Friday, May 28, 2010

Hairy school performance

Almost all of the two hundred chairs were filled. Last night was Family Night for my 3&4 year old classes, and they did so well at their Spring Sing. I checked myself in the mirror before going on. No food in my teeth, my hair was reasonably styled even if that one monkey-ear kept poking out like a prairie dog from its hole. No slip showing, necklace laying straight. Ready! Set! Action! The palm recorders were rolling.

Oh yes, a few kids fidgeted, one little girl played with the blue velvet curtain on stage, a boy bounced like Tigger, two had to leave to go potty, and one girl cried and held her ear, so I dismissed her. Ear ache or panic, in either case, she wasn't going to perform.
Each child spoke into the microphone and introduced him/herself. My little boy with a developmental condition held the mic a bit too long and belted out an impromptu song instead of his name, which brought the house down.

The kids did very well. They sang, recited poems and fingerplays, came up with creative responses about how to get a dinosaur through a door that was too small, and they walked across the balance beam.

As my coworker readied the stage with props for The Three Brown Bears, I saw it. I was mortified. It was nothing like the holiday performance when a little boy lost his pants when he was jumping up and down. It was far worse.

I need reading glasses. They are magnifiers to the 'umpth degree'. I don't know why I didn't remove them when I was finished reading. But if you've been following my blog lately, you know that I'm slipping a bit. If only my glasses had slipped off my nose. I gazed down at my feet, at my open-toed shoes. I looked out into the audience to see if anyone else had seen what I had just seen. Nobody was watching me, no camera lenses or fingers pointed at me, as I imagined. There on my big toes were four wild black hairs sproinging every which way! I had nipped the ones on my lip and clipped that stray thing that grows out of my nose like a weed after a rainy day. But on my TOES! I'd never seen that before, and I shave my legs everyday.

I stood like an embarrassed child shuffling her feet, trying to retract those turtle head toes back into my patent leathers.

Every young girl gets the 'talk' before puberty about womanhood, but nobody explains the crop of wild hairs that take residence once you pass GO. Have I had these fuzzy toes all this while? Were you all too polite to point it out? My razor has been put to the test. Ladies don't just look in the mirror, look down.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Dad's Night at St. Stephen Preschool

As long as I'm on a roll and beginning to look like a jelly roll, I guess I'll have peach crepes for breakfast with a steaming cup of weak coffee. Then it's off to school for a few parent-teacher conferences.

Last night was Dad's Night at school. The kids were so excited at being the "boss" for the evening. I had to separate a couple of dad buddies who thought they were there to swap stats instead of stir the pot with their daughters in the housekeeping area. The children and fathers interacted for about 45 minutes doing "math their way", phonics and letter matching, playing tic-tac-turtle and participating in many other fun activities.

The storm hovered on top of us and dumped it's load, so we were restricted to indoor activities. Normally we go outdoors and the dads stand around the circumference of a large parachute and raise each child, seated on a pillow, high into the air. You can't imagine the kid giggles and daddy laughter. But last night I had to wing it. So I pulled out two large stuffed caterpillar toys, shoved the furniture back and announced that the kids would still get the ride of their lives, only this year it would be like going to the races, caterpillar, not horse races. The kids competed, scooted across the floor as the dad's cheered and rooted them on. Then the kids sang songs, recited rhymes and fingerplays and read simple words that they had learned. Overall it was a nice evening, despite the storm. The moment our program concluded, the clouds cleared out and a giant rainbow filled the sky. I rewarded myself with a strawberry shortcake ice cream from Ted Drewes, a favorite and famous ice cream stand.

The highlight of my day though, was in the morning when we went out to recess and a "good-bye" butterfly landed on one of mystudents whose last day was yesterday instead of June 22nd. The butterfly actually climbed on my finger and the kids got to see it stretch its long tongue out and seek moisture from my skin. It was an awesome day: rainbows, butterflies, kids, ice cream. Hope you have a wonderful day too. Tonight is family night and my three/four year olds will be performing the Three Brown Bears and singing etc. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Remember... if you can

So, I'm wondering if it was the heat, over 90 degrees, the humidity, or just being a writer? I hope it's not the beginning of the big A. At the family reunion, it was so hot you could bake cupcakes in the sun. I grabbed a name tag for myself and wrote BILL. Luckily, I caught it before I plastered my husband's name four inches high across my chest. But not before my cousin, Donna, told me I was losing it.

