Write from the Heart

Handiwork for you and for them

2012-02-18T18:18:00.010-06:00

Keeping little hands busy doesn't require battery operated games or electronic gadgets. It requires a bit of creativity and ingenuity. I love making something new out of something old. Hubby says I am the only person he knows who will destroy one perfectly good thing to make another thing. Yeah? So?

Did you know that twisting, turning, squishing, smooshing, squeezing and wringing develops and strengthens small finger muscles that children use when printing?
I have a collection of about twenty different sizes and shapaes of jars and bottles in which I stuff an object, then screw on the lids. The children unscrew the lids using wrist action. They like to see what is inside each. After all of the lids are off, I put them in a pile and the children have to match them and screw them back on. It requires reasoning. Sometimes I put a corresponding sticker on a lid, for example, if I have two Ponds Cold Cream jars, and one has a dinosaur inside, I would glue a dino sticker on the lid of one.

You would be surprised at how much fun the simple things can be for little children.
Hubby cut these hands out of a piece of scrap wood. One side is brown and the other lighter (multi-cultural). The kids love placing corresponding amounts of rings (from the Dollar store) on the fingers. My original "hand" game was made out of strong cardboard, so don't think you need a carpenter!

2012-02-17T06:08:00.003-06:00

You are invited! Please come and bring a friend.
I am participating in a multi-author event at an independently owned coffee house. Several contributors will read and sign books.

WHEN: Saturday, 10-noon

WHERE: 6 North Cafe at 14438 Clayton Road (near Hy 141)

WHY: Multiple author book signing and reading event

TITLE: St. Louis Reflections, a St. Louis Writer's Guild anthology of prose and poetry.

PRICE: $9.99, but you don't have to buy. Stop by and say, "Hi." Have a cup of coffee or a
pastry, and support local writers.

My cup overfloweth

2012-02-16T04:45:00.009-06:00

This over-sized, ceramic glazed, earthenware mug is my favorite. It holds two cups of coffee, cocoa, or hot tea. It was a Christmas gift a couple of years ago from my oldest granddaughter, Ashley, 22, who will be getting married in four months. It is one of a matching pair. The other one is navy blue and has PaPa etched on it.

Every morning when I awake between 4:00 and 5:00 a.m., the first thing I do is fill my mug, pop it into the microwave for two minutes and then, head to the study to write, search markets, check out blogs and Facebook.

When I cradle the mug in my hands it is as if I am cradling the bald headed, blue-eyed baby girl I called my Tweety bird when she was born. This mug holds the memories of a bright precocious preschooler with bouncing blonde curls who gave me so many laugh lines; a hurt little school girl who suffered the consequences of her adults' behaviors; a non-judgmental teen who befriended the problem kids so she could help them; a bright, young woman of strength and character, with a great sense of humor and sharp wit.

In the quiet early hours I sip from the memories and can almost hear her beautiful voice singing, I Hope You Dance. In the swirling liquid I gaze into her youth and hear her singing A Capella in front of the high school student body. I laugh at her talent show antics, her college artistic ability, her way with people, her brilliance, her delightful personality.

I feel all of her hurts and all of her happiness as I hold the past in my hands. The beverage warms not only my hands and tummy but my heart. This mug represents a little girl who held hands with me and called me Nana ever since she was one year old.

These days she is busy making her own life, working, preparing for her future. I seldom hear from her unless I call her, and when I do, she usually TEXTS me back. Kids! :)

But when I wrap my fingers around this mug, I feel the warmth of her little hand in mine. Nana's girl is grown up, and she doesn't need me anymore, but she will always be my girl. Ever since I can remember, we said goodbye or ended every phone conversation this way, Me: "You're my girl!" Ashley: "You're my nana!"
These days she says, "You're my Nan." After all, she's a big girl now.

I read recently: Time passes swiftly when you get older. The only thing a grandparent really wants is time with grandchildren, a few minutes, a phone call an unexpected visit. When they are gone, will you say, "I'm glad I did, or I wish I had." I am so proud of Nana's girl.

Do you have an object that evokes special memories when you hold it in your hand?

A bargain for you

2012-02-15T04:42:00.005-06:00

Cheapskate, skinflint, frugal, I suppose all of those words applied when I was a young mom and we had to stretch every paycheck.

The day after Valentine's Day my late, best friend and next door neighbor, Rose, and I used to drop the kids off at school and make a beeline to Walgreens Pharmacy to purchase the biggest, most beautifully decorated boxes of chocolates for our moms. Half price! It made us and our mothers so happy.

I thought I'd make my honey happy, so yesterday, I went outside in my pink robe and black tennis shoes at dawn and stomped a big heart in the snow on the lawn. I used a broom handle to write I LOVE YOU. Hubby woke and with coffee in his hand I told him to look outside and see what was going on.

"I KNOW, it snowed a couple of inches."

"No, look out the door."

He gazed out and said, "The darn squirrels are back, they've been running around
like crazy in the snow."

He's a big joker. I hugged him and we acted silly.

Four year old Nicole, lying on the couch, giggled and said, "You guys gave me smiles."

We went to dinner and then for a nice walk as the snow melted at 40 degrees. In the evening we played Wii bowling. I kicked Bill's butt, jumped up to cheer and kicked a hand weight which was on the floor, and broke my toe next to the baby toe. Another memorable Valentine's day.

Hope someone treated you right yesterday. Just a reminder, 50% off Valentine's Day candies today at Walgreens if you want to treat yourself.

No thorns on this one

2012-02-14T05:17:00.008-06:00

Twenty-two years ago today, we celebrated our first very first Valentine's Day together as a couple. Eighteen years ago today, we were married.

Today, let me share our first Valentine's Day memory.

An entire week before the big day, Bill would read florist's marquees, "$59.99 for a dozen roses. Wow! $39.99. I'm going to buy you a dozen red roses."
"No, a dozen roses would not make me happy."
"How about half a dozen?"
"No. Please, no roses. It's crazy to spend that kind of money. I'm way too practical."
"How about one rose? I can even get it from 7-11 if it's about money." He's always been my funny honey.
"Cut flowers do not make me happy. They remind me of withering relationships, sad endings, not happy beginnings. Please do not buy roses. They will die."

We had been invited to a Valentine's Day dance with a group of friends. He knew how much I wanted to go, but he had to work second shift. I'd see him at midnight. He said we'd go dancing on the weekend. As a utility company shift worker he had missed so many of his own family's functions over the years, and I knew how it saddened him. "I'll make it up to you," he promised. "Roses?"
"NO! I mean it."

I walked into the house after work, dreading the bouquet of roses I thought I'd find. But what I discovered on the counter made me laugh out loud.

On top of the pile of mail instead, was this 8 inch long post card advertisement from a well known local florist.

When I read Bill's inscription, my heart pitter-pattered. The chocolate-covered strawberries lasted two days.

This one, long-stemmed, red rose has been hanging on the side of our fridge for more than twenty years. It is a simple, thoughtful memento that I will always treasure, and like my funny honey, it makes me smile every day.

All you need is LOVE

2012-02-12T18:16:00.004-06:00

I like to peruse the book shelves at thrift shops. My mom was a woman of strong faith; the Bible was the only book she cared to read. She and I had this ongoing issue. She was determined to force feed me a sermon every time she called, several times a day, or when we were together. I would laugh and say, "Okay-Okay, stop! I am a believer. I know-I know. You want to give me a shovelful, but all I need is a spoonful." She'd back off a while, but she couldn't help herself, she was relentless in her preaching.

With Valentine's Day upon us, she's still trying to get her messages across. I was scanning the used book titles in search of some light, humorous reading material. Only the religious titles stood out like BOLD print on a blank page. Not just dozens of Holy Bibles; I counted at least fifty faith-based books interspersed on six shelves! It became humorous. I snickered and sent a silent heavenly message, "Okay-okay, that's a shovelful." But, I did buy Ninety-Minutes in Heaven, to appease her. Then, a religious book fell off the shelf and onto the floor at my feet. I had not been rummaging anywhere near there. Not creepy to me, just funny.

Got home, opened my email and found this. So, I share with you the messages my mom would like me to know. One thing I know for sure, love transcends time, and place.

Listen without interrupting. (Proverbs 18)
Speak without accusing. (James 1:19)
Give without sparing. (Proverbs 21:26)
Pray without ceasing. (Colossians 1:9)
Answer without arguing. (Proverbs 17:1)
Share witout pretending. (Ephesians 4:15)
Enjoy without complaint. (Phillipians 2:14)
Trust without wavering. (Corinithians 13:7)
Forgive without punishing. (Colossians 3:13)
Promise without forgetting. (Proverbs 13:12)

Mom, even though we are in different dimensions, I received your messages and I feel your love.

