? She could have easily let him walked on by, but she had called out to him.

At the edge of town stood a wooden bridge barely wide enough for a single wagon, worn and in need of repair. She knew all its vulnerabilities and guided Gerrit safely across.

“You’ve been up here before.”

“A few times.” She still wasn’t sure if she wanted company. The only other person who had been up here since her parents had died was Duncan.

“What will you do when that rickety bridge gives out?”

“I’ll wade across.”

Gerrit laughed. “I can actually picture that.”

She liked his laugh. It was warm and full. She stepped off the dirt trail that had once been a rutted wagon road and picked three black-eyed Susans. “Or maybe I’ll sprout wings and fly.”

“Like an angel. I can see you as an angel.”

“More like a hawk, keeping watch.” She picked a group of purple mountain harebell and a yellow baby snap dragon.

“Guarding your town from evil doers.” Gerrit handed her a black-eyed Susan.

She stared at it a moment. Duncan had never picked flowers with her. “My father’s town. There wasn’t a saloon in town until after his death. He wouldn’t allow them. Now they are like a disease.”

He plucked some baby snap dragons and another black-eyed Susan for her.

She laid them in the crook of her arm separate from the flowers she picked. “I was too young to understand and by the time I did understand, it was too late. But I have kept more from marring our town.”

“Is there something wrong with the flowers I picked?” He pointed to her two separate bundles, one in her hand away from the bouquet in her arm.

She fingered the ones she picked. “These have a special purpose. Yours I’ll put in a glass of water on my kitchen table.” She saw a smile tug at his full lips.

By the time they reached the end of the dirt trail where a small log cabin stood, the bouquet of flowers from Gerrit exceeded her own. Nearby more than a dozen boards crossed over the yawning opening of the Faithful mine. Mother had made sure that no one could enter the mine and get hurt or killed again . . . especially Hannah. “Papa,” she whispered to herself.

She turned to her first home. The split logs of the cabin stood vertically between the ground and the roof. As she stepped onto the creaky wooden stoop, Gerrit said, “You aren’t going in there?”

“Of course.”

“Is it safe?”

“I was born in this cabin. It’s safe.” She stepped inside the dim interior. Nothing had changed since the last time she was here. Not much had changed since they moved out and down into town when she was small. Though her father had still spent a considerable amount of time up here scraping the earth out for the gold he was sure was hiding. The gold that would help him build his resort hotel and get him out of the hole in the ground. All that remained in the cabin was a broken chair her mother used to sit in by the window to sew, a potbelly stove her mother managed to cook on, and the tattered mattress of her parents’ bed.

Gerrit followed her in. “How long did you live here?”

She could feel his presence behind her. “I was four when Father finally got our house in town finished. He was proud to say he built it all himself. After my father died, Mother and I moved into the shop next to Duncan and began making dresses and ladies hats. My mother taught me everything she knew about fabrics and millinery. My mother could figure out how to make something just by looking at it. She would fuss over it until she got it right.”

“Your mother taught you well. After seeing your work in your shop, I can’t say I’ve seen any finer work back east.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” She turned and left the cabin. Kneeling beside her mother’s gravestone next to the mine entrance, she set Gerrit’s flowers next to her and divided her flowers. One bundle she placed against the stone. She couldn’t talk openly to her mother or the Lord as she normally did, but they both knew what was in her heart. Gerrit was probably worried she would start crying again. She had already shed these tears. She took the other bundle to the mine entrance.

“Hannah, please don’t go in there.”

“I won’t.” She placed the flowers at the foot of the cross by the opening. She was surprised that the cross was upright. So often it was laying on the ground. Duncan had tried over and over to get it to stay in the ground, to no avail.

She turned to Gerrit. “My father’s still in there.”

“Cave-in?”

She nodded. “When a second cave-in trapped two other men, Mother put a stop to the search. They rescued those two men. Mother said it didn’t matter where my father’s body was because his soul was up in heaven with Jesus.”

“Did your father pull a lot of gold out of here?”

“Not really, but he always believed it was there and he would find it if he persevered. He believed the Lord had directed him to this very spot.” Long after there was any hope of her father still being alive, she would sit at the entrance expecting him to emerge and tell her how he was going to build her a castle on the hill and she would be the resident princess. She hadn’t cared about the castle. What it meant to her was her father could stop working in the ground and do all the things he promised to do with her . . . once the mine came in.

“Come this way. I want to show you a beautiful view.” She walked around the mine and up the hill above it. She turned to wait for Gerrit but he was right there behind her. “Oh!”

He smiled down at her. “Very beautiful.”

She couldn’t keep her mouth from twisting upward, but she tried. “Are you being fresh with me?”

“I like to think of it as candid.”

Her heart fluttered at his open attention. “Turn round.” Faithful spread out before them.

He let out a long whistle. “This is some view of the town. I knew McConnell and some of the other streets were laid out straight but each block looks to be the same size.”

“To the foot. He didn’t want any haphazard town. And all the businesses are of stone or brick. Once he got his town built he wasn’t going to have it consumed by fire.” She stepped back and sat on the boulder she had so many times.

Gerrit joined her. “What about the wooden houses?”

“He encouraged people to build with brick but couldn’t stop them from using wood on their own homes.”

“What about your little cabin? It’s wood.” He pointed to the shack below.

“It was only temporary.”

She stood and walked across the hillside. “We were supposed to live in the Majestic. He was going to build it as soon as his mine came in. We would sit up here sometimes, and he would describe the lawns and the decorations.”

Gerrit followed her with his hands clasped behind his back. “But he didn’t build it and someone else did.”

“The Coughlins swooped in here,” she made a motion like a diving bird, “and had it built in three months! They were just waiting to pounce. I won’t let them take over the whole town. It’s like the saloons, you have to stand up to them to stop them.”

“But with your father gone it never would have gotten built. So in a sense they fulfilled your father’s dream.”

“It was his dream. They had no right to build it!” She picked up a piece of rose quartz and rubbed it between her fingers. “They stole his dream from us, and it killed my mother to see someone else build it. It would have been better if it had not been built at all!” She tossed the rock aside.

“If it causes you such pain, why do you stay in Faithful?”

“My father’s dream was more than a resort. It was the whole town, a community working as one. Where separation of classes didn’t exist and people like Iona Wilson didn’t have to worry if there was going to be food on her table or if her children would go to bed hungry once again.”

“It sounds like your father was a bit idealistic.”

“Maybe he was but the Amish people do it. Do you know my father gave away most of his land to get people to come? He gave it to people who had nothing, offering them a better life.”

“You must get your big heart from him.”

“He didn’t have much growing up. He wanted to build a community where people weren’t looked down on for not having as much as their neighbor. Where people took care of one another.”

“I guess I don’t see how a resort fits in to equality for all. It would seem like your father would sit higher than them all.”

“He could have done so much good for the less fortunate with the money he made from tourists coming to spend their money. Three years ago, the Coughlins wanted to tear down that section of ramshackle housing along the river where Iona lives. If I hadn’t stepped in, Iona and the others like her wouldn’t have a roof over their heads. And that wasn’t the first time they tried something like that.

“You asked why I stay. I stay for my father’s idealistic dream and the people he wanted to help. With him gone I’m the only one left to keep his vision alive. And Duncan was here.” It was so hard for other people to truly understand what her father had been trying to do. But Gerrit was attentive, and she believed he was trying his best to understand.

As soon as the sun dipped behind the mountains, Gerrit headed her back into town. “I have kept you longer than you expected. Let me take you to supper on Hannah Street.”

He had kept her, but she enjoyed sharing her father’s dream with him. “I would appreciate a good meal, and it’s been a long while since I’ve seen Bert and Naomi.”

They walked up to Hannah street and entered the crowded dining room. They would have a wait.

She suddenly looked at her empty hands. “I forgot your flowers.” If she went quickly, she could probably return before they got seated.

With a hand on her arm, Gerrit stopped her. “I’ll pick you more.”

A waitress came out of the swinging door from the kitchen, and Hannah caught a glimpse of Bert. He saw her too and a moment later he pushed through the swinging door.

“Miss Hannah it has been too long. I am so sorry about Duncan.” Bert wrapped his thick, beefy arms around her and squeezed her like a bear. “I was afraid you would not come back by yourself, but I see you have found yourself another Duncan.”

“Almost. This is Duncan’s nephew Mr. Gerrit Finnley.” She turned to Gerrit. “This is Mr. Bert Bancroft.”

“Bertram!” A female voice hollered from the kitchen.

“The missus calls. She cannot do without me.” He winked “I will see you get seated next.”

“You don’t have to do that. We’ll wait.”

“Nonsense. If I really want to be in trouble, I tell the missus I made you wait.” He scooted back into the kitchen.

“I’m happy to see I was wrong.”

She looked up at Gerrit. “About what?”

“I wasn’t sure if you knew how to say my first name.”

She swatted him lightly on the arm, and he smiled.

The door to the kitchen hardly swung closed when Naomi pushed through. She was a foot shorter than her husband and not much bigger than a sapling topped with a brown and gray bun. Hannah had to bend over to return Naomi’s hug. “You have been away too long.”

“I know.”

A waitress walked near them, and Naomi stopped her. “Sissy, clear that table over by the window. We have special guests to seat.”

“That table is much too big for the two of us. We will be quite comfortable at that one.” She pointed to a vacant table in the back corner.

“That one is no good. It is small and dark. Bert and I use it when we are not too busy. This other is our best table.”

“You are busy and should save it for someone you will charge full price to.”

“I not charge you full price but I do him.” Naomi tipped her head toward Gerrit and winked.

“I doubt that. This is Duncan’s nephew.”

“I can see that. He looks just like him except for his eyes.” She looked up at him as a mother would her grown son. “Finn was a very good man, and we all miss him. He was a dear, dear man. We are sorry for your loss.” After tapping Gerrit on the chest, Naomi turned back to Hannah and sighed. “Very well. You are as stubborn as your parents. I will seat you at the no good table.”

Gerrit held her chair for her then seated himself.

“If another table comes open I will move you.”

Hannah touched Naomi’s arm. “I’m comfortable here. You better help Bert in the kitchen. I don’t want burned food.”

Naomi put her hands to her cheeks. “Who knows what he has done to my kitchen already. He is always trying to make up new foods. I still don’t know that hiring two other cooks was very good. He has more time to play with food in there. Why he does not stay behind the desk or take the money . . .?” She traipsed off to the kitchen, shaking her head.

“They’re a sweet old couple.”

“I can see that. And they care a great deal for you.”

The meal was pleasant and, Naomi wouldn’t let Gerrit pay for anything. The temperature had dropped since sunset. Hannah hadn’t expected to be out at this time of night and so she hadn’t brought her shawl. She grabbed her arms to try to warm herself. Gerrit quickly swung out of his coat and draped it about her shoulders. She poked her arms through the sleeves. His warmth wrapped around her. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do after occupying all your time.”

“I rather enjoyed today.” She had very much enjoyed his company. It was the first time since Duncan’s passing, she hadn’t felt lonely. She would miss Gerrit too much if he left.

She had to find a way to get him to stay.

Take a Deep Breath

2009-03-18T11:00:00.000-07:00

Sit up straight. Take a deep breath in through your nose, hold it five seconds, and slowly release it through your mouth. Do this ten times.

Some times in our busy lives we forget to breathe. Oh yes, air goes in and out of our lungs, but we don’t really fill our lungs to capacity and get the side benefits of breathing.

Taking a couple of minutes out of each hour to take ten deep breaths can help us to slow down, relax, and can revive us. When we don’t take the time to breath deeply, we don’t get enough oxygen and that can make us lethargic.

In my efforts to slow down, I’m going to try to take a few deep breaths every hour. Because I know I am full of good intentions but forget to keep up with good habits, I have put a sticky note on the corner of my computer screen that says “Breathe.” Hopefully this will remind me.

Don’t’ forget to breath.

Slow Down You Move Too Fast

2009-03-16T08:52:00.000-07:00

Currently, my pastor is preaching a series on Slow. He’s basing it off of Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God!” He says that in our fast paced society to go from speedy fast to stop is too much for most of us. So let’s start with slowing down.