The humidity was so bad, we were ringing wet, and perhaps I was a bit dehydrated. Yeah, that's it. I had forgotten to take my morning vitamins, so that evening when we got home, I pulled the fish oil bottle out of the cupboard and started singing a song from the
'6os, "Three, six, nine, the goose drank wine, the monkey chewed tobacco on the street car line. The line broke, the monkey got choked, and they all went to heaven in a little row boat."

Where did that come from! I noted this morning that the numbers 3,6, 9 are printed prominently on the bottle right after the word Omega, thank goodness.

Then I went to the basement, and the flourescent light bulb hanging over the washer blew, and I swear, for a split second, I thought I was being flashed by one of those red light cameras. Writer's mind, right? I need some reassurance here.

This morning I am starting my day off with 16 ounces of water, hydrating this brain. Might even eat a banana. If I could remember what else it is that helps you remember, I'd take that too.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Family Reunion

This is a view of the park lake where our family reunion was held today in St. Peters, MO. I am so inspired by water. The turtles and minnows came to the surface when people walked by. They are used to being fed by visitors. Although the temperature climbed to ninety degrees, there was a constant breeze, yummy food, and generations of family on my mother's side. I was proud to introduce my husband, brother, children their spouses, partners and my grandchildren. It was fun to see aunts, uncles, cousins and their children.

Yes, I overate, had a blast with the grandkids, enjoyed talking to my cousins and felt nostalgic and sad missing my mom and looking at my aunts who are getting up in years. It makes me realize, that one day in the not too distant future, my immediate cousins and I will be the oldest generation, but as long as I am in good health and young at heart, I'll accept that position with honor - a changing of the guard, so to speak.

Our common physical traits ranged from that one crooked tooth on the left, to poker straight thick hair (in every shade). We all have a good sense of humor, a positive attitude and faith. My first Sunday School teacher was even present. I reminded her of the potted pansy flowers she gave me every Easter when I was a little girl.

Watching my overheated red-cheeked, two year old grandbaby frolic with her cousins twice removed took me back to the days when I was her age playing with my cousins at our grandmother's.

Time does march on. I am so nostalgic and joyful and thankful this evening. I am blessed!

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Link to my essay, Sanity Saver

View my essay, Sanity Saver, here. Please leave a comment at and thank you all for reading my work.

Woo-hoo! I am dancing on my chair! I received an acceptance from, (MORE Magazine Online) for my essay, Sanity Saver. My hubby and I have both been driving ourselves crazy trying to figure out how to add a link on this site. Several kind folks have given me specific directions, and I have read the bolgspot tutorial, but we apparently aren't doing something right. We'll keep trying, though. I need people to comment on my essay, so as soon as I figure this out, I would appreciate it if you would write a note. Thank you.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Joanna Campbell Slann

This evening I attended a St. Louis Writer's Guild event; the guest speaker's series was held at Barnes and Noble, Ladue. The featured author, Joanna Campbell Slann, a dynamic motivational speaker, shared her success story as well as the struggles of becoming a published author. She was a wealth of information. The thing she said that resonated with me was, to paraphrase, "If you talk about writing or whine about writing, then move out of my way, because I will step right in and do the writing." That's really the key. You can't get published if you don't write. Being a writer requires discipline and commitment; it is hard work and it requires an ivestment of time and effort. You have to find a balance, know when to take a rest, a respite, but you can't be a slacker and call yourself a writer if all you do is talk about writing or let a rejection stop you in your tracks.

Joanna has written numerous books and coincidentally, she and I have been published in some of the same Chicken Soup for the Soul Books. One of these days I will have my name plastered across the front cover of a book, and not just to promote an anthology. If you have talent and determination and faith in yourself, just think, our books could possibly be spooning in bookstores nationwide someday. Write on.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

I meet the strangest people

I am a freak magnet. Everywhere I go, they find me. I was at the book store perusing writing magazines. There was a heavy breathing, balding, pale, thin man about 65 sitting next to me reading Popular Mechanics. I knew better than to look up. I remember in college; the
psychology professor said when you make eye contact with someone for over three seconds they interpret it as you are showing an interest. I should have kept my nose in the book. This man stood in front of me and said, "Did you ever try this?"

I thought he meant talking to strangers. I smiled. Another wrong move on my part. He showed me a picture of a person parchuting.

"No, heights bother me (like you are)."

Then he poked the book under my nose and said, "What do you think about this? They put webs between your legs and under your arms and you soar off a cliff, fly like a bird."