A handful of memories

2012-02-10T07:19:00.006-06:00

You can tell that there is a love affair going on. You probably can't tell by this lovely picture that it's like a circus at our house. Note the performer in her tutu and the big happy face clown. See the barking dog and hissing cat? You say you can't see the animals?

They are resting on the arms of the recliner. The dog is to your left. The cat is on your right and wears a wedding band. The human performers control the animals. The clown owns the animals and the ballerina bosses (trains) them. Grandpa Bill and Nicole can sit there for fifteen minutes playing dog and cat with his huge "paws". The dog barks and tries to bite her. She smacks it and tells it to lie down. The cat acts up. They all aggravate each other, the dog, the big guy, the cat, the little girl. They giggle and laugh out loud. It is the most annoying game I have ever witnessed, literally, all they do is annoy one another.

But it such an empowering, playful and simple game for this little girl. It is one of those memory makers that I hope she holds onto for life. I cling to a similar memory I have of my grandfather and me. I called him Pappy and he died the day after I turned six. I smile everytime I think of how I sat on the porch with him and looked in awe as he drummed his fingers and made the sound of clopping horses on the wooden rail. I tried in vain to replicate what he did. When he said, "Hear the horses? Here they come," my eyes widened, my brain sparked (hear/here...I got it!). I looked all around for the real horse, because I am old enough to remember milk being delivered by a horse and wagon in our North city neighborhood. We lived blocks away from a dairy.

When an adult gives a kid a hand early in life, it should come in the form of a love pat, a playful gesture, a positive stroke. Reach out your hand to a child today, anyone's child.

This is for writer friends, think of someone in your early life who gave you a hand up, who hands down was the best influence, whose hand patted your back, rubbed your brow....you get it. Now write a paragraph about it, and if you allow your words to flow, you may end up with an essay to submit. And then if it gets published, everyone will give you a hand for you accomplishment.

OKAY, I'll stop. Now you get going.

An eye opener

2012-02-08T19:59:00.011-06:00

Click HERE to read an interview with me conducted by Diana Davis, posted on line at Walrus Publishing. Please leave a comment on their site. Thanks.
**********

I had an eye-opening experience. Generally I postpone the medically inevitable as long as possible. The obstetrician can attest. Both of my kids were two weeks overdue!

I visit the doctor and dentist regularly, and I have my annual mammy-whammy, but I would prefer not to have to go at all. If something bad is going to happen, like a blown tooth or gallbladder gasket, I figure it will happen to me. What I really figure is no news is good news. I procrastinate.

My last optometrist appointment was in August.
2005. Yeah-yeah-yeah, I know. I have made do with reading glasses, but of late they just weren't "doing" their thing. No matter how much I squinted or how I positioned the glasses, I couldn't read that dang Taco Bell menu. Then I had these lightning strikes in my left eye last month, which warranted an emergency visit to an opthalmologist, who gave me an all clear, but left me with a few words of wisdom, "If you want to pass your next driver's exam, you might want to consider glasses."

I didn't tell her I had been considering them for five years. No longer able to postpone the inevitable, I had my vision exam.

The optometrist had an air about him, a very pleasant air. He was friendly, and we chatted like "old home week". We're nearly neighbors, and I am sure that we have acquaintances in common, but if we had started name dropping, we'd have been in that little dark room a little too long and folks in the waiting room may have wondered.

He made me see the light, as well as the fine print. It was a delightful 20/20 experience.

Angie and Rick, (not college students, but adult office staff, who acted like college students) made my experience even more fun. How often do you go for a medical exam and leave the office butt gusting...I mean gut busting?

Angie and Rick bantered like siblings.

"She treats me like I'm twelve!"

"Yes, I felt terrible Monday when I called in sick. I texted him constantly and in between questions, I told him what to do, BREATHE."

Poor Rick, I was there Monday. I felt bad for him. The office was understaffed and people were harping in his right ear, left ear, in his face, at the back of his head, texting, tugging ... it was taking a toll on him. He loooked as if he could have pulled out a taser and zapped a few folks. So, instead of waiting around on Monday for an appointment, I postponed it to today.

The office was under control this afternoon; there were only two patients in the waiting room, and Rick seemed relaxed. Angie, dressed in lace and finery, had it under control.

Rick robbed me, I mean, sold me a fine pair of rhinestone studded glasses and jacked up, I mean, reduced the price. He also kept the one liners coming faster than Robin Williams.

All I can say is I have never had as much fun in a doctor's office, except that one time...oh well, never mind.

Seriously, if you are looking for a new pair of specs or contacts, I highly recommend Sears Optical at South County. I left there in stitches. The good kind.

I WON!

2012-02-06T23:30:00.001-06:00

Seriously folks, let's get serious here. I receive all sorts of junk mail and spam, and I am sure you do too. I was amazed to learn that my email was chosen as the winner of 5 million dollars, (I wasn't chosen, mind you, but my email was). I'm sure the check will be made out to Hewey Packard.

I've been awarded free i pads, pods and pretty much any other i-thingy out there.
I've received requests to allow guest bloggers to write about (you name it, and a lot of it is nutty!). I've been "solicited" by those who cannot write a complete sentence, use English or grammar correctly, but who think I am the most gorgeous creature on earth after viewing my profile. Creature? Makes me wonder if I should update my photo.

My latest win cracked me up: an internet massage. Now what do you suppose, a gentle stroking of my keyboard keys? A hot stone on my mouse? Deep pressure on my monitor? A warm cloth across my screen? No one is touching my tower!

Have you received any offers or amazing wins lately?

Sometimes you have to be creative

2012-02-06T05:07:00.004-06:00

Had I given each of them an unpeeled apple, they would have nibbled bites and wasted a lot. Instead, I peeled the apples and inserted corn on the cob holders into the top and bottom, and Nicole and Nicholas nibbled like bunnies.

It's the same way with writing. If you have struggled long and hard with a scene and still can't get it right, do the unexpected.

A celebration of a great one, and the loss of a great one

2012-02-04T17:37:00.008-06:00

I remember my first milestone birthday. I don't remember a party or my gift, but I remember having a profound thought. I vividly recall waking up on my tenth birthday and saying, "Wow, I have lived ten whole years on this earth. My age is now double digits."

Today, my grandson, Nicholas, is ten years old. I am thrilled with this wonderful little boy who asked me to help him get his "book" published. He had hand written an entire episode of Finding Big Foot, which he had seen the night before on TV. When I explained the word, plagiarism, he cried. When I showed him how to write his own version and fictionalize the stories, he beamed when I praised his word choices and ideas.

I want to keep him this age forever. He has grandiose dreams.

"Nana, I want to be a professional hockey player, but if that doesn't work, I want to be a writer. I know I can't do both, because I wouldn't have enough time."

I told him, "You'll find time to do all the things you love."

"Then I will be a hockey player AND a writer!"

His comment inspired me to sit down and write an article about making time to write. I had planned on querying Writers' Journal. Sadly, I learned the magazine folded this week.

Nicholas was thrilled with the birthday cake that his mom decorated with our home team hockey logo, a blue note.

He received a Wayne Gretzky Blue's jersey and an autographed hockey stick, plus tickets for tonight's Monster Truck Jam, and more money than I ever received for my birthdays.

The rain did not keep him and his buddies indoors. They laced their skates and took to the cul de sac. They played until they were breathless and red in the face.

Physical exercise is to the body, what writing is to the mind.

I will see clearly soon

2012-02-03T20:19:00.003-06:00

I am forever misplacing my glasses. Sometimes I find them on my head but this time I can't find them anywhere. I am using an old pair of readers that are missing a nose pad.

On monday I am going for a comprehensive eye exam which will result in a pair of glasses. I'm not thrilled with having to wear them constantly.

A coworker showed me something on her cell phone, but I had to admit I couldn't actually see it.

"You need glasses," she said.

Then she told me she had eaten at a Chinese buffet. I commented that coincidentally, we had also.

"Oh but, yuck! The onion rings were so tough and the chicken had a weird taste," I said.

"What was wrong with them?"

"Well, they were actually calamari and frog legs. I ate octopus and frog legs! Eww! I am never going back there. You can have that place."

She asked, "Didn't they have the signs posted above each pan?"

"Well, yes, but ..."

"You couldn't read them? WHEN are you getting glasses?"

"Monday."

Coincidence or connections?

2012-02-02T05:28:00.007-06:00

My Soul Friend, on page 207, is a true story about being with my late friend, Rose, when she died. I witnessed a truly remarkable and unbelievable occurrence.

One year after her death, my son had a serious motorcycle accident. As he lay on the side of the road, he says that Rose came to him and comforted him.

I used to be a skeptic until I received these messages from heaven.