It’s a lot harder to slow down than you would think. It seems like the moment you determine to slow down, all these things come up to whisk you faster and faster. All you can do is hold on.

I like the idea of slowing down. It is not just doing less, but how you think about what you are doing and going to be doing. While working on project A are you thinking about event B, project C, and errand D, not really getting the most out of project A?

Not only do we go-go-go and do-do-do, but our mind is racing a hundred miles ahead of us. We get up in the morning, start thinking about what we are going to do, and get exhausted before we begin. No wonder we burn out.

I am struggling with this slowing down. I am one who likes to do-do-do. I have half a dozen things on my plate at anyone time that I’m trying to do all at once. As humans, we tend to draw our worth from our accomplishments. But because we are humans we have worth just for existing. God loves us not our accomplishments.

I am trying to slow down and eliminate some things, finish other things, so I can enjoy what I’m doing at the moment. And to learn more about God and who He wants me to be.

To be still and really know who God is.

Faithful, ch. 8

2009-03-13T08:38:00.000-07:00

Gerrit stepped across the threshold of the back door of the bookstore into the kitchen. He hadn’t gotten the answers he wanted. He locked the door and headed up the stairs to his uncle’s bedroom. He stopped halfway up. Had he locked the front door before he left earlier? He shook his head. Better check it. Turning around, he thumped back down the stairs and looked around the bookstore as he passed through to the front door.

What was he doing staying here? He wasn’t a book lover. He enjoyed reading all right but this was a bit much. Before he’d come, he couldn’t wait to unload all these books, the whole business. Now he was uncertain. He loved being a fireman. Maybe Faithful needed another fireman.

Why was he here?

He looked at the wall the bookstore shared with the dressmaker shop next door. He couldn’t be confused because of Hannah. She was charming but he had never changed his whole life because of a woman. He had met beautiful women before, some even more lovely than Miss Hannah McConnell. What made her so different? Why was she so unforgettable? Was it her dark hair and mystical violet eyes? Her porcelain skin? Or her smile that lit her heart shaped face and caught him off guard? Her smile was definitely part of it, and he would see to it he saw it as often as possible until he left. But there was more to Hannah than simply her endearing smile.

This was all nonsense! He would leave in a few days or a week, and Hannah would remain here. He would steer clear of Hannah McConnell. Then he could be sure of his plans. He turned the lock and headed for the low burning lamp in the corner.

There curled up on the settee was the object of the disquiet in his soul.

He gazed at her. No, Miss McConnell, though your beauty is appealing, it is your honesty and faithfulness that draws this moth to your flame. Faithful – that is what she was. Faithful to her father, his dream, and this town, to everything she held dear, including –it appeared– his uncle’s things.

Her thoughts, emotions, she held everything right out in front of her. But he sensed there was more, things she didn’t tell as easily as her dislike for the “local royalty”. Though Hannah readily spoke her mind, what did she leave unsaid? Anything?

She appeared so serene but he knew her heart warred with her mind. He could see dried tears on her cheeks. He should wake her but it would dispel her peacefulness.

He could leave her here to wake on her own. But it could sully her reputation to leave his shop in the middle of the night or heaven forbid in the morning. Even this time of night was not appropriate.

He took a deep breath preparing himself for her shock and being appalled at herself for having fallen asleep here. It was time to break her spell. “Hannah. Wake up, Hannah.”

She moved a little but showed no signs of actually waking up. A frown pulled at her brow, putting a crack in her tranquility.

He put a hand on her shoulder and pushed on it gently. “Hannah, wake up.”

“Duncan?” Her eyes fluttered open, and she reached out to him, holding on to his forearm.

He covered her hand with his. “No, it’s Gerrit.”

Her eyes came fully open as she struggled to focus on what probably appeared to be a shadowy figure looming over her. He squatted down next to the settee so the dim light would shine on his face.

“Mr. Finnley, you’re here after all.”

“Actually, I’m back. You fell asleep.”

She sat up and released his arm. “You forgot your pie. I guess I let nostalgia get the better of me.”

That was it? No gasp. No flustered excuses. “It’s late.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude.” She closed the book and handed it to him.

Looking Backward 2000-1887. “I haven’t read this one but heard it was good.”

“It is good. Duncan and I were reading it together.”

He handed it back to her. “You keep it.”

She clutched it to her chest. “Thank you.” Her voice caught. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Not tears. They came suddenly and fell down her cheeks. “Don’t cry.”

“I miss him so much.”

He swung up onto the settee next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. His father had done that when his mother was upset. “It will be all right.”

She leaned into him and let her tears fall unchecked.

What was he to do now? He awkwardly wrapped his arm around her and patted her other shoulder. How was he supposed to comfort her into stopping her crying? “You can have any books in the store you want.” Was she crying harder now? He felt useless, so he sat, doing and saying nothing.

Her tears ceased as quickly as they had started. She brushed her cheeks dry. “I’m sorry for imposing on you.”

He helped her to her feet. “It’s no imposition.” Just without the flood.

She held out the book to him. “You should read this.”

He held up a hand. “No. Uncle Duncan would’ve wanted you to have it.” He walked her to the door. “And I meant what I said about you having any books you want.”

“There are a few I wouldn’t mind having. I have a stack of books at my place that belong here.”

“Keep them.”

She looked up at him with a twitch in her lips. “You aren’t a very good businessman, are you?”

He cocked his head. “I guess not.”

Her mouth stretched into a full smile.

That was more like it. A beautiful smile on a lovely face. She had been crying but didn’t try to hide it or excuse it. She had missed a tear, so he reached up and caressed it away. He let is hand linger on her smooth skin and lost himself in her violet eyes. They almost swirled with a myriad of passions, drawing him into their depths, pulling him closer.

A drunkard, ambling down the street singing loudly off key, broke his concentration. He had been staring, but then so had she. He reached for the door handle but it wouldn’t turn. That’s right, he’d locked it. He turned the lock and held the door open for her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For being there.”

Is that all it took, sitting next to her with a reassuring arm? That was too easy. He hadn’t done or said anything helpful. “I’m glad to have been able to help. I’ll expect you to stop by tomorrow to pick out all the books you want.” He walked her the few steps to her door and made sure she got in safely.

So much for steering clear of Hannah McConnell.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

2009-03-11T07:48:00.001-07:00

Book Review
I recently finished A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith. It’s our book of the month for the book club I’m in.

It’s a story about a girl growing up in Brooklyn after the turn of the century. Her family is quite poor, often not having enough to eat for days. The book describes in detail life of the struggling, immigrant poor at this time in a city. How they bought bread and meat. How they scraped together money. How the children spent their time.

The book mostly follows around Francie Nolan from birth until she is seventeen. Her mother works hard and usually has a steady cleaning job that doesn’t pay much. She is centered on providing for her family. Her father is more of a dreamer and has little concern for having a steady job to take care of his family. When he does get sporadic work and money, he drinks half of it away. He is a likable fellow though and truly loves his wife and children. He just doesn’t really know how to take care of them. The mother knew this when she married him but also knew she would do most anything to have him.

Francie is a smart girl who develops her own opinions. Like her mother she has an inner strength to be a survivor. She loves to read and loves to learn. She has nothing monetarily but she and her brother are quite happy and seem to have a good childhood in spite of their circumstances. I think that because they have the love of both parents, their childhood is good.

Fittingly, the story wraps up with the family moving away from Brooklyn and their circumstances improved.

For me the book seemed to start out slow and without a clear purpose. I had a hard time connecting with the characters. If it were not for needing to read it for book club, I would have set it down and not picked it up again until it was time to return it to the library. But because I was forced to continue to read, I did eventually connect with the characters and care about their well being.

Even though it’s a classic, it’s not a book I’m excited about, but I’m glad I finished it.

Daylight Savings Time (DST)

2009-03-09T11:06:00.000-07:00

I prefer to refer to it as Daylight Silly Time. We change the time on our clocks so we are doing everything one hour earlier. Then in the fall we change them all back and do everything one hour later. Why?

What I mostly hear from people is how hard it is for at least a week after either change. I have not every heard one person say that they like this time changing thing we do every year, twice a year. It takes people a week or so to get mostly adjusted.

I’m not adjusting well. I’m slow and sluggish today. The older I get the harder it is to make the change.

Daylight Savings Time

What are we saving anyway?

I heard that we have DST because it saves so much money in energy costs each year. Well, the electricity I may be saving in the evening because I don’t have to turn on lights until an hour later, I use in the morning because it’s dark for an hour longer after I get up.

I’ve also heard that insurance claims for car and workplace accidents goes up the week or two after both time changes. So what we might be saving on one side of the ledger, we are paying out on the other side of the ledger.

So, what are we saving anyway?

Why don’t we pick a time and stick to it? If it is such a good idea to save all this daylight in the spring and summer, why not in the winter too when we have less daylight?

If the American people were given all, and I do mean ALL, the fact, both negative and positive about the time changes, would they vote to keep them? Or would they vote to abolish such nonsense?

Faithful, ch. 7

2009-03-06T07:16:00.000-08:00

The bell over the bookstore door jingled. Hannah stepped across the threshold. “Hello? Mr. Finnley?” Was he not here? The store was unlocked. He hadn’t stayed long after dinner and had forgotten the three slices of pie he’d promised to take.

The smell of Duncan’s pipe still clung to the air, even after these weeks. Or did the young Mr. Finnley take to the pipe as well? “Mr. Finnley?” She hadn’t realized until now she missed the aroma. She closed her eyes and savored the scent that was Duncan. Such a comfort.

This was the first time she had been in Duncan’s store since it had been locked up in the weeks following his death. Her feet took her to the corner where Duncan’s reading chair sat. She ran her hand along the back of the brown leather chair. A floor lamp stood beside the chair with a small table and settee. On the table sat Duncan’s tray with his pipe in it.

She set the plate with the pie wedges on it onto the table and brought the pipe to her nose. “Why did you leave me?” A tear rolled down her cheek.

Putting the pipe down, she picked up the book they had been sharing. Looking Backward, 2000-1887 by Edward Bellamy, a highly popular Utopian fantasy. She sat on the settee. How many hours had she sat there listening to Duncan read or she reading to him? She opened the book to the spot they had left off, found their place, and began reading aloud. The words blurred, and she clutched the book to her chest. What good was a story without someone to share it with? The ache inside her increased until tears began to fall.

Jesus, my ache is so deep. Will it ever be soothed? In one way, I just want this terrible pain to be gone. But yet, I want to hold onto it and always remember Duncan.

When Papa died, I had Mama to comfort me. When Mama died, I had Duncan. I have no one to comfort me now except You, but I cannot feel Your arms of comfort or hear Your soothing words.

She let the tears come and come they did in a steady stream. This was the most she’d cried since Duncan died. She’d held it all in, afraid to let him go. The crying felt good, cleansing in a way.

As the tears slowed, she took several deep breaths. She should go but was reluctant to leave just yet.

She laid her head upon the arm of the settee and pulled up her feet as she’d done many time and conjured up Duncan’s voice from the past and listened to his soothing voice as he read.

Some Days Are Just Like That

2009-03-04T07:12:00.000-08:00

So I was thinking (I know, thinking can be dangerous.) What am I going to blog on today?

My brain said, “Nothing.”

“What? I have to blog on something,” I replied.

“Not today. I don’t feel like it,” my brain said.

“But I promised my readers and myself I would. I told Heather I was blogging 3 times a week. I can’t just not blog.”

My brain shrugged. (Okay use your imagination on that one.) “It’s too much work.”

“Well, Brain,” I said, “some times we have to do things we don’t want to do.”

“Then you do it without me.”

“Hmm. That’s a thought.” Then I realized that without my brain’s cooperation, I wasn’t going to think of anything.

“Okay, Brain. You win.”

Some days are just like that. No matter how much you want to do something, it just doesn’t work.

Have a happy day! ☺

Called to Anxiety

2009-03-02T07:53:00.000-08:00

On Saturday, I ran a one-day writing conference called Peak Writing Conference. I have never ran a conference before, but I have an awesome board. Everyone worked well together and the Lord made it all run smoothly.