"Not for me." I said and tried my best to ignore him.

"Well look at this." It was a person wearing a rocket suit. "It isn't ever going to happen for me unless I win the lottery, these suits cost $100,000. Twenty years ago they said we'd be strapping rocket packs to our backs and flying to work. It hasn't happened, has it! But this! I could do this. It would be so much easier to rocket through the sky for 12 minutes than to drive the twenty minutes it takes me to get to work."

I figured if he couldn't do the math calculations, he'd never be able to spend his lottery winnings, and if he did zoom for twelve minutes through the sky in a rocket suit, he'd overshoot his work by miles! So, I politely stood up, and flew out of there.

Monday, May 17, 2010

My response to a safety awareness email

I received an email titled 10 TIPS FOR WOMEN ON HOW TO AVOID BEING ABDUCTED IN BROAD DAYLIGHT. This is my response to that bunch of hooey.

TIP #1 Don’t sit in your car balancing your check book.
Well now, that would indicate that I had a balance in my check book. No worry there!

TIP #2 Don’t park next to a van or SUV.
Hellooo. Every soccer mom out there drives one. Just where SHOULD I park when I run into Wal-Mart, next to Billy Bob’s pickup displaying a shotgun in the rear window?

TIP #3 Don’t open the door if you hear a baby crying outside.
Not a chance I’ll open the door. I’m not taking in any more strays; I’ve had my share of wailing kittens, puppies and babies.

TIP # 4 Your elbow is the strongest part of the body, use it!
Don’t know about your elbow, but mine has a crazy bone that makes my whole arm go numb when I bump it. What kind of weapon would my floppy arm be?

TIP #5 If someone demands your wallet, don’t hand it to them, throw it.
Yeah, uh huh, with the bursitis in my shoulder I can’t even pitch my underwear into the hamper a foot from the tub.

TIP #6 If a person puts a gun to your head and tells you to get in and drive, accelerate; smash into an object. This will deploy your air bags.Okaayy? So the airbag will cradle my bloody head after the impact causes the criminal’s index finger to depress the trigger?

TIP #7 If someone puts you into the trunk of the car,
PUTS ME? Come on, not many criminals could lift this hunk of chunky butt into the trunk without drawing attention to one of us groaning loudly.

TIP #8 If you are locked in a trunk, kick out the tail light and wave frantically.
Sure! You think my flailing arm will actually draw more attention than the idiots who drive around with fake arms and tiger tails hanging out of their trunks every Mizzou game weekend?

TIP #9 Beware of men playing on your sympathy. They might ask for help or drop something and ask you to retrieve it.So what’s new? Every woman knows how helpless men are. We’ve been picking up after them for decades, and now we should refuse to help Pops on a cane?

TIP #10 If someone actually pulls a gun and orders you into the car, RUN in a zig-zag pattern. Odds of being hit are 4 in100 and the bullet is unlikely to hit a vital organ.Oh right! Even the thought of moving in a zig-zag pattern makes my vertigo kick in. Besides if my odds of winning at the casino lately are any indication, my chances of survival are pretty slim no matter which choice I make.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Don't bug me when I'm writing

Linda O’Connell
Published in Long Story Short, 1/08

Don’t Bug Me When I’m Writing!

Don’t bug me when I’m writing
or I might snap off your head.
Don’t tell me that you’re thirsty,
hungry, tired, or ready for the bed.

Don’t call me on the telephone
or I might yank out the line.
Cause when I’m busy writing
I don’t want to hear you whine.

Don’t come knocking gently
if the office door is shut.
It breaks my concentration
And I want to kick your butt.

Don’t talk when I am writing;
it makes the voices merge.
The ones inside my head I need.
It’s yours I want to purge.

Don’t bring me mail to open
if the envelope’s folded twice.
It’s just my SASE returning
And the things I’ll say aren’t nice.

Don’t turn that TV volume up.
It messes with my head.
I end up typing dialogue
that Schwarzenneger said.

Don’t bug me when I’m writing
unless you hear me shout
“Honey, can you come in here?
I can’t get this paper out.”

With a heartfelt thanks and much love, I dedicate this to my husband, Bill, who always knows what to do when the computer/printer malfunctions.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Patchwork Path: Wedding Bouquet (my story)

Check out

My story, The Pigs Took The Cake is included in the 190 page anthology, Patchwork Path: Wedding Bouquet, published by Choice Publishing Group, LLC.
ISBN: 978-0-0916643-6-1
Cost: $15.95. An eBook is available for $9.95

This would make an ideal gift for engaged couples or newlyweds. Consider purchasing Patchwork Path: Wedding Bouquet for a bride, a friend or yourself.