"101 messages from heaven (is) about miracles, amazing connections, and answered prayers. When our loved ones leave this world, our connection with them does not end. These stories will amaze, inspire and comfort you." ~Chicken Soup for the Soul Publishing, LLC

This is not one of those sappy books; it is inspiring, filled with stories of love and connections from beyond. Believers know. Doubters will believe that the unexplainable happens, and they will come to understand that not all of these types of incidents are coincidences.

After the rain comes

2012-01-31T08:15:00.005-06:00

My daughter and I shared a memory that had us both laughing. She lived in a rural area when her children were small. Rain water ran through an open gully down a steep hill behind her home and into the cul de sac past three other houses.

One spring day after a thunderstorm, her neighbor, a man in his forties, who enjoyed his brewsky was outside persuing the grounds with a can of beer in hand. She watched as he hot-footed three feet into the air dousing himself with beer. He peered down into the gully and ran to the side of his house for a rake. He proceeded to clobber the rain water.

Had he lost/found someting? Was he trying to retrieve it? Kill a snake? Rescue a drowning animal?

My daughter walked down to the end of the road to meet her son at the school bus,and the guy let her have it.

"Keep your kids' stuff in your own back yard. I nearly had a heart attack when that three foot rubber alligator came floating past my house. For a minute there I thought I'd drank a few too many."

When Ashley was seven we took her to Florida, and the only thing she wanted with her spending money was this very realistic looking rubber alligator. I'd say we got our money's worth, wouldn't you?

St. Louis welcomes home the heroes

2012-01-28T16:57:00.034-06:00

St. Louis made history today. Two young men, Craig Schneider and Tom Applebaum, (and others) organized the only Welcome Home the Heroes from Iraq parade in the United States of America. I hope it is the first of many across our great land. This was not a political event in anyway. It wasn't necessarily a patriotic event. As Schneider said, "This event was not to support the war; it was to support the troops, to thank the returning young men and women who served in every branch of the armed forces."

The parade wound through downtown St. Louis to Union Station (formerly a train station, now a retail complex) where throngs of WW II military men and women used to embark and disembark.

Schneider and Applebaum seemingly organized and pulled this off overnight with the support of city and county officials, citizens and advocates. These fellows started a non-profit, raised $35,000 in three weeks and organized volunteers to staff booths at Union Station to inform veterans and military personell from all wars and conflicts, about regional and national resources and opportunities. These guys have only just begun. Their next goal is to raise seven million dollars in seven days to aide veterans and their families. My bet is their non-profit fundraiser will be a huge success and their organziation will be a model for other cities. Kudos to Craig Schneider, Tom Applebaum and all of the other unsung heroes who went above and beyond the call of duty!

It was 40 degrees and blustery today, but thousands of people came out to salute and honor our military men and women. Despite the weather, despite pro or antiwar convictions, young and old stood side by side waving flags, cheering, applauding and expressing appreciation. One lady standing behind me screeched her appreciation as every branch of service marched by. "Thank you, Marines! We love you Army! Yay Seabees. Thank you Navy, Airforce..." I'm sure she went home hoarse.

I overheard parade goers echo the same sentiments: "It's so cold, my hands and feet are frozen, but these men and women suffered far longer and far worse conditions than this. It's the least I can do to stand here for an hour and cheer them." People waved American flags of all sizes.

St. Louis's own team of Clydesdale horses pranced down Market Street.

A bald eagle from World Bird Sanctuary rode with his handler.

Military personell rode on floats.

They waved from military vehicles. Check that baby riding with his proud poppa.

The honor guard was greeted by rousing applause and cheers.

Veterans rode on train replicas.

Active duty dads rode with their children on a tram.

They were crammed onto trucks.

Military folk waved from army trucks and track vehicles.

Our returning heroes even rode with their children on firetrucks. One of our local newscasters, Chris Higgins, who is on active duty waved to the crowd from a float.

There was a 'Mater replica from the kids' movie, Cars. Not to mention go cart drivers doing fancy figure eights. There were numerous beautifully restored classic cars, limousines and also a marching band.

Viet Nam veterans received the loudest cheers. Check the thumbs up mirrored by the rider at far right in bright vest and the woman on the left.

Gold Star parent floats (parents who have lost their sons and daughters to war) brought a tear to my eye. The lives of anyone's child is too high a price to pay for war. I looked around at babies riding on their daddy's shoulders and I wept, and I thanked God for my children and grandchildren.

The pain on this woman's face, so fresh in her heart, was apparent as she carried her son's picture. Women AND men openly cried for her loss.

This woman wore her pain on her shoulder and pointed proudly to a picture of her beloved son or grandson.

And this was the perfect day to thank families for their sacrifices and to share this anthology. It is a collection of poems and stories about members of the U.S. military. Local writers, Sioux Roslawski, Justo G. Herrera, and I have stories or poems in this book.

The Harsh and the Heart published by Silver Boomer Books,is an apt title. It can be purchased on Amazon.com. Click HERE

The Lure of a Wave

2012-01-26T05:55:00.007-06:00

Figured out how to post comments when BLOGGER is uncooperative: right click first, then click OPEN and it works.

About this time of year hubby and I begin to think about our upcoming summer vacation. We laughed recently about a beach memory. I wrote about it a few years ago. This was published in Literal Chaos. Now, I share the imagery with you.

The Lure of a Wave

Right before tropical storms and hurricanes make landfall in the Gulf of Mexico, a surge of excitement strikes surfer pros and wannabes like an electrical charge.

Just what is it that makes a man with gray chest hair, a pony tail, old bones and achy joints want to hang ten when a double red flag is flapping from every flagpole on the beach?

As a tropical storm started kicking up, the males in Gulf coastal towns took to the sea like lemmings with surfboards. Like a team of preschool soccer players with herd mentality, they darted en masse up and down the beach lugging their boards chasing elusive waves. Their swim trunks were the only splash of color against the brown roiling water. Infused with adrenaline and testosterone, hard-bodied, tattooed young bucks competed with saggy-pec geezers.

They raced through the sea foam to the murky, churning water (imagine a gulp of that crap) and fastened safety straps around their ankles. They were pumped as they paddled out. Instead of being knocked down by the big waves, the big boys were let down by the small waves which never built momentum. One by one they returned to shore as they realized they’d have to wait one more day for Tropical Storm Fay to whip the Big Kahuna into the Florida panhandle. A few die-hards stayed in the water. As the red flags flapped, I observed a few people who should have been waving the white flag, surrendering their long lost youth.

A slightly built old hippie walked past with his vintage surfboard tucked under his arm like a prize. He wore a Speedo. His bulge was strictly above his waistband. The bright red tattoo on his rear may have looked cool on his youthful gluteus maximus, but those luscious lips pursed in a pucker, had an unnatural sag, a drowning man’s last gasp.

I observed two middle-aged women sitting on beach chairs observing the scene. One motioned to a dreamy, young hunk. Like the old guy going for the gold, she too was on a quest for one last hurrah.

“Young man, come closer” one woman twanged. “Would you please do us a favor?” She shaded her eyes with her hands. “Don’t follow those old guys up and down the beach. Just stay right here and surf in front of us. Make a couple of desperate housewives happy?”

That boy ran like hell into the surf.

Cruising through the old neighborhoods

2012-01-25T05:45:00.004-06:00

Here I sit. A full hour I have been sitting in this chair perusing blogs and Facebook. I should be writing. I shouldn't be popping these mini oreo cookies into my mouth. I should be meeting deadline on a submission. I shouldn't be procrastinating, identifying with others woes. Woe is me and I need to get cracking.

Step Away Magazine (non-paying) is looking for urban flash fiction 1,000 words or less, and poems about neighborhoods. Try stepping back in time, walking down memory lane. Even if you don't write it for publication. My challenge to you is to write something today about your old neighborhood. A sentence or two, trigger a memory and let it flow onto a page.

I remember my grandpa torching a huge pile of leaves at the curb on our city street.
The smoke would curly Q right up to the porch steps where I sat watching the fire blaze and the pile shrivel. The scent of burning leaves, leaves me feeling nostalgic.

When I think of the old neighborhood I have to laugh. My husband and I grew up blocks apart and discovered it after we married and were visiting his aunt. She said, "Do you remember that tightwad Clarence who married Aunt Anna?"

"Wow, my mom had a tightwad Uncle Clarence who married a woman named Anna...no way! Yes, my hubby's great aunt married my great uncle.

WILL YOU SHARE A BRIEF MEMORY WITH ME?

Perception deception

2012-01-23T07:01:00.010-06:00

Did you ever look at something and think it was something else? One of the best laughs my mom and I had was when I was driving and she shouted, "Watch out for that little Chinese woman with that pointy hat crossing the street."