I have talked little about my anxiety issues before. The pressure of running a conference and anxiety don’t exactly mix well.

So why would a relatively sane person with anxiety take something on that she knows will cause more anxiety?

I felt called by God to run a small conference like this for years.

God is not content to leave me hiding in my closet, which is where my anxiety can send me. He wants me to grow and tell others about Him and the wonderful things He is doing in my life. I can’t do that from closet very well. Not much exciting happens there. ☺

When God calls, you have to answer. Sometimes the answer is an immediate “yes,” other times a “no way,” and other times it is a “maybe, can I think about it?” But we do answer whether we realize it or not.

If we say yes, God smiles.

If we say no, God waits to ask again. And sometimes He even smiles because He knew we would say no, but He had to ask anyway.

If we say can we think about it?, God waits and gives us the time we need to think. He also smiles as he watches us figure it out.

God has been working on me for years and setting everything up to put me in a position to run this conference, and He rewarded my obedience. He did not have me run this conference and have it go well to make me look good, but to glorify Himself and help me grow in Him.

Do I still have anxiety? Yes. Do I like it? No. But with the Lord, I’m learning to deal with it and to live with it. I don’t mean “live with it” as in tolerate it. I mean live life in spite of it and not hide in my closet.

Faithful, ch. 6

2009-02-27T09:25:00.000-08:00

Gerrit stepped into McConnell Dressmaker and Millinery Shop and was greeted by a warm smile from Hannah.

“Good morning, Mr. Finnley.”

He scowled at her playfully. “I thought you were going to start calling me Gerrit.”

Hannah set aside what looked like white kid leather and stepped around her worktable. Her eyes twinkled. “I never said that, Mr. Finnley.” Her smile tugged higher up her cheeks.

He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore her blatant defiance. He had really come just to see her smile. He had already accomplished that and should probably go back to sorting Uncle Duncan’s things. But he wouldn’t. Tedious work.

“What can I do for you?”

He walked among some of the bolts of fabric. “I came to commission a shirt.” That was news to him. “You do make men’s clothing.” There was no evidence of it. She would say no and that would be the end of that.

“Not normally, but I did make all of Duncan’s clothes. I would be happy to make a shirt for my dear friend and benefactor’s nephew.”

His head came up. She would do it? “Benefactor?”

“I didn’t know until his will was read that he owned this shop and not my mother and I. He left it to me.” Her eyes glistened with tears.

No, don’t cry. He did not handle crying women well. He needed to distract her. “So how do we start on this shirt?”

She blinked several times to clear her eyes. “What kind of shirt do you require?”

He raised an eyebrow. “The kind that resides under my jacket.”

Her smile was back. “I know where one wears one’s shirt. What I don’t know is if this shirt is for work, or church or perhaps something more fancy.”

How was he supposed to know that? “For church I guess.” Then she pelted him with more questions on cuffs and collars and plackets and fabric types. He never knew so much went into one shirt. Some of his shirts were ready-made and others were homespun by his mother. She still made him clothes and sent them to him. He had never had one professionally made.

After all the questions were answered and he had picked a nice white silk, she pulled out a measuring tape. Now that he recognized, the one familiar thing in this whole process. He removed his coat and waistcoat to allow her to measure him. The scent of lilacs drifted up to his nose as she stretched the measuring tape over him this way and that.

“One more measurement.” She slid the measuring tape up from around his waist to his chest just under his arms. “Forty-th--”

Her gaze locked with his and neither of them moved. Hannah was close enough for him to feel her breath fan his chin. He liked her proximity and didn’t want to do anything to make her move. Her gaze slipped away when the door opened. A blond woman entered who appeared to be slightly taller than Hannah. Hannah turned and greeted her warmly.

He hoped it wouldn’t cause Hannah any undue embarrassment to have him alone in her shop half undressed. He quickly donned and buttoned his waistcoat. Hannah brought the blond woman over to him. She carried a little extra weight on her frame but it didn’t detract from her pretty face.

“Alice this is Mr. Finnley, Duncan’s nephew. He’s taken over Duncan’s bookstore. He’s commissioned a shirt, and I was taking his measurements.” She turned. “And this is Miss Sharpe, my assistant.”

Gerrit nodded, as she balanced the pie she held in her hands. “Miss Sharpe, I’m please to make your acquaintance.”

She giggled like a schoolgirl.

He sighed to himself.

The demure mask that so many wore was upon Alice’s smiling face. She would act as society dictated like so many unmarried women, but Hannah was different. Hannah would call him Mr. Finnley not so much because it was “proper” but out of sheer stubbornness he was sure. Or until she was forced to call him something else or he made her change her ways.

Alice handed the pie to Hannah. “It’s peach. Granny’s been baking again and sent this over for you. I told her I didn’t know what you would do with a whole pie but she insisted.”

“You’ll have to stay for dinner and help me eat some of this.”

“I can’t. Holace is coming over for dinner.” Miss Sharpe’s cheeks pinkened. Holace must be someone special. “Granny made two peach pies from what she canned last fall. Says she has too much to use up before fruit comes back in season. She’ll use them all up then complain she doesn’t have any fruit to eat.”

The women seemed to have forgotten he was there, so he just listened. See what else he could learn about Hannah. She obviously didn’t have dinner plans or any other plans tonight.

“I don’t think any of that pie will go to waste.” Alice glanced at him. “I better get to work on Mrs. Sutton’s dress . . . unless you finished it.” She headed for the back of the store.

“You know I didn’t. I spent the evening with Tiny.”

Alice stopped and turned. “How is the dear old woman?”

“Fine, as always. Are you sure I can’t talk you into dinner?”

“Sorry. Granny would scold me like there’s no tomorrow if I abandoned Holace.” Alice continued back to her work place.

“You can talk me into dinner.” He spoke softy so Alice couldn’t hear.

Hannah turned but wasn’t chagrined as he would have thought at him boldly inviting himself. “It’s just stew and biscuits.”

“And peach pie.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Travel Adventure Wrap-UP

2009-02-25T06:14:00.000-08:00

So now that we are paranoid about using our rental car, we head off the next day to a permanent swap meet. It was four long buildings with booth after booth after booth. We were planning to return the next day, so this first day, we were just going to look and we would buy the next day when we were sure of what we really wanted.

I bought a couple of things I was sure of the first day and one of my sisters bought a couple of popcorn/bubble shirts. These shirts look the size to fit a large doll or an infant but stretch to fit many body sizes.

So that night we all tried on these shirts. We are all different body sizes. We were very surprised that they looked good on all four of us. So the next day we all went crazy and each bought several of these shirts.

Now came the hard part, getting it all in our suitcases. My stuff barely fit but I made it.

We set four different alarms to make sure we got up at 4 AM to get to the airport, praying the car would work. We made it fine and caught our planes.

We had a lot of fun on our few days away for girl’s time. We're already planning our next one.

Traveling Adventure #2

2009-02-24T07:32:00.000-08:00

The next day we went to the mall and a special store call the Tinker Bell Store. I love Tinker Bell. We looped through the mall, hit Borders then later we had dinner at the Organ Stop Pizza.

This place is cool. They have a huge theater pipe organ with an organist who plays the whole time you’re eating. All of the pipes, bells, drums, bellows, and even puppets are visible. It’s quite a show. We had fun there and the food was good.

We’d had a full day and were ready to head back to our room to play some games. We got into the rental car, started it, but we couldn’t get it out of park. Yes, we had our foot on the break. We tried pressing the break harder, softer. Turn the car off and back on. Seatbelts off, seatbelts on. Door closed, door open. Whatever we did, we could not get the car out of park.

So I called my husband (two states away) and asked him if he knew anything. He said that it was a break thing. We’d tried that already. I called my oldest son (also two states away). He said the same thing and tried to give some other advice. Nothing worked. Someone walking through the parking lot thought it might be a fuse. Some men stopped who worked for other rental car companies and they couldn’t get it to work either. We called the rental car company and had already done all the things that they said to do. So they sent out another car that would take 90 minutes. That kind of blew our evening, sitting in a parking lot watching the Organ Stop Pizza employee making his rounds around the parking lot, over and over and over and over, etc.

Meanwhile, my son had looked up on the Internet the particular model of car we rented and found out that this is a common problem with it. When the tow truck guy got there, he said the same thing. He literally had to break a piece of melted plastic in the gearshift area to free the gearshift to drive it up onto the truck bed.

I asked my son if there were any issues we needed to look out for in this new rental, different make and model. He said that it wasn’t much better. He gave me a list of its issues to watch for and how to avoid one of the issues. Great! Now we are paranoid this car will break down.

I’ll finish up the trip tomorrow.

Adventures While Away

2009-02-23T08:57:00.000-08:00

Well, I’m back. I survived traveling. It’s the nervousness and stress of making sure you don’t over sleep so you hardly sleep at all, getting to the airport in time with time to spare for unexpected problems like traffic at 4:30 in the morning, returning a rental car, finding the right shuttle from one end of the airport to the other, checking in then finally “relaxing” in an uncomfortable chair while you wait for your flight, then having to go to the bathroom just when it’s time to board. No wonder it stresses me out.

Well, I had a great time with my sisters and mom. We rented a car so we could get to the places we wanted to go while there. The first stop was getting to our hotel room, adventure #1.

So we crammed all our suitcases into the trunk and between us in the car (next time we get a van. Four women with luggage and one midsize car!). We followed the airport exit signs and managed to get off the airport. Then there are like four different highways straying from the airport but not the one we wanted. The ones going east and west looked like they were going north and south on the map. We didn’t know which one to get onto to get to the highway we wanted because that was the only one not going into or out of the airport. The signs on the side of the road were vague and unclear. We were all helping drive by giving different opinions on what way we should go. What was the poor driver to do? I was not the driver, but I was giving some of the nonsense directions. We started heading back to the car rental area. (Not on purpose.) We made a few guesses and a few missed turns but finally got on the highway we thought would take us to the highway we wanted and in the direction we wanted.

We finally arrived at out hotel, actually it was a suite at a golf resort, none of us golf, but the price was right and we enjoyed having the two rooms. We unpacked, found a nearby (across the street) grocery store and bought a few provisions. Then we could relax.

Next time I’ll post on adventure #2. I’ll try to do that tomorrow and wrap up my trip on Wednesday.

Faithful, ch. 5

2009-02-20T07:29:00.000-08:00

Gerrit stared at the closed shade in McConnell’s Dressmaker Shop. He’d found the simple act of escorting her to and from the Wilsons’ home quite enchanting. Hannah was indeed a woman worth remaining in Faithful for. Not that he would, though. Gerrit checked the lock on the bookstore and headed up McConnell Ave toward the resort.

Hannah McConnell had captured his interest with her first words and a quick smile. But this bitterness she harbored he couldn’t understand and he wanted to. How could a sweet, beautiful young woman like her have so much contempt for another person?

He had been irritated at his uncle for leaving him anything. Uncle Duncan’s brother, back east, was the one out of work and needing a job. Gerrit’s life was waiting for him back in Harwood, Massachusetts. He was second in command at the firehouse. Then there were his friends and church. His mother would argue it wasn’t much of a life, but he was happy with it. She wanted him married but all the interesting women were already attached.

The young ladies looking for a husband would act just as they were supposed to until they caught a man. How could a fellow get to know a lady’s heart, the real person? He pitied a few of his friends. If they’d had a chance to see behind the masquarade, they would be bachelors too.

He didn’t want a giddy schoolgirl, but Hannah was no capricious girl and old enough to be wedded. She was confident enough to speak her mind with passion. Already in one day he knew her better than ladies he had known for years back east, batting eyelashes behind fluttering fans.

His uncle had tried to get him to come out to visit, especially the last three or four years. What his uncle hadn’t accomplished in life, he had in death. Why hadn’t Gerrit come sooner? This visit would be much more pleasant with Uncle Duncan alive.