Imagine standing at the altar repeating vows with another couple (best friends) and this is how it went:
Sheila: "I do."
Bruce: "I do."
Bill: "I do."
Linda: "I do. I DO NOT BELIEVE IT!" as the pigs ...

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

I'll never be a biker babe

I was stopped at the traffic light at Grant’s Trail. I saw a young family engaging in a healthy activity. Mom and dad sandwiched twin bike-riding munchkins. All wore helmets; the five year olds teetered on training wheels. The dad was panting and red in the face, the little boys were royally flushed and complaining; the big bottomed mom’s face was beet red, and I could see that she was questioning her sanity as to why she’d thought it was a good idea to hit the asphalt with beginners and bellyachers and a husband who couldn’t hustle across the cross walk.

I cringed thinking that I should be getting some exercise too. So, I dashed home, searched five rooms, my purse, the junk drawer, the silverware drawer and even the refrigerator for the shed key. Couldn’t find it, tried to remember the combination lock code on the garden box, but none of the fifty combinations I tried worked. I said a few choice words, finally found the key and got the shed open. I gawked at my bike hanging on a hook four feet off the ground alongside the crammed in garden tools, and the jillions of jars of nuts, bolts, screws. My husband organizes his shed as meticulously as Betty Crocker does the spices in her kitchen.

I dragged the step stool out from under the fifty pound bag of fertilizer. Climbed up on the stool, tried to lift the bike off that meat hook, but my left shoulder shouted stop! Even if I’d had the strength to lift the bike up, I couldn’t have found a place to drop it down, as the mower, the blower, the hose stower and the gigantic generator consumed every inch of floor.

I hopped down and locked that shed. I sat my big bottom on the porch swing and pumped my legs until I was hot, sweaty, red in the face and winded. I looked just like that bike riding mama.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

What a coincidence!

Saturday I stopped at a yard sale and bought a lovely coffee table book, (big enough to clunk an intruder, and heavy enough to break a toe if it fell off the table). St. Louis For the Record is published by the Regional Commerce and Growth Association. It is a lovely book with pictorial and written accounts of the businesses and people of St. Louis.

When my daughter and her fiancee stopped by, Dave was delighted to see his place of business as it looked years ago. He was pointing out things about his work to my daughter. Watching him made me think of a time last year when my 36 year old son came over with a handful of hotrod postcards and photos. "Look what I found at a yard sale. I love these old cars. The old lady even threw in these mini cards. She said they were her son's."

I took one look and recognized right away that the small ones were not postcards, but actual photos. In the 60's they came attached to the original snapshot; back when film had to be processed and printed. They were small duplicates you could cut off and share with someone. As I looked through them, I realized that they were photos of actual cars taken at the car shows that used to be held at The Keil Auditorium in St. Louis in the 1960's - hot rods my son's dad used to covet. It was a blast from the past as I flipped through a handful of these tiny photos. And then, I saw it. I ran to the study for a magnifying glass. The photographer who had been taking a picture of a hot rod, caught a couple standing on the other side of the car. Yes, it was us. I recognized the dress and teased hair before I could actually make out my features.

Did you ever have such a coincidence?

Saturday, May 8, 2010

In Honor of Mother's Day

My petite mom had such a deep abiding faith, a little wise cracking mouth, yet she was as much a "preacher" as she was a worrier. As adults, everytime she and I were together she'd try to force feed me the gospel. I would say, "Mom, I know that. I'm a believer, but if you're going to shove it in, please use a spoon not a shovel." We'd both laugh.

So, in honor of Mother's Day, I'd like to share what I sent to my mom on her last Mother's day on this earth. Her health had been in decline. It was a rough time.

Dear Mom,
Some days it doesn’t seem worth getting out of bed, but at least you can. Some days it’s difficult to put up with people. Your pains and energy fluctuate; something, somewhere always aches. And all these worries bend you even further like a tree in a storm. Well, Mama Look up! I’m returning the message you gave me whenever I had so much strife and could barely stand my own life.

Heed your own advice. Raise your head and eyes and say to heck with these aches and pains, and family problems, because, Mom, there’s not a thing you can do. But it is no secret what God can do.