As we approached, she realized it was a fire hydrant. Mom got glasses shortly thereafter. But it sure was a belly laugh that could be retriggered years later with just a mention of the little lady in a Chinese hat.

Last night I was watching Dateline, a true story about a young man accused of murdering his wife. Hubby came to bed at the end of the espisode as they were giving a synopsis. He was involved in the plot and expressed his opinion. The next show was a crime drama about a woman getting shot. There was an autopsy scene in which the victim had big stitches across her shoulder/chest. We both "ewwed" at the sight, then a commercial came on.

Commercials these days last three minutes easily -enough time for an old buzzard and his cackling hen to drift off to sleep. During the wee hours we awoke to that loud TV blaring. Bill picked up right where the show left off.

"Oh man! What happened to her now? They sure are slicing her up."

It was an infomercial actor sectioning a wide sheet of dough with a kitchen gadget wheel to make fluted edged ravioli pockets. I laughed myself into snorts, wide awake.

Hubby's sense of humor is a bit different than mine. How DOES a man roll over and go right back to sleep? I snickered for half an hour.

Hands-hands, fingers, thumbs

2012-01-21T16:10:00.007-06:00

"In His hands He has the little bitty baby...in His hands He has you and me brother."
That song was uplifting when I was a kid. I liked the tune. I liked the message.

My classroom is very hands-on. We explore, experiment and discover by doing. This past week I filled rubber gloves with tinted water (food coloring or paint watered down)for a lesson in visual perception. This was a sensory experience as well as a reasoning activity. The children had to figure out how to position the hands so the thumb was in the correct place. Some of the kids realized right away that they had to turn the gloves over, around, or upside down. Others struggled to figure it out.

When they said, "I can't do it!" I said, "Never say, 'I can't. Always say, I can try.'" With a bit of encouragement they were all successful. They played with these all week, stacked them, matched them, made them dance, giggled when they jiggled. You should have heard their adjectives: mushy, squishy, floppy, cold, warm. I placed some in a bowl of hot water and warmed the contents, dried them off and left some cold, then I placed them all in the pan. The clear one was the favorite because I sprinkled a bit of glitter in the water.

The world is very competitive, but kids don't alway need the newest, mechanical or electronic gadget to feel successful and have fun. Why not try this at home?

"As you get older you will learn that you have two hands; one for helping yourself, and one for helping others." ~ Audrey Hepburn

If only everyone would lend a helping hand, wouldn't the world be a nicer place?

You want a tip? I'll give you a TIP.

2012-01-19T06:05:00.005-06:00

Some of you may have read this before. It is a couple of years old. I am so busy this week, meetings every night, I am exhausted when I get home and don't have time to blog. I will catch up. Until then enjoy.

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. Linda

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 intoWal-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 love them, but I’m not taking in any more strays; I’ve had my share of wailing kittens, puppies and cry 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 hobbling 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.

FREE BOOK

2012-01-16T20:31:00.005-06:00

BLOGGER!!! All of my comments have now disappeared. I have switched to pop-up comments. Let's see if this works.

FREE! FREE! FREE!

Flashlight Memories, (A Silver Boomer Book)

Starting at midnight Pacific Time (2:00 a.m. Central Daylight Time) January 16th until midnight(2:00 a.m. our time) of January 17th, the Kindle book will be free! So for 24 hours, you can get the entire book, for FREE!
If you don't have a Kindle, you can download the Kindle app (also free) for your computer. And then you can read my friend Cathy's story, "A Pickle for a Nickle".
My poem, "A Classic Tome" is on page 162. St. Louis writer, Donna Volkenannt also has a story in this book.

Money back guarantee :) that you will discover other wonderful essays about the joy of reading in your FREE e-book. Be sure to look at the crawl line across the bottom of each page; it is unique to Silver Boomer Books.

Blue on blue

2012-01-15T18:48:00.006-06:00

On Sunday evening I launder and change my bedclothes. I have just tucked two blue, very soft, plush blankets on my bed, one on top of the bottom sheet, and one as a top sheet. Freshly laundered an hour ago with that Downy scent, they are softer than a newborn's cheek, warmer than a parka, and they induce sleep. They hold in our body heat, and I am grateful for them. I cocoon between these two blankets for about four MONTHS. I have a love-hate relationship going on here. I love to go to bed, and I hate it that at 7:00 p.m. I am considering it. I am reading Toni Morrison's novel, Song of Solomon. That woman can write! It would be delightful on this cold winter eve to crawl under those covers and indulge in that book. But before I say good night, let me share my literary news.

I received two requests from two different writer sites for interviews and also a suggestion that I propose an anthology title and co edit it. I've also been invited to be a part of a focus group round table this week; the results will impact children in St. Louis but not through the school system. Can't say more just yet.

I wrote an essay this afternoon about the color blue, and yes, my blankets were a part of the story. There are three shades of blue that do a number on me like no other color can. Those of you who know I love the beach, can guess that turqouise is one of the hues. I shall share my essay with anyone who wishes to read it, but I can't post it here yet in case it is selected for publication.

Waffles

2012-01-14T05:06:00.006-06:00

Since Christmas I have been salivating down the frozen food aisle every time we go grocery shopping. I try to avoid even looking in the direction of the Eggos. I have had a hankering for a waffle that won't cease and desist. It's like a monkey on my back.

Hubby said, "Just buy a pack; look these have blueberries."

"No, I'll just eat them."

He shakes his head and walks away, confused by women and their logic.

Years ago when I was young and in my prime, I used to eat waffles all the time. My mom would take my brother and me downtown on a bus and we would go to Woolworth's or maybe it was Kresge's Five and Dime. The countertops were sectioned with glass partitions displaying cosmetics, bobby pins, tubes of lipstick, loose powder with a big fat powder puff. Those variety stores had a selection of everything you could imagine. An escalator ride downstairs was this kid's dream, toys of every size and description called to me.

I loved the sights, sounds, and particularly the aromas of fresh popcorn, hot shelled peanuts in red skins, cashews, and the candy counter near the entrance which sold candy by the scoop. You were enticed inside by the smells. Before we headed for the bus stop, Mom bought us an ice cream sandwich, which was a fresh-baked waffle with a slice of neopolatin ice cream served in between. The perfect crunch, warm/cold blend, and three falvors of ice cream, chocolate, strawberry and vanilla.

When Bill and I met, I made my own waffle ice-cream sandwiches with cherry cordial ice cream. Made us what we are today!

We grew older, and delighted in the occassional restaurant breakfast of Belgian waffle, served hot off the waffle maker, half of it drizzled with butter and syrup and the other half piled high with strawberries and whipped cream.

Today I am waffling about what to eat for breakfast, will it be oatmeal, an egg white omelet, or ...?

Talk me off the ledge, I am about to give in to temptation.

Many people suffer from it. Are you one?

2012-01-13T06:54:00.010-06:00

Paraskevidekatriaphobics can be crippling, but thankfully, it lasts only twenty-four hours. Perhaps you have a touch of it or know someone who suffers from this malady. No it's not that awful tummy flu going around.

According to Dr. Don Dossey, psychotherapist, as many as 21 million people are afflicted with a morbid, irrational fear of Friday, the thirteenth.

This year there will be three Fridays the 13th, January, April and July...and they are exactly thirteen weeks apart. Interesting.

My dad was superstitious, and my mom always chastised him. When I was a kid I
couldn't figure out who to believe.

"Don't walk under that ladder!"
"Don't be silly; you can walk under a ladder."

The way I saw it, the only thing that could hurt me by walking under a ladder was the bucket of paint on the platform up top, so I avoided walking under ladders that had objects positioned on them. However, I tempted fate just to test my parents' theories. And you know what? Bad things happened regardless of which path I took, around or under that ladder.

Now, Friday the 13th is another story. Thirteen has always been my lucky number. When I was younger, working paycheck to paycheck, I'd often find $13 unexpectedly in my purse, or I'd win a scratch off lottery ticket. I never bought into that Friday the 13th superstition, or maybe I did, in reverse. I always believed I'd get lucky, or maybe I should rephrase that, BE lucky on this day.

I can hardly wait to see what wonderful things await me today. I will post them here at the end of the day.

How about YOU? Are you staying under the covers? Indoors? Avoiding people places, black felines and ladders? Care to share any other superstitions you are afflicted with?

Well fiddlesticks! Blogger is misbehaving again, can't post on some blogs and some people are saying the same about my blog. It locks up.
Do they do this indiscriminately? I refuse to think I am the only victim. Not bad luck, just a lurch:)

Lucky day! My boss surprised everyone with pizza and salad for lunch.

Dealing with the pros

2012-01-10T22:03:00.005-06:00

She told me to lie down. I started to slide my jeans off my hips, but she said, "Stop! Don't take your pants off, just open your zipper. Wide." Then she positioned my legs inward until they were taut and she strapped them to a divider between my ankles. Misery, that Kathy Bates movie came to mind.