What was a fireman going to do with a bookstore? Hannah wanted him to keep it, so part of him did too. He wanted to know everything about her, like why she wasn’t married. He was sure she wasn’t married, but she could have a suitor. But if she did, wouldn’t he have come to escort her tonight? Hannah McConnell was most likely completely unattached. Something in the way she answered when he suggested she already had a dinner companion. His mouth pulled up in a smile. Maybe Uncle Duncan had done him a favor after all.

He stopped on the corner of McConnell and Irene Street, and stared at the resort. What was he going to do about that? It was a bur in Hannah’s side he desperately wanted to remove.

He turned west and headed up to the McConnell Faithful mine. It was where Hannah’s father had hoped to make his fortune. And her childhood home.

The seasons had bested the cabin. Tilted away from the hillside, the sad structure was defying gravity and time. The little building was doomed to failure . . . and soon.

The mine entrance had enough boards nailed over the entrance to keep out a determined grizzly bear. An aged wooden cross tilted on its side stood in the center of where the opening had been. Carved in the crossbeam was Samuel McConnell 1880. There wasn’t enough room for any words of endearment. The carved letters had been painted in, in black not more than a month or so ago. The small memorial must have tipped over since then.

He found a fist sized rock, straightened the cross, and pound it back into the ground. Satisfied, he turned toward the Majestic Resort. He filled his lungs, then sat on a large rock near the mine’s entreance, and sought wisdom from the Lord.

Leaving On A Jet Plane

2009-02-18T06:02:00.000-08:00

I’m leaving this morning to meet up with my mom and two sisters in Arizona to have some girl time. It's going to be a lot of fun.

But . . .

I don’t travel well. It’s not that I’m afraid to fly, I’m fine with flying, it’s traveling that gets me. All the nerves inside me go bonkers no matter how hard I try to keep them in check. Unruly little things.

I’m still going to try to post Friday’s chapter for you all.

Have a great rest of the week!

He's Just Not That Into You

2009-02-16T07:21:00.001-08:00

Movie Review

I went and saw He’s Just Not That Into You with Drew Barrymore and Jennifer Aniston yesterday.

This movie is about the struggles of dating and finding the right person in the 21st century. All the things the twenty-something crowd does right but mostly what they do wrong when looking for love. How to read signals to tell if the other person likes you and will call you or should you call them. This movie is very up to date with all the current technology being used in the modern dating ritual.

At times this movie was hard to watch be cause of the struggles and pain involved with rejections. I was rooting for Gigi to find a nice guy who would treat her well. As she tried over and over to find Mr. Right, she kept waiting for a Mr. Wrong to call her back. They never did. This I didn’t understand. She was so sweet and likeable.

There are several romance and anti-romance story lines. There is Gigi who is actively searching for love. There is a married couple who is struggling. There is a guy who likes a girl who likes this other guy who is married. There is a couple where she wants to get married but he doesn’t. And there is Mary (Drew) who meets men via technology but never in person. I liked the way the unrelated stories had character connections.

I would watch this movie again. I thought it was a good study in the current dating culture. I would recommend this movie to my friends. ☺

Faithful, ch.4

2009-02-13T07:17:00.000-08:00

Chapter 4

Hannah stepped out into the cool night air with the rectangular cake pan heaped with food. In a cloth bag hanging from her elbow were two carefully wrapped jars of canned stewed tomatoes.

Hannah hadn’t gotten more than half a block of the nearly three blocks it was to Iona’s place when Mr. Finnley happened upon her.

“Let me take that for you.” He relieved her of the pan of chicken and biscuits.

Her arms were grateful to be free of the load and her heart was grateful for his company. Tiny had obviously cooked more than usual for the Wilsons. But then the boys were growing bigger all the time and eating more and more. “Thank you, Mr. Finnley. Your help is much appreciated.”

He sighed and shook his head. “If I could only get you to call me Gerrit, I know my apology would be accepted.”

“I wasn’t aware you had done anything that warranted an apology and certainly not from me.”

“It’s a matter of trust, Miss McConnell.”

“I trust you, Mr. Finnley.” After all he was Duncan’s nephew.

A muscle worked in his jaw at his name, but he didn’t press the matter. “It was I who failed to trust you. I found it hard to believe that a beautiful young woman such as yourself wasn’t off to meet her beau.”

Was he jealous? Something deep inside her smiled at that thought. “But I told you where I was going.”

“Yes, you did. And because I found it incredible, I must beg your forgiveness, I asked about this Tiny you were going to see.”

He was checking up on her? It sounded like something Duncan would have done. “There is really noting to forgive, but it is yours if you need it.

“I shall never doubt your word again.” He lifted the pan a little. “I smell fried chicken. Since this appears to be more food than one person could possible eat, I can only assume it is to be delivered somewhere around here.”

“Tiny asked me to take the leftovers from supper over to the Wilsons’.”

The boys who came over to clean behind your shop?”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry that I missed them. This will give me a chance to hire them to do some work for me.”

“Thank you for doing that. They can really use every penny any of them can earn. But don’t make it seem like charity.”

“It’s no charity. I’ll work those boys good. Uncle Duncan left the storeroom a mess. There is plenty of work to be done.”

Iona’s protesting lasted only until she saw the hungry looks in her children’s eyes. Gerrit hired the two oldest boys for the next day.

She bid Iona good evening, and she and Gerrit left.

Once they were out on the street, Gerrit said, “If you are heading home, may I have the honor of escorting you? And if you are not, may I also have the honor of escorting you to your destination?”

She looked up at him sideways. “Are you checking up on me again?”

He shrugged. “I like your company.”

“I am headed home and would enjoy your company as well.” Hannah pulled her shawl up around her shoulders. The night air was chilly, but she didn’t feel cold with Gerrit next to her. They walked in amiable silence.

He cleared his throat. “I saw Mr. and Mrs. Coughlin this evening. Beau and Eleanor seem like nice people.”

She walked a little further away from him and readjusted her shawl. She didn’t really change anything, just fussed with it. “Well appearances can be deceiving.”

“Why do you dislike the Coughlins so?” His voice was soft and smooth as new honey.

“They stole my father’s dream,” she said more curtly than she ought.

“I can’t imagine how one person could steal another’s dream.”

They came to McConnell Avenue. She stopped and looked up to the end of the street. Sitting large on the hill illuminated by gaslights the Majestic Resort. If her father’d had a chance to build it, he would still be alive. “That was my father’s dream. As long as I can remember he had drawings of the place he wanted to build. The drawings looked exactly like that. They didn’t even have the decency to choose another name.” She stepped off the boardwalk and crossed McConnell Avenue.

Mr. Finnley caught up to her. “Look now, I’ve spoiled your good mood.”

“I just feel that if it weren’t for me being here, the Coughlins and others would wipe my father’s good name from this town.” She waved a hand in the air over the quiet town. Well, it used to be quiet before her father died and the saloons were built.

“I wish I hadn’t brought them up.” Real regret in his voice. He drew a fake sword and pointed it down the street. “I’ll storm the castle and break the evil spell.”

Her mouth pulled into a wide smile. She stepped around in front of him and pointed to the resort behind him. “The castle is that way.”

“Ahh!” He spun around and feigned fear. “I-It’s so...so large, m’lady.” He turned to her when she giggled. “That’s better.”

Just as Duncan would have, or used to try to cheer her up. She stepped up onto the boardwalk on the opposite side of the street. Mr. Finnley matched her pace and stopped in front of her shop. She took her key from her handbag and placed it in Mr. Finnley’s outstretched hand. He opened her door and handed back the key.

“You aren’t really going to leave Faithful before it has a chance to work its magic on you?”

He studied her a moment. “Maybe it already is.”

“Good.” She smiled to herself. Faithful needed more fine men like him. She stepped past him and turned on the threshold. She kept expecting his eyes to be blue-gray like Duncan’s not a warm, inviting brown. “Thank you for escorting me, Mr. Finnley.”

Mr. Finnley shook his head. “When are you going to drop that silly formality? I would much prefer you call me Gerrit. All my friends do. And I’d like to think of you as my friend.”

“Calling a stranger by his first name the very day you meet him?” She felt as though she had known him much longer. “Even though you are Duncan’s nephew, I hardly think it appropriate.”

“You were close to my uncle?”

“Very. He was like family.” He was all she had after both her parents died.

“And I’m his family, so that makes us almost family.” His genial smile pulled at her heartstrings.

But he wasn’t and of that she was glad.

He furrowed his brow. “Is there nothing I can say to convince you to call me Gerrit?”

“Maybe tomorrow.” She eased the door shut and turned the lock. “Yes, Gerrit, maybe tomorrow.”

Movie Review #1

2009-02-11T06:34:00.000-08:00

Last Chance Harvey

Harvey is played by Dustin Hoffman and is about a down and out music writer who has hit bottom writing jingles. The company he works for is giving him one last chance but the votes are already in before he has his chance. He is divorced and is in England for his adult daughter's wedding. His ex-wife is remarried to Mr. Wonderful, everything Harvey was not. Harvey disappoints his daughter by telling her he has to leave early and can't stay for the reception. He loses his job and is stuck in an England Airport.

Emma Thompson plays his love interest. I would guess she is forty-something and a want-to-be writer whose job it is to take surveys of travelers in the airport. She stops wary travelers to ask them questions. She does not live with her neurotic mother but her mother calls her several times a day. During the movie her mother believes the neighbor is hiding bodies in his smokehouse.

The first half of the movie is a bit hard to watch as Harvey’s life turns from bad to worse. You feel for him from the start. Also Emma’s character isn’t much better. She really has a pathetic life. Between the two of them, it is a bit depressing.

But once these two downtrodden people meet and start spending time together both of their lives improve even though it is only a few hours. But it is not all smooth sailing and Harvey still has his daughter’s wedding reception to ignore and then there is his daughter’s perfect step-father. And we can’t forget the body-hiding neighbor.

Despite the depressing start, I came out of the theater feeling good. It ended well and I really enjoyed the movie. I would definitely recommend this movie to friends and family.

Dreams, part 2

2009-02-09T09:25:00.000-08:00

Dream the Impossible Dream.

Dreams of the future are things you want to reach for. These are akin to goals. Goals are more tangible. Dreams intangible. Goals lead us one step closer to our dreams. A dream is out of our control. Goals are within our control.

So once upon a time, I dreamed of selling a book and having it in print. I had no control over whether or not a publisher bought and published my book. In order to sell a book you have to write it and write it well enough to be publishable. So I set some goals, write 2 pages a day and learn how to write well. These were within my control. So I sat at my computer everyday and wrote. I also read books on the craft of writing and went to writer’s conferences to learn to write better. So I had goals leading to my dream. Then one day I did get a contract. Dream realized.

Dreams give us hope. Hope for something new, different, or better in the future. Hope is important. If we have no hope, we despair. Life is drudgery. Life is meant to be exciting and alive.

If you don’t work at your goals then your dream is flat and there is no hope in it. You can’t dream something and just wait for it to magically happen. You have to make your dreams come true. And you can do that.

So I’m dreaming of a time when my husband can quit working out there and work from home. I dream of having my house paid off. I dream of my children moving out and NOT asking for money for rent or food. I love my children, but it is right for them to live on their own. I do not want to have a 30-year-old child living in my basement. It’s just not right.

Two of my three children have moved out and it has given them a boost to their self-esteem to be taking care of themselves and being independent. They feel good about themselves even when they don’t have quite enough to eat. I am realistic that there might be a season that one or both will have to move back in for a season, but they are doing well and I am so proud of them. I just wish that they would visit more often.

My husband and I are setting goals and working toward him being able to work from home which would also help us to pay off our house and be able to give more to charities and help out family, including said moved out children. We have had some huge financial set backs this past year so this dream has become bigger, but I have more hope of it coming true now because we have goals and are working toward them.

There is something inside the human heart that dies without hope.

So dream big and dream small. Then set goals to reach your dream and commit to achieving those goals. Then you will know that you have done everything you can to attain your dreams.

What is your impossible dream?