I know your spine hurts, and your belly cramps and your heart aches for your #1 girl. She’s walking the paths every one of us had to walk, making her own decisions and mistakes and now there’s nothing you or I can do. You did it all. You laid the foundation, put her on solid ground so that when the time came, she’d keep her faith and find her own way. The only thing you can do is pray, once a day, not incessantly all day! God’s too busy dealing with the world’s idiots and innocents to be bothered constantly by our trivial worries. Give your worries away. God has Tracey, Jason, Ashley, Austin, Nicholas, and you and me and Johnny and everyone else who knows Him in His hands.

Mom, hold on to His finger, but don’t yank His hand all day long! When the old devil - worry - tugs on your mind, tug on God’s finger, but don't bug Him; just feel His presence and let Him work things out. He doesn’t need us to help Him figure it out. It’s His world, His way, His time. Our suffering doesn’t compare to how He suffered for us. (I quote you)

Mom, physically your appearance has changed. You are smaller, weaker and you walk slower, but that is not how I envision you. In my mind you are wearing wedgies and a sun dress, sitting in the grass on a hot summer night on Plover plucking clover flowers, tying them in a knot making me a necklace to match the string of dirt pearls under my five year old neck. I see you laughing when your mother tickled under my chin with a yellow dandelion telling me I was boy crazy. I laugh when I think of you and Jim taking grandma ("bumming" as she called it) in a bowling alley bar by her house when she turned 65.

My fondest memory is always in the forefront of my mind. You are wearing that silky, forest-green dress you wore when you crashed Jr. & Debbie’s wedding. (smile) In my mind’s eye, you aren’t at their wedding; you’re in Carondelet Park, on a balmy, sunny Easter Sunday, holding Jim’s hand, strolling along, back erect, three different hair dyes on your bouffant hair ~ your little granddaughter and grandson running far ahead holding their Easter bunnies swinging their Easter baskets, and there you are swinging your purse; all of our lives filled with warmth and sunshine and such happiness. You were there for all of us, you were sassy and we were all free-spirited that day. That image brings me such joy. I will hold it in my heart forever.

When I sat down to write this morning, I intended to write about the beautiful carpet of tiny little white flowers that appear to have been spilled all over the grass in Carondelet Park. How can one of God’s beautiful, natural portraits bring my eyes such pleasure and my heart such pain? Every time I pass by, I’m reminded of the overwhelming sadness I felt one Easter morning when Tracey was 10 and Jason was 7. I begged John to stop so I could take pictures of everyone sitting in that field of spring flowers. He complained and frowned and made me sad. I wanted to rejoice and be happy.

Today I wanted to write about that day, but it looks like God directed my mind, my memories, my heart and hand in a different direction. That’s how it is when you let HIM take charge.

Didn’t mean to choke you on a shovel full of your own words. I know, I know, some days a spoonful is enough. (I quote myself).

I love you and I hope you get to feeling better. I’m not going to ask YOU take care of yourself and please eat. I’m going to ask God to see that your mind and body are nourished, and I’m going to let Him take care of you.

All my love,

Sadly, my mother's health declined and she died three years ago, weeks before her 77th birthday. Although she did not bequeath me anything tangible such as fancy jewelry, or a diamond necklace, she left me her pearls of wisdom.

Whenever life gets me down, I gently rub the hollow in my neck, and as I reach for those "pearls" I ask myself, what would Mom suggest I do?

Happy Mother's Day to each of you!

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Mom's Tea Party at Preschool

There is nothing stronger than the mother-child bond. No child can raise our ire as much as our own kid. That's because they are ours, a reflection of us and everything we stand for. Today was Mom's Tea Party at preschool. The kids anxiously anticipated their mothers' arrivals. Some of the moms were as giddy as the kids. I always have a box of tissues available, because the children draw portraits of their moms and dictate stories about them. Some moms laugh or cry so hard they shed a tear when they read that their child thinks they are 16 or 89. The kids rat out their moms on everything; they imagine what her wedding was like, and go as far as telling me what THEY did "forty years" ago at their mom's wedding. Some even tell me what their moms do with their dads now. I write it verbatim (as they say it). Believe me, kids tell it the way they hear it and see it.

The happy tears shed today won't compare to the sad tears, the worry and heartache tears that these moms will shed over (and because of) their son or daughter through the years.