Last time I was strapped down, my feet were in the stirrups, and my wrists were tied too. That was forty-one years ago when I gave birth in army hospital in Alaska. I broke free of those wrist straps, sat up and had to see my newborn across the room. Then, I passed out.

Today's experience wasn't quite that bad. I had a bit of vertigo, but I didn't pass out, although the whole thing certainly evoked those bad memories. I had a painless bone density scan. Results forthcoming.

I dread going to the dentist, eye doctor, imaging center, or for my mammy whammy examy. It's always something! Saving one tooth is more expensive than saving a beached whale. My teenaged dentist, okay she's thirty, asked if I wanted to correct my crooked teeth.

"Of course I do, but I think I'll invest in wrinkle removal first."
She exposed her perfect pearly whites, laughed and said, "Can't help you there."

Being able to see George Clooney's features from across the room is now going to cost me a few hundred bucks, because squinting no longer works and glasses are now in order. I lose my dollar store readers all the time, what AM I going to do?

My last mammogram had a suspicious indicator, and I had to go back the next day for more tests. Both those bimbos turned out okay, thank God.

And now, old bony marony here is going to discover not only is my head hollow but my hips probably are too. I have one question, if my bones are thinning, why isn't my hiney?

Mooning about it

2012-01-09T05:04:00.006-06:00

Did you see that big glowing orb in the sky last night? I tried to write a serious poem, but came up with this silly thing.

Under the influence of a buttery moon
I gaze at the heavens and crack open a tune,
reach for a note as high as the sky,
trip over my tongue and ask myself why
I can write, but I cannot sing.

CALL FOR SUBMISSION

This is a non-paying website seeking submissions from women.
http://tendingyourinnergarden.com/call-for-entries-womens-stories/

Unexpected sightings

2012-01-07T22:39:00.009-06:00

I witnessed three phenomonal sights today.

I have said for years that our house is haunted. Hubby says he can't explain the noises we both hear, so he doesn't even try anymore. We both used to run to the kitchen when we heard a thud, expecting, but never finding a huge mess.

I am used to towels falling off hooks when I walk into the bathroom. The same towels which have hung securely on the same hook all day.

Today we were in the living room when the lamp came on all by itself. It flickered, got really bright, then faded. We both watched in awe.

Me: "Well how do you explain that?"
Him: "The switch must have been on and it shorted."
Me: "No, it's OFF" (I got up and checked)
Him: "I guess it's that friend you're always talking about."

Finally, after all these years, he acknowledges. Or do you think he was humoring me?

Our weather has been unseasonably warm, near 50's for two weeks, 70 degrees Thursday and Friday, back to 50s this weekend. Too warm for bald eagle watching. They usually fly our way when the river freezes north of us. But there were only three sighted today, the news reported.

We had a little snow and a good freeze before Christmas, so all of the flowers have withered. Today, I saw a pink rose bud opening on the miniature bush outside, a little gift from a confused mama nature.

This afternoon I hiked a wooded nature trail in a park where deer roam. I took my camera just in case, and got very excited when I heard rustling in the thicket. I stopped in my tracks and waited for them to emerge from the woods, but the noise continued. I bent down and peeked through the brambles. I thought it must be a squirrel scampering. To my utter surprise, it was a FLOCK of male cardinals, as red as holly berries. There must have been ten or more. They were scratching in a carpet of brittle leaves. I tried to get a photo, but I scared them and this is the photo, but oh, the picture in my mind.

A word, a sentence or two, and then a paragraph

2012-01-06T05:53:00.007-06:00

Years ago, when I was in school, a professor gave a journal assignment as part of the coursework. I wrote flowery prose loaded with adjectives and adverbs. I wrote heartwarming, heartfelt, and sometimes gut wrenching personal essays, and once I wrote this entry: I have no idea what to write today. Some days my writing flows and other days I feel as if the words have dried up.

He red inked my last page: You have written the perfect journal and if I graded these on a competitive basis, you would have the only "A" in the class and the next highest grade would be a "C-".

From that day forward I vowed not to be a slacker. I learned how to show and not tell, how to use strong vivid verbs. I lived up to what that teacher believed about me when I didn't believe in myself. I filled the page with fluff if I had to, but I never turned in a two sentence assignment again.

I have been writing seriously and getting published for about twelve years. I have attended classes, workshops, and my first conference, but I am mostly self-taught. I have a love of writing and a God given talent. But sometimes I lose my stride. Some days I am off and running and stay at that pace for a solid week. Other times I slug along and sometimes, I can't even get out of the rut. Every writer feels this way.

My two sentence journal entry was a start, not a finish, but some days that's all we can produce, a germ of an idea, an honest feeling. Write it down! Words on paper motivate as well as frustrate. No matter what your stride is, don't hang out too long on the sidelines. Get in there and believe in yourself.

I have accepted Sylvia Forbes' January Writers challenge to write something every day in January. Sylvia is the publisher Bylines Writer's Desk Calendar.

Would I be considered a slacker if I used this blog entry as today's writing accomplishment?

brilliant flashes

2012-01-05T14:53:00.005-06:00

I have been seeing flashes of light in my left eye since New Year's Eve. Had my eyes dialated this afternoon. No retina detachment, no tear, no holes, etc. Thank God.

So, you know when icebergs calve? Well that's what is happening inside my eye. A floater is breaking loose and may end up in my line of vision, although it kept escaping the eye doctor. When I looked left, it darted right. I've always been a bit rebellious.

In four weeks I should be good as new. Well, let's get real here. She asked me to read the eye chart before she dialated my eyes.

"That's about 20/40. You want to pass the driver's test? You better get in here for a thorough exam next month."

Also regarding yesterday's appointment fiasco, the first receptionist told the second receptionist a thing or two and called me back to confirm that I'm on for my bone density screening. Finally.

So hubby took me to lunch with my big black plastic eye sheilds. I looked like Darth Vader. Doc said, "You might feel like you're at a 1960s concert for a while, but it should wear off soon."

I was (am) a little loopy, but I thought my eyes and ears were playing tricks on me.

Two young women late teens early twenties, who shouldn't have "calved", but did, sat across from us. One wore a shirt with a slogan: I Get All My Meanness From My Mama.

Oh the converastion! Allow me.

"Whewy, look at my belly. I am so full. Don't I look like I'm conceiving right here, right now?"

"Yes, you sure do!"

"My husband proposed to me right here. He always did have a big belly, but when he finished eating here that night, his belly was up against this table and he didn't know what to do. Just like me now."

I wanted to interject, "Scoot back, it's a chair not a booth."

It's not eavesdropping when they talk megaphone-loud.

"Girl! If your preschooler went to that school where that old man molested those four year olds, you better take him to the hospital right away. The doctors can tell you if he been molested. They can tell if that man made him touch his old thing. Don't believe the school. Believe the doctors. They have ways of telling."

"I think they ought to get a concrete casket for that teacher's aide old man and put him under it and lower him into the ground." (visual - under it, and lower him?)

"I am so full, but I think I'm going to get me a carry out from the food buffet, it's only $7.95."

"Hey girl, what did you get?"

She flips the carry out container lid, and even Batgirl here could see it. She paid $7.95 for a pound of plain WHITE rice.

Calving folks, passing on the genetic make-up. Scary.

Thing One, Thing Two, Thing Three

2012-01-04T15:22:00.008-06:00

I feel like I am starring in the Abbott & Costello bit, Who's on First?

I called and set up an appointment for a painless bone density screening next week at 4:00 p.m. The receptionist asked for the doctor's order number.

I called my doctor for an order number. The doctor's receptionist said I needed an appointment with the doctor. NO, I explained that in October, the doctor told me to call the office in Jan. to request an ORDER for the procedure.

So she told me to call the bone denisty office back and to tell them to call her.

The bone denisty receptionist calls me back. "The doctor's receptionist asked if I would be doing the procedure and when I told her, No I was the schedueler, she said she couldn't give ME the order number. I told her we can't schedule the proceduure without the number."

I called the doctor's office back. They transferred me to scheduling. The new gal says, "You need to call your doctor to set up an appointment." I want to bang my head on the wall.

I explained that the bone density screening appointment has already been scheduled and all they need is approval and an order number which the doctor approved in October.

"Let ME take care of this!" # 1 irritated receptionist says to me about irritated receptionist #2. They both have said, "I'll get back to you. Today. OR tomorrow."

It is 3:30 and this comedy has been going on since noon.

Did I mention that I also called the eye doctor because I am seeing flashes of light and nobody here is flicking any lights.

Receptionist # 3 says, "Let me see if I can squeeze you in. I'll call you back."