Faithful, ch. 3

2009-02-06T08:25:00.000-08:00

Hannah climbed the porch steps of the little yellow house. One of the original houses in town, a cottage really. She knocked on the door. Tiny had lost everyone in her life; all those who had come before her as well as those who were supposed to out live her. And yet, with all her losses, she still praised God even in their deaths. Hannah struggled to praise God in her own losses, but she did and always felt better, an inner peace. When Tiny opened the door, Hannah wrapped her arms around the petite old woman. No one knew just how old Tiny was. She had been old when Hannah was little. People guessed her to be around eighty.

“Dear child, it’s so good to see you. Have a seat.” Tiny waved a hand toward the table. “Supper is all ready.” She shuffled over to the stove where three bowls draped with towels sat warming on the stove.

Hannah followed her over and tried to take the biggest of the three bowls from Tiny’s hands. “Let me help you with that.”

Tiny kept her grip on the bowl. “I’m perfectly capable. I’m not ready just yet to be put under. You are my guest, and I’ll be serving you. Now sit yourself down. I’ll only be a minute.”

Hannah knew better than to argue with Tiny and sat down at the small, wooden table in the kitchen.

Tiny set the first bowl on the table and removed the warming towel she had draped over the fried chicken in it. “When I can’t do for myself no more, people will be digging a hole in the ground to put me in.” She went back to the stove. “They probably have it half dug already. But I’m not ready to meet the Almighty just yet. And He’s not ready for me.” She brought over the other two covered bowls and eased herself slowly into the chair. “I feel He’s got more for me to do in this life before He takes me to the next. Shall we ask the Lord’s blessing on this bounty?”

Hannah smiled as she bowed her head. Tiny’s crackly voice was deceptively strong for how frail she looked.

Hannah added a silent blessing for Mr. Finnley. Tiny took off the warming towels from the biscuits and stewed tomatoes. Hannah placed her napkin on her lap and dished herself a piece of fried chicken, stewed tomatoes, and took a biscuit. “Sophie, came by today with her new doll.”

“Well, it’s about time. I was beginning to wonder if something had happened to it. Did she like it? Of course she liked it.”

She recalled the girl’s face when Mr. Finnley called her lovely. That had done more good than the doll ever could. “She was disheartened that it was send without a body or clothing.”

“You can fix that right up for her. I’d do it myself but then she’d know it came from me, and my eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”

Not the Hannah wished poor eyesight on the aging woman, but Hannah really wanted to do this for Sophie. She had planned a nightgown, a walking suit, and a fancy lavender dress. “I promised her a body and at least one dress.” And as she had fabric scraps, she could make more dresses for the girl’s doll.

“Iona is a proud woman who doesn’t want to be a burden to anyone.”

“Like you?”

Her lips curved up in an impish smile. “Maybe that’s why I like her so well. But the Lord has put her and her sweet little ones on my heart daily. I’m just not sure what He wants me to do for them besides pray.”

“The Lord will guide you.” She broke her biscuit in half and took a dollop of butter. She wished she hadn’t had plans to come here tonight. She would have like to have accepted Mr. Finnley’s invitation. Would he ask her again? “Duncan’s nephew is in town.”

“Is he now? So is the bookstore open?”

“I don’t think he has any plans to ever open for business. He wants to sell the store and return east.” She truly hoped he changed his mind.

Tiny caught her gaze. “And you don’t want him to leave?”

“Of course not. Duncan wanted his nephew to have his store. If he wanted it to go to a stranger, he would have done so himself.” He just couldn’t sell it. It would be like losing Duncan all over again.

“And what about you?”

Hannah shook her head. “Me?”

“You know what I mean, child. You want him to stay for you.”

Hannah ducked her head and spread her butter on her biscuit.

“Is he very handsome?” Tiny prodded.

She couldn’t confess that she noticed such a thing on a first meeting! “He looks a lot like Duncan.”

“Ahh. Then you best smile pretty at him for he will have every young lady in town fluttering about him.”

Her eyes widened, and she looked up aghast at Tiny’s forwardness.

Tiny waved a hand at her. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m too old to waste time with all the social formalities, proper manners, and propriety. I know you have considered him long before now with Finn talking him up to you all the time. Do you not believe you are the reason Finn chose his nephew to inherit his store so he would have to come out here and you two could finally meet? Finn could have easily left his store to you or his sister.”

She didn’t want to talk about the possibility that Duncan was playing matchmaker, even after his death. Didn’t even want to think about it.“But he already left me my shop. How would I run them both?”

“Trust me when I tell you Finn was playing matchmaker for you. He always looked after you.”

Hannah’s cheeks warmed. Now she wished she really hadn’t come.

“I see that you have considered Finn’s nephew. Tell me all about him.”

“Tiny, I really don’t think–”

“Nonsense. I’m an old woman who doesn’t have much to entertain me me these days. I remember what it was like to be young and in love.”

Hannah sucked in a breath. Love? “I’ve barely met the man.”

“But you like him?”

“Well . . . he seemed nice enough.” She did like him but wasn’t going to come right out and say so on the day she’d finally met the man she’d heard so much about.

Tiny’s eyes twinkled. “Did he like you?”

She hoped so. “How would I know that?”

“Did he look into your eyes? Did he smile at you?”

He had. More than once, but she wasn’t going to tell Tiny that. It would only encourage the old woman.

“Ah, I see that he did.”

Hannah widened her eyes. “How?”

“Your blush is a becoming shade of pink.”

Hannah instinctually put her hands to her cheeks. They were warm.

“Did he talk with you long?”

She had to discourage Tiny. “No, not long.” Hopefully that would end this conversation.

“But it was more than a passing good-day?”

“Well, yes but . . .”

“Did he ask to see you again?”

She tried to sound gruff to get Tiny to stop, but the smile she couldn’t stop from stretching her mouth made her words come out as a half giggle. “I don’t think that’s anyone’s business but my own.”

Tiny smiled and her aged eyes twinkled more. “The pink in your cheeks has spread to the rest of your face. You said yes, didn’t you?”

How did one keep from blushing? Was it even possible? “No.”

Tiny’s smile slackened. “Why not, child?”

“I had other plans.”

Tiny narrowed her eyes. “To come sit with an old woman? Next time you say yes. I’ll understand.” She patted Hannah’s hand.

“I couldn’t do that to you. I enjoy our visits.”

“Then you bring him with you the next time. I want to meet him. I expect a report on how things are going with you and our newest resident.”

Why was she even trying to resist this woma? Tiny was tenacious. More tenacious than a crusty miner the size of a bear.

Supper dragged on with Tiny asking for details of young Mr. Finnley. When it was finally over, Tiny transferred the leftover Chicken and biscuits into a rectangular cake pan and covered it with a towel.

“Mercy, there’s still a passel of food. I’d hate to see it go to waste. Do you think you could drop it off at Iona’s on your way home? Tell her if they can’t use it to toss it out.”

This wasn’t the first time Tiny had accidentally made too much food. And Hannah knew the old woman chose the nights she came to supper to cook an abundance so Hannah could drop it off on her way home. For all her boasting, Tiny knew her limitations and carrying enough food to satisfy the Wilson boys was beyond her abilities anymore. She may not be as spry as she once was but that wasn’t going to stop her from finding a way to help people in need. And Hannah would take any excuse to scoot out of there earlier than usual.

Odd Thomas - Book Review

2009-02-04T06:55:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading Odd Thomas for the second time and LOVED it once again.

Odd is sweet, sensitive and definitely the reluctant hero, but wherever people are in danger Odd is right there on the front line to do whatever he can to help save anyone he can. He is a simple man, a short order cook and is good at his job. He does not have lofty goals; he just wants to live a quiet normal life with his love, Stormy Llewellyn.

I have heard Odd Thomas, the main character in the series of books by Dean Koontz, described as the boy from Sixth Sense grown up. Odd is his first name, and he is indeed a bit odd. He sees dead people and the dead don’t talk.

The lingering spirits of the dead come to Odd for a variety of reasons, some come for him to help them. One spirit hangs around him daily, Elvis. Though Elvis doesn’t talk, he is quite a character. He also sees demon spirits that clue him into that something terrible is about to happen. So he goes off to figure out what this terrible thing is, when it is going to happen, and try top stop it.

Even though there is suspense and people could die and Odd sees dead people, Odd Thomas differs from The Sixth Sense in that the story is filled with humor, littered with it. The light tone that Dean Koontz uses through the eyes of his main character is masterful. As in the opening scene where Odd is chasing a child killer through someone’s house and up into a child’s bedroom. He grabs a lamp to smash over the killer’s head, but not just a plain boring lamp, a panda bear lamp, and not just a panda bear lamp but a smiling panda bear lamp. In the fight and flurry of the chase, the contrast to the smiling lamp can hit you as funny. I laughed many times while reading this book even though Odd was racing toward doom and danger. I laughed, I cried, and I held my breath. I would give Odd Thomas 5 out of 5 stars.

So far there are four Odd Thomas books, Odd Thomas, Forever Odd, Brother Odd, and Odd Hours. I have read them all and loved them all. I have heard that there will be maybe up to seven books in the Odd series. I can’t wait for the rest.

Dreams part 1

2009-02-02T08:38:00.000-08:00

Taking a deep breath.

I think dreaming is important. I don’t mean the kind of dreaming you do when you are asleep, though I understand that it’s quite important for one’s sanity. But the other two kinds of dreaming: daydreaming and dreams of the future.

Daydreaming: wishful creations of the imagination, letting your mind drift, pleasant visions.

Daydreaming helps us relax and recharge. We live in a society of go, go, go. Do, do, do. Faster and faster and faster until we can’t keep up. I think a lot of people look at daydreaming as a waste of time and that you’re lazy if you do it. I believe we need daydreaming to recharge. If you just keep going all the time you will burn out, life will be a chore instead of a joy. We all need to take time for ourselves, “me time.”

When we slow down and relax, God can meet us there. He patiently waits for us to slow down and stop. Waiting for us to enjoy the life He has given us. He did not give us a life that rushes so fast we cannot enjoy all the beautiful things in this life. So that we can’t enjoy Him.

We have forgotten the old saying: “Stop and smell the roses.” We say that we are too busy. What roses? I don’t see any roses. Don’t they have thorns or something?

Like the White Rabbit who says he is late for an important date, hello, good-bye, I’m late. We are so much like the White Rabbit rushing here and there, never giving ourselves enough time to get anywhere without being late and then we are stressed because we are late.

Our bodies weren’t designed for this kind of hurried life. They were designed to slow down and to be still. Do you know that if you are always go, go, go that sticky platelets build up in your arteries? Eeew! This can lead to heart attacks or strokes or something. Have you ever noticed that when you go, go, go, you eventually get sick and have to stop and sleep for a few days to get well. That is your body telling you to slow down. You can either have forced rest where you are miserable or you can choose when you rest and enjoy it.

One of my favorite children’s books is The Missing Piece by Shel Silverstein. There is this “It.” It is a circle with an eye and a wedge out of it. It looks a lot like PacMan. So It is spending all it’s time looking for It’s missing piece, the wedge. It rolls along singing and enjoying the small treasures of life. His favorite is when the butterfly lands on him. He finds various pieces but they don’t fit. Finally he finds a piece that does fit and they roll along but he can’t sing very well now with his mouth full, and he rolls faster and faster. He rolls so fast that he can’t enjoy the small treasures of life. And the butterfly can’t land on him. So he stops, sent down the piece, and rolls away singing that he is looking for his missing piece. And the butterfly lands on him and he is happy.

We have become a society so consumed with going and doing we don’t slow down to enjoy life. My pastor is challenging all of us in the church to slow down this year. He admits it is hard for him to do. He used Psalm 46:10a: “Be still, and know that I am God.” He said that maybe being still is too much for us all at once, maybe start with slowing down. With all the pressure our society put on us to produce, do, and go, go, go, it is hard to slow down and nearly impossible to be still. But I’m going to try.

Take a deep breath, slow down, and enjoy life.

Blessings,
Mary
:-)

Next Monday I’ll ponder on future dreams.

Faithful, ch. 2

2009-01-30T07:57:00.000-08:00

Chapter 2

1892 – 12 years later

Hannah fastened the hooks up the back of the blue taffeta gown on the dress stand in the front window of her shop. A nice lavender would have looked better for this dress but she couldn’t make every dress for her window display out of various shades of her favorite color. This blue was quite striking and would catch the eye of people walking by.