Children read long before they learn letters. They read our facial expressions. The narrowing of an eye, the raising of an eyebrow are the same in all languages, but if they're YOUR mom's, there is nuance in that expression that only your child can detect. Just as you recognized your newborn's cry over all the other babies, a child's mom detector kicks in right from birth.

As I looked around at all these moms and their offspring, I realized that we worry so much about tomorrow, we forget to enjoy today. The afternoon class performance started off on a good note. The kids sang and recited poems and fingerplays. Then midway, one by one, they started. "I have to go to the bathroom." Seriously! We had to stop the show for a potty break. It was a teachable moment. A time to laugh. I demonstrated that it's more important to go with the flow, than to sweat the small stuff.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

A little psychology goes a long way

Well, you know how teenagers are! Bill's grandson, Kyle, will be seventeen in a couple of weeks. Ever since this wonderful little boy (who is now handsome and man-size) was a toddler he was a builder, a connecter, either constructing or destructing everything in sight. We knew then he'd be a builder. Last weekend he had his first real project, tearing off a porch and building a deck for a neighbor lady.

Bill, an expert carpenter with year's of experience, was full of ideas and went over Saturday to offer his advice, all of which was quickly rejected. And you know how rejection hurts. Gramps came home complaining, "I'm going to call that boy Jughead. He gets something in his head, and he won't listen to reason. He needs to do this and that. He won't let me help him, and it's not going to work his way. Why won't kids listen?"

Sunday morning hubby went over again, this time to offer his physical assistance. Instead of telling Kyle how to do the project, he ASKED him. "Now, what do you think about ...? And how will you do ...? And would it work better if ...? Will you screw that here, or would it be better here?"

This was the best bonding experience for both Kyle and Grandpa. They both learned a lot. Kyle learned how to get the job done right. And Bill learned that reverse psychology is sometimes a better tool than a crowbar. Kyle went across the street, collapsed on the couch and told his mom (Bill's daughter), "I really thought Grandpa knew a lot more about building decks. He asked me a million questions and I had to help him figure out everything!"

Monday, May 3, 2010

How many is too many?

This weekend was very relaxing. Usually on Saturday mornings I am raring to go to yard sales, but after two previous weeks of disappointing sales and a quarter tank of expended gasoline, I changed my mind. Hubby left early to help grandson build a deck. The house was so quiet, I stayed in my jammies and read all morning. It was one of life's simple pleasures.

You'd think I'd have been tired of being in my PJs for two days straight. We celebrated feelings week at preschool with a pajama party during school time. I wore my white Mickey Mouse print, one piece, button down the front, flannel pajamas, pink cuffs at the neck, wrist and ankles. (Maybe it was a million Minnies, not Mickeys wearing pink hats.) The kids laughed themselves silly when they saw me. (Sorry, no photos forthcoming.)

I got a good laugh last week. One of the little boys was in the play house possessively holding the door closed. A group of girls wanted in. One of the girls said, "If you let ME come in I will be your princess wife, and you can be the handsome prince." With that, he flung his mouth and the door wide open, fluttered his eyes, greeted her with a goofy grin and allowed her to enter. One by one, the other four girls came up and forced themselves in, some declaring themselves princesses and others just wives. That Fisher-Price Playhouse was so cramped, and he was getting more frustrated with each new resident. Finally he threw his arms in the air and said, "Okay-okay, five wife-es is too much!" Of course, the girls did what all wives do when their husband-prince talks nonsense, they ignored him.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Recommended reading

I just finished a wonderful book, The Fiction Class, by Susan Breen. It is not just a story about writing. It is a story within a story, very moving and fast paced. The class setting is in a nursery school classroom; the adult fiction class students are colorful and interesting. For those of you who have taught, you'll recognize some of your students and identify with the teacher's concerns. Her personal life entwines with her fiction class instruction. The romance is sweet and tender, and the ending is a satisfying delight. I recommend this book. One of my favorite lines: "She is having a nervous breakdown in front of eleven people, twelve if you count both of Conrad's personalities."

I will now complete The Four Graces, by Patricia Gaffney. I am two-thirds of the way through it. I'll take my leisurely time reading William Least Heat-Moon's book, Blue Highways. By the way, his book, Prairy Erth is being brought to the big screen by independent film maker John O'Hara. You can check out the trailer on Dianna Gravemann's blog,

I usually read multiple books at a time. Either a talent or a sign of A.D.D. I have a book for the bedroom or living room, one in the bathrooom, and one that I read outdoors.

Which book are you reading this week?