She calls me back. "Yes! I can get you in at noon.
TOMORROW."

I'll probably miss the other two receptionists' phone calls. No wonder I am seeing lihtning bolts.

This painless procedure is giving me a giant pain in the ...

All I want to know is if my bones are as brittle as my mind which is about to break!

Chocolate makes me do crazy things

2012-01-03T07:28:00.009-06:00

This is a reprint from my blog on 3/10, but it certainly is appropriate as I go through another year of chocolate withdrawls. I have to wean myself in January. I decided that I can not go cold turkey.

I actually made that decision on New Year's Day, when I discovered half a bag of Ghiradelli's choclate chips stashed on top the fridge. I bargained with the devil, er, I mean myself. I'll ration myself ten a day, one or two at a time. I have been good so far. Read on to discover how pathetic I can be.

Like most women, I covet chocolate, the darker the better. As a mother of young children, I tamed temper tantrums (mine) with M&Ms that I kept stashed high in a cupboard. When my son or daughter said, "Mommy, I smell candy," I closed my mouth, chewed fast, swallowed hard and responded, "Probably your scratch and sniff stickers."

When I became a preschool teacher, I loved the perks. Kids offered me kisses at recess, the chocolate kind. One day I discovered an open bag of chocolate chip morsels that my co-teacher had intended to use for a science experiment later in the day. There must have been a thousand little niblets of delight in that bag, and I knew she wouldn't miss a few. Confident that she was with the students on the playground, I looked up and down the hall, and then I closed my classroom door. I stuffed not one, but two fists full of those itty bitty bits of divine rapture into my mouth. At one time! I was immersed in pleasure, my eyes closed, my head rolled back in ecstasy chewing as fast as I could when the door opened.

Panicked, I straightened up, held that wad in my mouth like a baseball player with a chunk of chaw in both cheeks. A good looking, substitute milk delivery man looked wide-eyed at my swollen jaws. He nodded hello and kept staring at me as he handed me the purchase order. I tried a tight-lipped smile as I autographed his paper. I probably could have pulled it off, except that he had an "Aha Moment". I could see it in his face.

"Well-well-well, helllooo there. It's been a while."

I grunted from my gut, "Uh-huh" and wondered where I'd met him. How could I not remember this gorgeous guy? He sure knew me.

"I do believe my twins, Clark and Amanda were in your class about ten years ago. Aren't you Mrs.---?"

Grinning like a ninny, and lying big time, (technically I wasn't Mrs. W. anymore) I shook my head from side to side. Out popped a chocolate chip, up popped my hand, out bugged my eyeballs. I tried to swallow, but the gob of goo started to drip down my esophagus, and I almost choked. I did what any teacher worth her salt, or chocolate would do. I spat those flavinoids into the waste basket and wiped my mouth with a tissue. Then I offered a true confession and the bag of chocolate chips to the milkman.

He declined.

Out with the old, in with the new

2012-01-02T13:10:00.008-06:00

I love it when the house overflows with our kids and grandkids and friends on Christmas Day. I love cooking and watching everyone eat. All that noise and commotion gives me a feeling of satisfaction, of being connected. I know that memories are being made for future generations. People start arriving at noon and the last guests leave at 9:00. I am in my glory listening to the laughter and banter of our adult children.

I like the week in between Christmas and New Years. I catch up with old friends. Hubby and I reconnect, take hikes, eat our midday meals out as though we are on a date. It is a time to relax, renew, rejuvenate before returning to work. It is a wind down week.

I write poetry. I also hand write thank you notes to my students and messages to their parents. I sort through the stack of papers on my desk and kick myself for missing a submission deadline, vow to do it right, lose a few pounds, eat a lot less, move a little more. I take down the decorations, pack it all away until next year, and I whisper a prayer that we will all be together again next Christmas.

New Year's Eve we went out with another couple, dined and danced. I had fond recollections of years past, when Bill and I used to dance the night away, several times a week. We kicked up our heels a few times at this dance, but we complained that they were playing musuic for the younger generation, a sure sign of aging :)

New Year's Day we went to my stepdaughter's and we played cards with the adults and grandkids. It made me feel happy-sad. We are all getting older. The youngest grandkids are now all taller than me, some even tower over their grandpa. Their photo is on the side bar.

I feel old. Contented-old, not weary-old. Last year is gone, a collection of memories. We have been given a new year, a beginning. We are in a new phase in our old lives.

Today, hubby went out while I caught up on correspondence. I sat down on the couch and noticed something on the floor, a tiny seashell. Oh, how that gives me hope for spring and summer, for a beach vacation, although I can't complain about this mild winter. We are having two cold days with blustery winds, but it is going to be in the 50s again by midweek.

I saw a speck of red stuck down between the couch cushions. I pulled out a small ornament made from my son's thumbprint when he was eight years old. I sat in the quiet house. Still. I reminisced and hoped and prayed for us. For them. I am grateful. I am concerned for all of our children, for our grandchildren, and for all of the children of the world.

A little melancholy creeps over these tired old bones. This wrinkled face shows some wear, but I know deep in my heart that although I am only one person, I have made a difference ... in the lives of children, ours, theirs and other peoples' children.

I hear the back door open, such a welcome sound. Hubby says, "You want to go to lunch?"

I'm ready, and I'll be eating right, a spinach/chicken salad and oh, maybe a wee bit of banana pudding, just a taste, I promise!

Happy New Year, good-bye old deer

2011-12-31T07:28:00.007-06:00

Happy New Year to one and all. Celebrate sensibly and have fun. God bless you all in the New Year. Welcome to my new followers and thank you to my regular and occasional readers. I do appreciate all of you.

Beware of those resolutions!
Yesterday morning I poured myself a cup of coffee, reached into the bottom of the snowman cookie jar and gasped. I knew it would happen sooner or later, but I thought I had a couple more days left. "Someone" beat me to the last cookie so, I raised that rotund snow dude to my mouth, and dumped the peanut butter cookie crumbs onto my tongue and allowed them to dissolve slowly, deliciously.

"That's it! No more, I am going to behave myself," I said just before we left to have brunch with friends. I had an omelette, fried potatoes and English muffin with jelly. Well crap! I'd fallen off my wagon before I ever hitched my horse.

Later in the day, I ate a bowl of whole grain cereal, and towards evening when my hankering started, I told myself to behave. I popped a handful of green olives. That wasn't satisfying, so I retrieved my favorite healthy snack, an individual serving size cup of Del Monte Ruby Red Grapefruit in its own juice. I love that stuff. I once read that grapefruit juice causes you to burn calories.

I was heading to the fridge for a double dose of calorie burner when I burped. Lordy, something fermented in my gut; it was like corn pone whiskey shooting up my espohagus. Not that I would know, I am not a drinker but that stuff had kick. That belch was like a jet propelled explosion.

People, heed my advice, never ever layer these foods in your gut.

Reminiscing ...
When granddaughter Ashley, was three, my mom was babysitting her on New Year's Eve. I called her at midnight and said, "Grab a pot and spoon and go outside and bang on it and shout, 'Happy New Year. Go away old year.'"

She was a very bright little girl with above average language skills.

"You want me to really go outside and hit him with a pot and spoon and yell, 'Go away old DEER!'?"

Life can be confusing no matter how old you are. Bring in the New Year any old way you want, then tell me all about it. It is supposed to be 60 degrees here, so I am taking a hike, but I'll be baaaack.

That was some road trip!

2011-12-29T14:50:00.010-06:00

GUESS where my honey took me.

He knows how I love the shore, and he made my wish come true.

Sand castles and love letters in the sand ... and walking with my honey hand in hand.

We could hear the trickling waterfall, and then we came upon this wonderful surprise.

Although it wasn't Florida, he took me to the shore, half an hour from home, to a park named Creve Coeur. The day was sunny and fifty-five degrees. I feel renewed.

Oh what a night!

2011-12-27T14:41:00.003-06:00

My computer is out, again, and I am at the library. Until the part arrives, I will not be posting. To say I am frustrated would be an understatement. Please continue to respond with comments. I can see them on my cell phone.

Not only did Santa arrive at our house, but we had a some extra excitement too. It was about 8:00 p.m. and many of the thirty people were still at our house. Bill's daughter's adult step son and his wife were sitting on the couch. He was playing video games on his phone. She was busy poking buttons on hers too. After an hour, I asked, How long does it take to play that game?"
She said, "He's playing the game. I am timing contractions."
"How far apart are they?"
"Two minutes."
"GO! GET TO THE HOSPITAL."
She was hesitant because her water hadn't broken yet. We had to talk her into going. Little Ariana Noel was born about twelve hours later. Oh what a night! And I have been so excited to tell all of you, but the libraries were closed yesterday.