Movement outside drew her attention. The very handsome new bookstore owner helped the great Mrs. Coughlin into her carriage. Mrs. Coughlin’s striking blue eyes and porcelain skin made her look far younger than nearly fifty by at least ten years.

But consorting with the Coughlins would never do. They had ruined lives and driven people to their graves. The poor man was new in town and didn’t know the people of Faithful. He deserved a warning at least. She stepped outside as the carriage pulled away. The sun felt good on her back after the recent cold spell that had brought a spring snow. “You could get a bad reputation that way.”

The man turned around, and Hannah looked into the face of a younger Duncan Finnley. Her heart skipped. She hadn’t expected such a striking resemblance in his nephew. Duncan had been her friend, confidant, and benefactor. Her father’s best friend. She missed him dearly and staved off the tears that came with remembering his absence.

The younger Finnley smiled at her, Duncan’s smile. “Pardon me?”

Her breath caught, and she smiled back. “Mr. Finnley, I just don’t want you to get off on the wrong foot here in Faithful. Or do you go by Finn as Duncan some times did?”

“Actually I prefer Gerrit. I don’t ascribe to the formality of the norm of the day. You have me at a disadvantage.”

“I do?”

“You know my name but I’m at a loss to yours.”

“Forgive me.” She held out her hand. “Hannah McConnell. I own the dressmaker shop next to your new bookstore.”

He took her hand and graciously bowed over it. “I’m charmed.”

Her cheeks warmed.

He released her hand and took the required step back. “I believe my uncle mentioned you in his letters, favorably so.” His gray suit was well cut to fit his trim frame.

“Duncan spoke highly of you. When I was told you inherited his shop, I was happy it wouldn’t be going to a stranger.” It was a small consolation after Duncan’s death.

He raised an eyebrow then after a moment said, “You mentioned my reputation being sullied.”

“The Coughlins. I feel some responsible in the matter with you being Duncan’s nephew. One cannot be too careful where that family is concerned. They may be courteous on the outside, but they are cunning and ruthless. You would be wise not to get too friendly with them.” She looked toward Mrs. Coughlin’s carriage as it retreated up McConnell Avenue. “Mrs. Coughlin certainly never came down here when Duncan was proprietor.”

His mouth quirked up on one side as though he were amused. “She was trying to talk me into staying.”

Her gaze swung back to him. “You’re not going to leave Faithful? You just got here.” She inwardly flinched at her boldness but didn’t regret her words. She needed him to stay.

“I was planning to sell the shop and go back home to Massachusetts, but right at the moment,” he smiled fully now, “I think I’m undecided.”

“The Coughlins can be very persuasive. Be careful or they’ll have you doing things you never thought you would.”

“Oh, I can assure you that my reconsideration has nothing to do with Mrs. Coughlin. She may be persuasive but when my mind is set it will take more than her to change it.”

“It’s nice to hear that there may be someone else in town who won’t cow to the self-coronated royalty.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Royalty?”

“The Coughlins sit up there in their palace,” she waved a hand in the general direction of the Majestic Resort, “and look down on all us common folks. But don’t let them make you feel small. They have tried for years to take over this town.”

“Thank you for the warning.” He gave his head a slight bow.

“Miss Hannah! Miss Hannah! I got it!” Eight-year-old Sophie Wilson ran up to her with a parcel clutched to her chest.

“Mind your manners.” Iona Wilson took Sophie by the arm and pulled her back a couple of steps. “You wait your turn.” Iona looked up briefly at Hannah and Mr. Finnley but averted her gaze back down to the boardwalk. “We’re real sorry for interrupting. We’ll wait right here.”

“But, Mama, I cain’t.”

Iona gave Sophie’s arm a gentle tug. “Hush now or I’ll take you straight home.”

Hannah’s heart went out to Sophie and her mother. They were the poor among the poor in Faithful. Iona Wilson was widowed three years now with five mouths to feed, all boys except Sophie. Iona took in people’s washing; her hands were cracked and red from the work.

Hannah turned and introduced Iona and Sophie to Mr. Finnley. He asked them to call him Gerrit as well. She didn’t know how it was back east where he’d come from, but here in Faithful, he wasn’t likely to find many people to comply with his request and certainly not on a first meeting--and certainly not the ladies in town.

Mr. Finnley waved a hand toward Sophie and Iona. “Let’s not keep this lovely young lady waiting. I for one cannot wait to see what mystery she has hidden in her parcel.” He smiled broadly at Sophie.

Sophie smiled up at him.

Not many people took notice of little Sophie let alone talked to the sweet, shy girl. But at that moment, she thought Sophie might have fallen in love with Mr. Finnley.

Sophie turned into her mother’s blue calico skirt and said nothing.

Mr. Finnley’s smile faded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare her.”

Iona kept her head down. “She’s just a little shy.” Iona wasn’t shy like her daughter but was embarrassed by her reduced circumstances.

Hannah bent at the knees to get down to eye level with Sophie and touched her blue sleeve. The child’s dress was so thin it looked like it would rip. “What do you have? I would like to see.”

Sophie turned to her with her head down but cocked her gaze toward Mr. Finnley for a moment, then whispered, “I got my dolly. Jesus gave it to me for my birthday.”

Hannah had prayed at church with the little girl months ago for this doll. Sophie knew prayer was the only way she would get so lovely a gift. And Hannah knew who her gift-angel was.

“Mama said you were sad, and we had to wait but I just cain’t wait anymore. They forgot to send her body!” Sophie’s voice trilled to a high pitch.

“May I see her?”

Sophie held it out to her. Hannah set it on her knees and unwrapped it. In the brown paper were two calf-length legs with shiny black boots, two elbow-length white arms and hands, and lastly she unwrapped the shiny white china head with glistening black hair. The face was delicately painted with red lips, rosy cheeks, and blue up-cast eyes.

“She doesn’t have no dress either. I don’t know why anybody would send a dolly missing so many parts. Don’t they know?” Sophie had evidently forgotten about Mr. Finnley’s presence and was talking freely now.

“I think I may have something to correct this over sight.” The girl had no way of knowing this was the way these dolls came. “If you will trust me with her, I’ll have her looking like she ought to in no time.”

“Oh, would you? And a dress too?” Sophie cooed.

“Sophie! Mind your manners. We can do that ourselves. It’s time you learned to sew.” Iona didn’t like charity but would extend her hand for help when it was for one of her children, and Iona’s sewing skills were minimal if she had time to sew at all.

Hannah gave Sophie a nod. “A dress too.”

Sophie lunged forward and threw her arms around Hannah’s neck. The china pieces clinked. Hannah spread one hand across the doll parts on her lap to protect them and thrust her other hand out behind her to keep herself from spilling onto the boardwalk. But a pair of strong hands on her upper back stopped her backward motion. Her cheeks warmed at so intimate a touch, but she was grateful for the support.

Iona pulled Sophie away. “You’ll knock her down, Sophie.”

Sophie frowned. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’m fine.” She regained her balance and as soon as she did the silent support at her back disappeared. “But you must be careful around your doll, Sophie, because she is very fragile and can break easily.”

Sophie nodded and picked up the china doll head, stroking it. “Doesn’t she have beautiful hair? I wish my hair was black and shiny. Just like hers.” She looked up. “And just like yours.” Sophie reached one dirty hand up and patted the top of Hannah’s head. Sophie’s dull, blonde hair hung stringy. Iona did the best she could, focusing on keeping enough food on the table for her hungry family and clothes on their backs.

Hannah wrapped the china pieces back up.

“I’ll come back tomorrow but not too early so you have time to get her dress made too,” Sophie said eagerly.

“Sophie, you will not come back tomorrow and bother Miss McConnell,” Iona said.

Hannah smiled and stood. Her legs hurt from the position she had been in. “I need more than one day if I’m going to make her a suitable body and proper dress. I’ll let you know on Sunday at church how she is coming along.”

Sophie drooped her head in disappointment but made no further protests.

Hannah turned to Sophie’s mother. “Iona, behind my shop needs some cleaning up. Would you send your boys around to take care of it for me?”

“I’ll send Seth and Foster right over.” Iona took Sophie’s hand. “We’ll be off then. No hurry on that doll. We understand you have your business to run. Don’t make any fuss over this doll. We’ll appreciate anything.” She turned. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Finnley.”

Sophie broke free of her mother’s hand and motioned Hannah closer. Hannah bent down, and Sophie whispered in her ear. “Is he your husband?”

Hannah smiled. “No.” She could feel her cheeks warm at the thought and was grateful the girl had not asked her question aloud.

Sophie’s face broke into a wide smile. “Good.” She skipped off ahead of her mother, her tangled locks bouncing on her back. Sophie was cute, but when she smiled, she was beautiful like an angel.

Mr. Finnley stepped forward. “Whatever her question, she liked your answer. I thought it best to stay quiet after scaring her.”

She hoped he would respect the girl’s whispered question and not ask what it was. “You didn’t scare her. She likes you.”

He gave her a nod of acceptance then said, “Mrs. Wilson is in a hard way. Maybe I could find some work for her boys as well.”

“That would be nice.” She breathed easier that the moment of Sophie’s question had passed. “They can use all the help they can get. It’s not easy being a widow with five children.”

After a brief silence, he cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to turn the conversation back to our original topic.”

Oh no, not Sophie’s question. It wasn’t so bad. She just knew it might create awkwardness between them, and they were getting on so well.

“The Coughlin’s. I take it you do not get on well with the family.”

She gave a quick nod. “You take it correctly.”

“I would be interested to hear more of your . . . views on the subject. Would it be too presumptuous of me to ask you to have dinner with me?”

Her insides fluttered at the request. “Tonight?”

“A nice place. What’s your favorite?”

His intent gaze made her forget what she meant to say. “The hotel on Hannah Street is the best in my opinion.”

“Is that because it is on a street that bares your name?”

She averted her gaze. “No. Bert and Naomi happen to be the best cooks around. Some people prefer the resort’s dining room though.”

He shook his head. “Let’s not go there. The hotel sounds fine.” He turned to face her fully. “It just makes me wonder how one gets a street named after one’s self.”

“My father founded Faithful. He named all the streets.”

“Sam McConnell.”

“Yes! You’ve heard of him?” She loved talking about her father.

“Of course. May I call for you at six?”

She wanted to say yes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Finnley, I have a previous engagement.”

“Please call me Gerrit. And I should have guessed with a lady as pretty as you.” His eyes twinkled. They were a warm brown unlike Duncan’s mysterious gray-blue eyes.

“Oh, it’s not that. I’m going over to Tiny’s for dinner.”

“Yes, Tiny. The deceptive name for a man the size of a grizzly bear.”

She smiled. “Tiny is a sweet old lady who comes no higher than my chin.” There was a miner who came to town who went by Tiny for a while but only one of them could keep the name and Mrs. Staples was the more tenacious of the two. Most people in town call the miner Bear now.

“I see. Maybe another time.” He opened her shop door to let her back inside.

She had a warm feeling inside after visiting with Mr. Finnley. The loneliness she felt after Duncan’s death was soothed a little.

She would have to convince Mr. Gerrit Finnley to remain in Faithful, if for no other reason than to have family close. Not that he was exactly family. Duncan had only been a close friend of both of her parents and was a substitute father to her. Gerrit Finnley was the closest thing she had to family. She smiled to herself. And quite handsome too.

Narnia, etc.

2009-01-28T09:54:00.000-08:00

I finally finished reading the Chronicles of Narnia. I had read The Lion, the Witch, and the wardrobe years ago, and even had it in mind to read them to my children when I was home-schooling them in the last millennium. Now two are out of high school and the third doesn’t have far to go. So that didn’t quite work out the way I wanted it to. And now there are fantastic movies of two of them. I’m looking forward to the other movies coming out.

So I committed to “reading” all the books. You may wonder why reading is in quotation marks. Well, like a lot of people, I find it hard to find time to read. There is so much that needs to be done in keeping the house clean, well, cleanish, and children, and husband, and writing, and crafts, and book club, and church, and volunteering, and life. It is really hard to fit in an activity like reading.