The way it really was, the night before Christmas

2011-12-23T22:55:00.003-06:00

Contemporary Version of ’T Was the Night Before Christmas
by Linda O’Connell
with apologies to Clement C. Moore

‘T was the night before Christmas at the North Pole
Old Santa was edgy, feeling quite droll.
Mrs. Claus was baking, and the house smelled yummy.
Santa walked into the kitchen, snuck up on his honey.

He reached for a snicker-doodle still warm on the tray.
Big Mama said, “No more! You’ve eaten two dozen today.
Your cholesterol is up, your triglycerides soaring.
Absolutely no more, and I’m tired of your snoring.

“You’re going to have to start losing some weight.
And do you realize the time? It IS getting late.”
Chubby old Santa said, “Oh, Woman, drat!
You’re always complaining about this or that.

“Where are my long Johns?” he dared to inquire.
“For Pete’s sake,” she said, “They’re still in the dryer.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and turned with a jerk
Mumbled under her breath, “It’s all women’s work!”

“Now, go hitch your reindeer and load up the sleigh.
Get all the presents and be on your way.”
He tugged on his suit, and as Mrs. Claus watched
Santa had to loosen his belt another notch.

“Santa, remember when you had a pillow-gut?”
“Yes ma'am, and back then, you had a size seven butt!”
“I think you should leave now!”
“I think that I will, but first I need my cholesterol pill.

Blood pressure too and one for arthritis,
and another one for my sinusitis.
A Dramamine pill so I won’t get dizzy,
a calm-me-down pill, so I’m not in a tizzy.

Vitamin C so I don’t sniffle and sneeze,
Asthma medication so I don’t hack and wheeze.”
“Be on your way, Man! Get going; you’re done.”
“Wait,” Santa shouted, “I forgot just one.”

He popped a Viagra, climbed into his sleigh.
“Ah, the miracle drugs they have today!
I’ll be back in a jiffy,” he smiled with affection
I have forty-eight hours to get a…”

“LONG WINTER’S NAP!” she exclaimed as he drove out of sight.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

Holiday hoots

2011-12-23T13:02:00.003-06:00

As Hubby and I fought the maddening crowd this morning we had a few laughs.

Sign on a chiropractor's office: Ninety Minute Peppermint Massage (maybe it's legitimate but we used our imagination and cackled a bit at the candycane jokes).

Sign on a car next to us: Holiday Special, Back Hair Removal $15.00 (Talk about entreprenuership) Bill's wise crack, "Hans Weiman restores hair and this guy removes it. They ought to go into business together."

I said to a forty-something year old, female cashier in a retail store, "I'll bet you see it all."

"You wouldn't believe it. This guy came in yesterday dressed in women's clothes and high heels and brought the girl I work with, who he doesn't even know, flowers and candy." She lowered her voice and looked around. "Today he came in dressed like a man and tells her he is looking for a lesbian lover. And she's got the nerve to look over at me. Oh Huh-uh, honey! I told her to quit talking to him. Yes, I see it all."

She rolled her eyes at me, shook her head, and I almost choked laughing so hard.

There was a two car wreck on the corner as we were darting to the grocery store. We came home half an hour later figured the mess would be cleaned up. There was a four car wreck, same spot, different tow truck and emergency vehicles.

I'm taking a nap; this traffic and crazy stuff wears me out, or maybe it's all those cookies making me sluggish.

Come back tomorrow for my poem, A Contemporary Verison of 'T was the Night Before Christmas

Chasing down the UPS dude for my package wrapped in plain brown paper

2011-12-22T10:16:00.010-06:00

Today as I am baking cookies and eating way too many misfits, I am reminded of my brother, John, who makes the best cookies in the world, chocolate chip cookies the size of Texas. Well, that may be an exaggeration, but they are saucer-size and an inch thick, made with real butter.

When my children were young, and I was too, my best friend and I waited and waited for the U.P.S. delivery truck for a package my brother sent from Reno. This was before computers and tracking devices, but somehow I knew the date they were to arrive. Maybe there was a phone number that I'd called. All indications were that the box of coma-inducing cookies was on the truck and would be delivered that day.

My best friend and I took turns peeking out the front door everytime we heard a truck clunk by. Our street was an east-west bypass, so there was fairly heavy traffic. Rose and I sat in my kitchen crabbing about our husbands and drank black coffee. I fanned her cigarette smoke out of my face, and we giggled about everything and nothing. Her laugh was like a machine gun, rat-a-tat-tat. Hearing her laugh, made others laugh.

We sat on the porch swing until our teeth started chattering. We let more cold air in the house fanning that front door open and closed. We had several false alarms. Then, I spied that mud brown box truck and squealed, "Here he comes!"

Both of us wild-eyed women bounded off the porch, down the concrete steps and darted out into the middle of the street, in front of the UPS truck. The driver honked. We waved joyously and smiled. He swerved to avoid us.

All we wanted to do was save him a few steps so he didn't have to run up on the porch. The poor young fellow looked us up and down, swore under his breath and kept tooling down the street, leaving us in a cloud of exhaust fumes.
"Hey, come back here, we want our cookies."

We couldn't run fast enough.

"What's wrong with HIM! I know our cookies are on that truck." I crabbed.

We went back in the house resigned to waiting one more day for the delectable box of calories.

Then, we heard it, the rumble of that same UPS truck coming up the street from the opposite direction. When we heard it screech to a stop out front, we darted to the driver's side, laughing, giddy as two kids. The poor guy froze in his seat; he looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"You have our cookies! We're waiting for our cookies."

He spoke but one word, "COOKIES?" Then he went right to work, handed me the package and I signed for the jerk!

Rose and I ran up on the porch and ripped into the plain brown wrapper. We laughed until our sides hurt wondering what that poor guy must have imagined about us and the contents of that package.

Yum-yum.

To this day, those were the best chocolate chip cookies ever!

What a night! What a day!

2011-12-21T12:41:00.006-06:00

The preschool Christmas program was wonderful. Two parents called early to say their children were sick. The two I needed! Since November, during practices, the little girl carried the class of boys in singing. The little boy, who is extremly anxious over new things wanted to be in the play. I was disappointed for both kids and myself.

My heart nearly skipped a beat when both students showed up. The little girl sang beautifully and the ten boys kept time. The little boy did an outstanding job as one of Santa's elves and Santa didn't have any misphaps this year, except...ten year old Nicholas, whispered in my ear, "I think that could be Grandpa!" I said, "SHUT UP!" like Elaine on Seinfeld, but, I didn't shove him, because Nicole had jumped up on Santa's lap and was nuzzling her cheek into his beard. I will post a photo as soon as I can.

She bellowed her songs louder than her classmates, and was as animated as one of those battery-operated holiday toys. It was a great program, a fantastic after party with faculty, staff and a wonderful boss.

I slept until 7:00 a.m., which I never do. Then I got up and cleaned the house top to bottom. Doesn't it just make life seem good when the house is sparkling and the toilet seats are down and the tub is scrubbed?

I opened my emails and received two acceptances, a final on the Chicken Soup Messages from Heaven, and also one from Princess Dominique for her shoe anthology titled, The Perfect Pair, which has been in development for nearly two years. I had almost given up on it. Both pay well. AND I received payment for my story in CS Food and Love. I'm going shoppping.

YAY! My kind of day. Hope yours is good too. I am blessed.

Tomorrow I am baking (and eating) cookies.

Almost an R-rated Santa

2011-12-20T07:17:00.008-06:00

My husband graciously agreed to don the Santa suit and play Ho-Ho for my preschool classes when the dad who usually does the job had to have knee surgery.
"Make sure I have a mirror," Bill said.
He had a closet!
"You can't leave me here to get dressed by myself."
"You'll be fine." I had more faith in him than he did in himself.
"Wait, come back here and help me get the wig on straight!"
Pull the hat down over your ears and no one will notice if it's cock-eyed."
I click-clacked away on my high heels and greeted the audience, of over two hundred.

As my little students performed, one baby climbed up on stage like a chimpanzee escaping from her mother. I had to rescue her.

A little boy sang louder than all the rest, "Let's all do a little jumping." At that, his pants fell of his skinny little butt and pooled around his ankles. He laughed, his mother hissed from the audience and ran up on stage to hike his drawers when he refused.

A seated litle girl flipped over backwards from the riser and landed in the velvet curtain, feet int he air, stuck like a flannel board character, velvet to velvet.

The show was becoming a comedy. I talked about the fun of Santa and the true meaning of Christmas. We sang about Baby Jesus. Then, it was time for the big guy to exit the closet on cue: Jingle Bells. I forgot he was hard of hearing, and when he didn't bound into the room, I worried. I invited the audience to sing a rousing rendition of Jingle Bells. Hard of hearing Santa heard them and came Ho-Hoing into the room with his sack upon his back, and as he came close to the stage I saw it!