I love to read. It was not always so. I am dyslexic and reading was always a chore that literally gave me a headache. I was a slow reader and comprehension didn’t come easy. So I didn’t read if I didn’t have to. Then the world of reading opened up to me. And now I love reading and I love books. Which is a good thing since I’m a writer.

Anyway, with such a busy life finding time to read is challenging and some times quite difficult with people and phones interrupting. I checked out a “book” from the library that our book club was reading for the next month. Did you catch the quotes around book? I checked out the book on CD. I popped the first CD into the player in my car and listened to it as a drove to and from and across town during the week. I found that all that wasted time I spend driving in the car is now put to good use. I don’t feel that driving is a waste of time anymore and being stuck in traffic is a good thing. Instead of being mad that I’m only going 10 on the highway, I think, I’ll get to hear more of this book. I can pop a CD in my player at home while I clean or sew.

Don’t get me wrong, I still love to read real books that I hold in my hands, but this way I get to enjoy so many more books. I encourage you to checkout books on CD.

So back to Narnia. I decided that I wanted to read all the books before all the movies came out and it made reading them a moot point. Well, I just finished The Last Battle. What a satisfying ending to the series. I enjoyed each of the books, but I’d have to say that The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and The Last Battle were my two favorites. One because it was the first glimpse into the world of Narnia. The first of anything is usually the best. And then The Last Battle had such a satisfying ending. I don’t want to say too much as I don’t want to spoil it for anyone, who was like me and hadn’t read them all yet.

If you have not read all the Narnia books, go back and read them. You are never too old to enjoy a good book. And pick up a book on CD and listen to it in your car or while you are working around the house.

Shortcomings or Weaknesses

2009-01-26T07:49:00.000-08:00

So here is my point to ponder:

When do you know that something in your life is a shortcoming that you can't do anything about and accept it? Or is it a weakness you need to work on to strengthen it?

I bought this Inspirational Thoughts book Grace for the Moment Vol. II by Max Lucado. There is one for each day of the year. I love reading Max’s books. The Lord really speaks to me through his writing.

So the inspirational thought for January 1st is titled “Packed for a Purpose.” It starts out this way, “You were born prepacked. God looked at your entire life, determined your assignment, and gave you the tools to do the job.”

I believe this wholeheartedly. God knew everything tool I would need for the job he set before me. So how do I know if the tool I’m looking for is even in my toolbox? I look for a tool I’m sure is there but no matter how hard I look I can’t find it. Other times, I’m sure that the tool isn’t there and I don’t bother to look, then if I had only opened the toolbox I would have found it right on top.

If I don’t have a tool in my toolbox, I can accept that. I am dyslexic and embrace it with loving arms. I didn’t know I was dyslexic until my oldest was in third grade and I had him tested. As I read books on dyslexia, it was like looking in a mirror. I was learning so much about myself. Until then, I just thought I was stupid. So though I am dyslexic, which comes with a boatload of shortcomings, I can accept it. I have found that I have been equipped with other tools to help me compensate. If you ask me just what those tools are, I couldn’t really tell you. You see, I can’t see into your toolbox to know how my tools differ from yours, I just know they do.

The Inspirational thought ends with this line, “God packed you on purpose for a purpose.”

God did NOT make a mistake when He knit me together in my mother’s womb nor did He with you.

I need to figure out what things are shortcomings and accept them and not dwell on not being able to do some things, like carry a tune. And I need to recognize my weaknesses, hold onto them and grow stronger for them and strengthen them.

I am weak but He is strong.

I have a purpose; shortcomings, weaknesses, and all. :-D

Faithful, ch. 1

2009-01-23T07:46:00.000-08:00

[I had a few formatting problems. I figured out some but couldn't get the italics to work. So as you read, when you see ~~ it starts the italics and ~~ ends them. Happy Reading!]

1880

Nine-year-old Hannah McConnell stepped one hesitant foot across the threshold of the Faithful mine. “Father?” she called again.

She strained her ears. Not a sound. She took another step, taking her out of the sunshine and into the cold shadows. Father strictly forbade her to set one foot inside the mine. And here she had two. Her stomach knotted. Father would punish her for sure.

~~The mine is too dangerous a place for a little girl.~~ He had told her over and over to never ever play in this mine or any other.

She should go back but moved forward instead. “Father?” Mother would be upset if she didn’t accomplish this simple task. Supper would be cold. She had to find Father. He didn’t like cold supper.

~~The mine is too dangerous a place.~~

Was Father safe? He must be. The mine wasn’t too dangerous for him. Father would come out. He was simply too deep in to hear her. She hollered as loud as she could. “Father! Supper!”

~~“Father. Supper.”~~ Her words called back at her.

With each tentative step the darkness grew, squeezing out the light from the opening. She reached her hand out and moved along the wall from cold, rough rock past a course, raw support beam on deeper. The dust in the air tickled her nose.

~~The mine is too dangerous.~~

She believed it now. She should go back out to her waiting rock at the entrance.

“Father?” What if he had left before she got here and was at home? Surrounded in blackness, fear crawled up her back. She turned to leave and tripped, crunching down on the rocky ground. Her knees cried out in pain, but she did not. Father always told her to be brave. Tears stung her eyes as she stood and brushed dirt from her skirt. She found the wall again and moved along it as quickly as she could. She had too get out. The mine really was dangerous.

“Father!” Father would know the way out. He would save her. Was that a dim light ahead? “Father!” she yelled, but no reply came. And no light. Where had it gone? Had it ever been there? Her feet twisted on the rocks on the ground beneath her as she hurried. She tripped again but held herself up by pressing into the cold rock wall.

“Father! Help me, Father!” She moved faster along the wall and stumbled into a pile of rocks. The tunnel’s end. Father wasn’t here. The mine had swallowed her up. She didn’t know which way to go.

~~The mine is dangerous.~~

She wrapped her arms around her throbbing knees and cried. ~~Jesus, help Father find me.~~

She shivered in the cold, dusty air. Father would come. He would find her. Between whimpers she heard something and raised her head.

“Hannah!”

“Father, I’m here!” A light glow appeared around a gentle bend in the tunnel and grew stronger. But it wasn’t Father who brought the light.

Duncan Finnley, Father’s best friend, knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”

Hannah nodded. “Father’s going to be really mad at me.”

Duncan held the lantern higher, looking at the rock pile she’d fallen into, then he turned back to her. “Let’s get you out of here.” He handed her the lantern and scooped her up into his arms. No one was stronger than Duncan...except Father.

The air cleared some as they reached the opening.

Mother rushed up to her. “Thank the Lord!”

Duncan set her on her waiting rock. The one Father had moved near the entrance for her to sit on and wait for him. But where was Father?

Mother put a warm hand on each of Hannah’s cold cheeks and looked her over. “Are you all right?”

She nodded.

You know you are never to go in the mine.” Mother’s eyes filled with tears.

She nodded again. “I tried to find Father. He wasn’t there.”

Mother’s expression changed and lengthened. She looked up at Duncan.

His eyes looked sad. “The mine doesn’t go back as far as it should.”

Novella

2009-01-23T07:44:00.001-08:00

As promised, I’m going to try something different on Fridays. I’m going to post chapters of a novella I wrote years ago. I’m editing it as I go so that you can read a chapter each week. I have broken it into single scene chapters. The story is called Faithful, a historical romance set in North Central Colorado in 1892. Here is a teaser to get you started, then I’ll make a new post with the first chapter in it.

“And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” John 8:32

Hannah McConnell’s father founded Faithful, CO but didn’t live long enough to realize his dream of building a mountain resort. When the Coughlins from back east buy up the land and steal her father’s dream by building the resort he had planned, Hannah wants nothing to do with any Coughlin. Shortly after the resort is completed, Hannah’s mother’s failing health finally gives in, and Hannah blames the completion of the resort and the Coughlins for her mother’s death.

Gerrit Finnley Coughlin recently inherited his uncle’s bookstore but has no intentions of staying in the Rocky Mountains. He comes to town with plans to sell the bookstore and head back home in the east until...he meets Hannah. Hannah has made it clear she hates any Coughlin and thinks Gerrit is only a Finnley. She doesn’t realize he is not only a Coughlin but the son of the Mr. Coughlin who stole and built her father’s dream. Gerrit doesn’t want to shatter his budding friendship with Hannah, so he doesn’t correct her misconception. Gerrit is intrigued by this outspoken young woman, but knows the moment he tells her he is a Coughlin, she won’t just slip away from him but will run away. Gerrit hopes to change her mind about Coughlins before he tells her his full name.

Happy Reading!

Mom, Kittens, & ???

2009-01-21T13:22:00.001-08:00

I’m a little late on this today, but I still made it. I dropped my mom off at the airport this morning. She had been at my house since Dec. 16th. I was sorry she had to go but I was glad that she was heading to my brother’s house for a month. A year ago, my step-dad, who has been my dad since I was five, was in the hospital and then passed away in February. It was quite a blow to me. I struggled for quite some time. So my mom’s visit was to help her over the one-year anniversary of his hospitalization and his passing.
It was good to see her laughing and having a good time. I know that in the back of her mind she was always thinking of Dad and wishing he were here. I know I was. I miss Dad. Still can’t believe he is gone.

On another note, I wanted to let anyone who was curious about the kittens we rescued in May know how they are doing and what became of them.
Snym the all white kitten was adopted by my oldest son. He is 9.5 months old and is as big as a full-grown cat. We believe he is a white Siamese.
Serena, the mom, was adopted out through Dreampower. She was a real sweetie and I miss her.
Tilly, the tri-color calico, was also adopted out through Dreampower. My daughter really misses her.
Rolff, the long-haired white and dark gray, went to PetSmart for a week with Tilly so people could see them and adopt them. I picked them up after a week and we think Rolff was too scared to eat the whole time he was there. Tilly was thin, but Rolff was a little bag of bones. We were afraid that when we held him that he would break. He was so weak he couldn’t eat, so we bottle fed him a couple of days to get his strength back. After that, we couldn’t adopt him out so we let our daughter keep him. He still has a problem with food, but now it is that he eats all the time. He is huge. He is long and wide with a cute little kitten head. He has a thick, very fluffy tail. He trills, squeaks, and talks to us all the time. He is a love!

One last thing, tune in on Friday. I’m hoping to have something special on Fridays that will be ongoing for a few months.

Goals for 2009

2009-01-19T04:03:00.000-08:00

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!
I figure it is still January, so it's still okay to wish you all a happy new year.
As this new year begins, I have asked the members of my local ACFW chapter to write down their writing goals for the year so I can pray for them throughout the year. I did this last year and enjoyed being able to pray for them.
I asked them to write out three or more writing goals. They needed to be realistic for them, measurable, and within their control. Here are some examples:
Don’t say, “I’m going to get an agent this year,” because you have no control over this. Rather say, “I’m going to send out one proposal a month until I get an agent.” You have control over how many proposals you send out but not if an agent accepts you.
Don’t say, “I’m going to write one book a month this year,” when you haven’t been able to finish one in your lifetime.
Rather say, “I’m going to complete one book this year.” If you complete twelve, great! It is fine to exceed your goals.
Don’t say, “I’m going to write more this year,” because how do you define more? More than what? How much did you write last year?
Rather say, “I’m going to write one page a day or a thousand words a week.” You can measure that.
Other goals you might want to think about putting on your goal list would be to read a certain number of books on the craft of writing, or going to a writer’s conference, or getting into a critique group, or starting one, start a Web site or blog. Stretch yourself.
And if you are not a writer, set other goals for yourself like reading books, or gardening, or volunteering, but do set some goals.
One of my goals for this year is to blog two to three times a week. That will be a stretch for me. I’m hoping once I get in the habit of it, it will come easier.
“Reach for the stars. You may not get there but you will soar higher than if you had never reached at all.”
If you have no goals, any road will get you there. (Or rather nowhere.)
So I challenge you, set some long term and shorter-term goals for the year then focus on meeting them. Even if you don’t reach them all, you will get closer than if you never reached at all.

KITTENS!!!!!!!!!!

2008-06-02T11:28:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday May 27th I went over to a friend’s house and came home with four kittens. One was the mommy. We think the mommy is still a kitten herself, maybe 9-10 months old.

So when I arrived at my friend’s house, she made an offhand, not even serious, remark, “You want a kitten.” Then she took me out to a scrap-wood pile and there was mommy and three kittens. All scared of people. They were living in the woodpile and all very skittish.

Part way through my visit, I went back out to peek at the kitties from a distance. The babies all ran and hid in the safety of the woodpile. I squatted down and held out my hand to the mommy, talked softly, and called, “Here, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty.” She came forward hissing, growling, and pacing. Eventually, she rubbed on my hand and I petted her and picked her up. I even got her to purr very, very, very, very, very softly. I knew then that she was not a truly wild cat and had been with people early on in her life.

I couldn’t stand the thought of them going to the Humane Society where they might be put to sleep, so I offered to take them and find them homes. We put mommy in an animal crate. Now for the hard part, getting the skittish hiding kittens.

My husband and oldest son arrived and carefully disassembled the scrap-wood pile until we could reach in and quickly grab whatever part of a baby we could before they scurried off to another hole in the pile. We got all three babies without injury to kittens or humans.

We did have a slight scare with a startled squirrel who was also hiding in the woodpile and felt trapped with all of us around him. We gave him an escape route, which he gladly took and ran away.

Mommy and babies are doing fine and are so adorably cute!

We named the mommy Serena. She is a good mommy and an absolute love. She purrs when you just look at her. She loves to be scratched and petted. She talks to her babies in meows and trills.

The dark grey and white one is a boy we named Rolff. He is a pistol and loves to play, even when the other two are sleeping. He’s very adventurous and loves to explore.

The tricolor calico is a girl we named Tilly. She is so sweet and cuddly. She’s just this little round fur-ball.

The all white one is a boy we named Snyme. Don’t ask about the name. My oldest son, who helped rescue them, named him and is going to keep him.

They are all a bit skittish with noises and movement. Mommy trained the babies to be quiet and hide. They are good at that. We are going to adopt them out through Dreampower Animal Rescue where they will be fixed and find good homes.

I wish I could keep them all, but I already have three cats, a dog, and three Guinea pigs. Serena, the mommy, will be the hardest to give up. But I feel good about rescuing them and knowing they will get good homes.

One other note not related to the kittens, if some of you are wondering what happened to me for a month, I was on a sudden sabbatical. I wasn’t able to blog at the time. Hopefully I’m back for good.

Thanks for reading.

Point of View (POV)

2008-04-24T12:33:00.000-07:00

A lot of new writers have trouble with POV. Figuring out just what it is and how to use it well. It is a hard thing to grasp. If you are like me, you’ve read books with head-hopping. (Head-hopping is when you are in one character’s head/POV then the next paragraph you are in another character’s head/POV and then back again.) I often hear, “What’s the big deal if it is a good story? I can follow it and enjoy the story.” And this is true. The story can be fine, BUT . . .

You are missing out on a great opportunity. When you hop from head to head, the reader doesn’t get a chance to emotionally connect with the character. BUT when you climb inside one character’s head and play a scene through from just that one POV, the reader gets to know that character and the reader’s emotions built with the character’s. You will have the reader trying to talk the character out of a bad decision. “No! Don’t open that door!”

When you head-hop the reader doesn’t get to lose herself in the story, forgetting she is sitting on her couch. One of the reasons we read fiction is to escape. One of the reasons we write fiction is to help readers grow closer to God. When you can connect with a reader emotionally through a character, you can help that reader learn and grow in a relatively painless way. Strong emotions help us change.

I had several fans write me about my first book, Newlywed Games, and how it convicted them about their own lying or half-truths. We all know that lying is wrong. It’s a commandment in the Bible. But when the lie helps someone else or our self and it isn’t really hurting anyone, what’s the big deal? We get numb to lies. People can tell us over and over not to lie to no avail, but when we get emotionally attached to a character and hurt with them, it changes us, the reader.

So when we can do all we can to get the reader to emotionally attach to the character, God can use that to change that person, to know Him better, and to draw closer to the Lord.

Head-hopping is only one POV problem. A distant POV is another. This is when you describe a scene or play out a scene as viewed but you the writer. It’s all surface stuff. You need to crawl inside the character’s skin and become them and show what they are feeling and thinking, and have them interact with the environment. A character must think, speak, feel, and act. The character must behave how the character would behave.

I have read numerous samples where an adult child (the POV character) thinks of their own parent by their first name. Unless it is a dysfunctional family, most people think of their parents as Mom and Dad or a variation of those. So when a character thinks of their parents by their first name or even worse as Mr. or Mrs., I am no longer attached to that character. Now if the family is really dysfunctional, then they might call a parent by a formal or first name, but you have to show that.

Think of POV as like looking through a camera lens. You can only see, feel, touch, hear, smell, taste, and think what your POV character does. Think about real life. In real life YOU are the POV character. You can only see, feel, touch, hear, smell, taste, and think what you can experience. The same is true for your characters. But your POV character can make assumptions as to what another character is thinking or feeling. If you want the reader to know what the other character IS thinking, you can have your POV character guess correctly. But you can also throw the reader off by having the POV character guess wrong. You can also let the reader know what the other character was thinking by making the next scene from that character's POV and have him/her reflect on what happened in the previous scene.

Also facial expressions can give away what someone might be thinking. In a movie, a character looks sincere and you are convinced they are a good person, but then when the other character isn’t looking, the camera shows the character’s expression change from sincere to wicked. And we, the audience, knows the truth, and we yell at the screen for the other character to “Lookout!”

So crawl inside one of your characters, I mean really get inside their head. Close your eyes and think about that character and what makes them tick. What were they doing before this scene began. What are their hopes and dreams? What do they want? Then read that character’s scene as though you are them. Be and actress/actor. Make sure everything in that scene is wholly from that character.

Technology Hates Me

2008-04-22T08:02:00.000-07:00

It’s true. Ask my family.

I was going to be a really good girl and get my blog posted yesterday on schedule, but the Internet, or the server, or the wireless thingy in the house was against me. They were probably all in cahoots with each other.

“Snicker, snicker. How can we mess her up today?”

Through the years, electronic devices will some times not work for me. They are working fine all week then suddenly they won’t turn on when I press the button. I try several times. I tell my husband that such and such is broken. He presses the button to try it and it works. This has happened numerous times.

The worst offender is my husband’s car and remote. It doesn’t like me. I’m sure of it. Things won’t work, fuses blow, and the remote won’t work. It’s true.

I was out with my daughter in my husband’s car. She was still a little skeptical about me and the car. She informed me that her dad waited a few seconds after closing the door before pressing the button to lock and alarm the car. I waited a few seconds and asked her if that was long enough. She nodded. I pointed and pushed the button. Nothing. I pressed again. Nothing.

She just stared at the car like it had betrayed her. I pressed the button again and again. I held it high in the air, twisted it this way and that. I finally had to lock it with the key, which meant it wasn’t alarmed, but I get to the point that I don’t care.

The car remote would work for me about one out of twenty times. For my husband, it works every time. EVERY TIME! The remote works for all three of my children. It’s me and only me it discriminates against. A girl can’t help but get a complex.

We have a running joke that when we go to watch a movie at home, that I shouldn’t touch the equipment if we really want to watch something. It doesn’t happen all the time, but from time to time things decide not to work for me. And I never know when that will be.

So that is why I am late with my post on week two. Electronics don’t’ like me. That is my story and I’m sticking to it. ;-P

Writer's Block

2008-04-17T06:28:00.000-07:00

I thought by the time Thursday rolled around I’d know just the right writing topic to blog about. Well, my brain is a little low this morning.

I hear those snickers and giggles.

I think everyone of us has been at a point when they are at a loss for words for one reason or another. We like to refer to this as Writer’s Block. Mine often comes in the form of black fur, four legs, and purrs. She crawls on my lap and if I don’t give her enough attention, she will try to lay across one or both of my arms. If that doesn’t work, she stretches her paws across the keyboard, usually holding down the space bar or highlighting everything. It makes writing interesting.

What most people think of as Writer’s Block is when we don’t know what to write or what comes next in our story. If you are a serious plotter, then the second one probably never happens to you. Some times Writer’s Block happens because our brain is stuck in a rut and we need to blast it out of there and get on a new road, or at least a freshly paved one. Here are a couple of Writer’s Block sticks of TNT.

Idea #1: Free Writing – This sounds simple, but some times it is just what you need to unlock your creativity. Take a word, topic, or phrase and write for ten minutes on it without stopping to correct or edit. Let your mind take you wherever. There is no wrong writing in this exercise. You don’t even have to stay on topic. Maybe you start with the word pencil and end up on a snowy mountaintop. You can just write about that thing or incorporate it into a mini scene where that object is used.

You can get Free Writing words and topics in a variety of places. There are books on story starters, creativity, and such to help get you going. You can also create your own story jar. You take small household objects that will fit in a jar and save them. Items like a stubby pencil, broken crayon, paper clip, lip stick tube, key chain, key, small toys, bouncy ball, piece of duct tape, ribbon, a ring, bottle cap, etc. My jar is about 6 inches tall and about 3+ inches wide. When you want something to Free Write about, you take something out of the jar and start writing. Don’t think. Don’t plan. Just write.

Idea #2: People Watching – Go to the mall and watch people. Pick a person out and make up a story, history, or background for them. Let your mind go free.

Idea #3: Story Blocks – This is when you come to a point in your work-in-progress (wip), and don’t know where to go or how to get your character out of the corner they have gotten themselves into. Brainstorming with others is usually a good solution, but we don’t always have someone we can brainstorm with or we don’t want to bother them as often as we might need them. I have found it helpful to put my mind to work on the problem as I lay down to sleep. I mull it over and run through several scenarios and usually the solution will come to me before I fall asleep or my subconscious works on it while I sleep.

What do you do to blast through your Writer’s Block?

Diving In

2008-04-14T09:18:00.000-07:00

I have jumped into this pool of blogging, and I know there are those of you who know me who are thinking, “It’s about time!” Well now that I’m here, I need to get swimming. I will be starting out slowly with treading water and a dog paddle now and then.

I plan to blog on Mondays and Thursdays. Monday Madness will be anything that strikes my fancy from serious to funny. Thursday I will get down to business and blog on something writing related.

I musts confess that this blogging world scares me, because I am not tech-savvy. I used to think I was dumb because this internet and computer stuff just isn’t logical to me. I know a lot of you are thinking, “What’s her problem? It’s not that hard.” And I would agree with you, but it is hard for me.

But I had a “Tiffany-epiphany” and realized that I am not dumb when it comes to computer things. Computers are designed for normal thinking people. And let’s face it, when have I ever been normal? I have a learning disability, dyslexia. Dyslexia is a processing error in the brain, so my brain does not process this computer stuff (and other stuff) like the rest of you. Now if they would only design a dyslexic computer, I’d be all set. And it would have a spell checker with all the words misspelled by dyslexics and poor spellers so the stupid tool can figure out what I’m trying to spell.

Maybe sometime I’ll blog on creative spelling. ☺

This is enough dog paddling for one day. I think it’s time to climb into the Jacuzzi. (Not that I have a real Jacuzzi, that is a metaphorical Jacuzzi, but I am an author and have a good imagination.) I can feel the warmth now.

New Beginnings

2008-04-03T13:19:00.000-07:00

Technology -- a scary thing.

Technology scares me. It is this new and invisible thing. I'm a visual person, so it is hard to wrap my head around something I can't see. I know cyber space is out there, but it's not a tangible thing I can touch. So I must question if it is real. Logically it makes sense, but I have no clue how it works. And I think it is best if we keep it that way.

I'm not anti-technology, it just has a tendency not to work right for me. But I decided it was time to dive in head first and hope that my seat cushion will sustain me as a floatation device.

With the help and encouragement of a few friends, I have been navagating these technology waters.

See you in cyber space!