I gasped and jumped off the stage and bellied up to Santa. "X-Y-Z" I shouted in his ear. He grabbed the mike and obligingly sang, "A-B-C-D-E-F-G"
NO! I shouted, Santa, X-Y-Z!

He finished the ABC song as I shook my head and screeched,"eXamine Your Zipper, X-Y-Z!"

He looked down and saw that in his haste to get dressed, he had cinched the bottom of his Santa jacket into the belt, his red velevet draw string pants wide open, exposing his blue jeans, thank goodness.

He shouted in my ear, "Why didn't you just say, "Your barn door's open? I don't
understand your lingo. I thought you wanted me to sing the A-B-Cs to the kids."

It was a pageant to remember, one that is being talked about all over the world. This true story was published in The Ultimate Christmas 2008.

Santa was a dork, a perv, a lover boy?

2011-12-19T08:18:00.003-06:00

HO-HO-HO....Santa Claus is coming to town again. Over the years I have had some experiences with the big guy.

We have a home movie of Tracey at 18 months old. The neighbor said if we'd leave a toy on the porch, he would dress as Santa and deliver her special gift which she could open in his presence.

The honking Super 8 movie camera was loaded and ready. Santa came through the door and the camera panned to our little girl who was very excited and tore into her present. She loved the dolly in it's little battery-operated walker. Only problem was, Santa couldn't figure out the operating instructions. You could see him getting more frazzled as the moments wore on. Finally I jumped in the picture, flipped on the switch and watched our baby chase her baby doll. Years later, viewing the movie, she asked if Santa had been a bit challenged and on the verge of a breakdown.

Another fun Santa episode was when my granddaughter was four and caught Santa (Uncle Joe) in the act of kissing Aunt Michele in the back bedroom after assembling Ashley's kitchen set. He ran past her and out the door leaving her dazed and confused. She was a lot more excited about the kissing than her new kitchen set.

"Nana, I want to write a letter to Santa and tell him never to kiss Michele again. And I have to tell HER never to kiss him again, because if she's kissing him when he puts his finger aside his nose, she'll fly right out the chimney with him."

The grandpa of one of my students used to play Santa for my preschool program. Only problem was, he didn't say, "Ho-Ho-Ho," he would look at the kid's moms and say, "Heh-heh-heh."

I'll save the best for last and tell you more tomorrow.

From our home to yours

2011-12-18T08:43:00.017-06:00

We have downsized our tree, and now it is perfect for us and our small home. In the past we would have to move furniture, take out a recliner and a table in order to display the six foot tall tree. Now, we put this plump little tree on an end table and I hang the ornaments that are senitmental to us. I gave the delicate, red, green and clear, frosted ornaments to my granddaughter.

These handmade ornaments made by the grandkids mean more to me than crystal ones. The little heart with the two chipmunks swinging is a gift from hubby on our first Christmas.

This angel is a reminder of my late mom who had so much love in her heart. After all, Christmas is all about love.

I love snowmen. Bill made the largest one years ago for me. I have collected the others over the years. These are on the top shelf. There are five more shelves, but the one that makes me happiest is the man in the Norman Rockwell reproduction. He reminds me of my late dad.

My stuffed snow family collection came together over the years as I found one here and one there at thrift shops and yard sales. They make a nice blended family.

I recently found this cute little guy at the Goodwill store for $2.00. He just happened to match a candle snuffer that I already had, and they look happy to be together.

It is the meaningful messages on the candles and figurine that mean the most to me.
May you and your family feel the peace and calm, love and joy that is Christmas.

Which is YOUR favorite?

Thank God it's Friday

2011-12-16T07:59:00.006-06:00

TGIF! (Thank God it's Friday) The kids are wound up, and I am winding down. There's one little girl who talks like a Chatty Cathy doll with high powered batteries. No, she's more like a See and Say toy with its string being continuously pulled. Then there's the little boy who I guarantee you is at the top of Santa's naughty list, but his mommy and daddy thinks he wears a halo.

There's one certain little girl who stole my heart the day she was born. She loves her pink cowgirl boots as much as I love her, but sometimes she gets a bit confused. I'm drilling her on the Christmas story everyday as we drive to school.

"Which baby was born at Christmas?"

"ME!"

"No, Baby J-."

"Jason!" she shouts her daddy's name.

"No, Baby Jesus, and his mom is named?"

"Mary! And is dad is Jofuf."

"Yay! You got that right!"

"So, Nana, Jesus is a superhero and angels are fairies?"

"WOW! Look at that giant blow up Scooby Doo and snowman on that lawn."

My husband snored at deafening decibels last night. When tugging the blankets off him and poking him in the ribs didn't wake him, I tossed from my left side to my right and back again. On the cruise ship, he liked the swaying movement. Hmm!

He mumbled, "Having a little trouble sleeping, are we?"

"WE sure are, because YOU are snoring like an old bear."

"Am not, ssssnuuuuuuggghhhhhh." He didn't miss a beat and went right back to sleep.

This morning he swears it never happened. My pillow and blanket on the couch are proof that it did.

I just devoured a pancake, (because I have devoured all of the cookies) and as I was smothering it in syrup, I looked out at the bird bath and shouted.

"Bill, come quick, put on your clothes!"

"What?!" He came running.

"Go outside and unfreeze that little sparrow stuck in the frozen bird bath, poor little thing."

He looked at me. I stared right back, eyebrows arched.

"Go! Please. Go help it."

"You need help. That's a big leaf sticking up out of the frozen bird bath."

With that, I spun away from the window and kicked my left foot with my right big toe and nearly tripped myself carrying that flat pancake. (Not fat, FLAT. As Flat Stanley. It didn't rise to the occasion like I did."

Toodle loo, I am heading off to school. TGIF!(Things Gotta Improve Fast)

Readers and writers

2011-12-15T05:43:00.011-06:00

The turnout was wonderful, even though there was a glitch with the launch party for St. Louis Reflections. Robin Theiss, the book publisher sat up front taking orders, but the book was not available until the next day. However, in just a few minutes, the St. Louis Writer's Guild sold fifty-one books. Other local authors sold their own books displayed on tables around the train station. A night of fun, for sure.

We are having literary fun at preschool too. This is fun learning, not forced learning. The pre K 4 & 5 year olds learn ABC's and the letter sounds by May. Most are so ahead of the game, though. My little future authors are identifying alphabet letters, learning phonics letter sounds, matching letters and hanging the letter ornaments on the tree.
Two of my students are actual readers, but the rest think that they are readers too. They choose a word card, sound out the first letter and match it to the holiday picture. We do this activity with the words on a table first, so they can read left to right. The project is now on the bench, and looks overwhelming, but they can all do it and choose this as a free time activity. This is what I hear.
A "Hey, this word is "A, like apple." They walk up and down looking for a picture. Then I say, "A has another sound." They squeal, "A, angel."
B "I know-I know! This one is Baby Jesus."
C "Cuh-cuh...cookies" or Caa-caa, CASTLE."

And who doesn't enjoy trying to figure out what is in a wrapped present? It is my delight to watch their animated faces when they've 'read' a word or matched a picture to its package.

I hear the train acoming

2011-12-13T07:02:00.005-06:00

Tonight, 7:00 p.m. at Kirkwood Train Station; yes, the real station,other writers and I will be reading aloud and signing copies of the St. Louis Writer's Guild anthology, St. Louis Reflections, in which my story appears. Cost $9.99, what a deal!

Other local authors will be selling their own books, so this will be a great oopportunity for last minute holiday shopping and a way to support local authors.

I hope to see YOU. The trains will be zipping down the tracks, rattling the walls, stopping traffic, interfering with our readings for brief interruptions, and it will be sooooo much fun to be this close to a train and published writers. Congratulations to all forty-five who made it into St. Louis Reflections. If you can't make this event, you can purchase a copy from Amazon.

Chicken Soup for the Soul book signing in St. Charles, MO

2011-12-12T05:17:00.016-06:00

Our third annual Chicken Soup for the Soul booksigning/Canned Food for the Body food drive was a huge success. T'Mara Goodsell, Theresa Sanders, Linda O'Connell, Cathi LaMarche gathered at Main Street Books in St. Charles, MO. Vicki Erwin, proprietor.

The Christmas Festival and parade were an added attraction for visitors who flock to this quaint little historic river town during December to browse the independent shops and purchase from local merchants and crafters. Thanks to Dianna Graveman, Lynn Obermoeller, and Sioux Roslawski, fellow writers who came to support us.

Jack frost was nipping at my nose, and I was in a hurry to return to my car. I had to stop in my tracks at dusk and take a picture of this gorgeous tree.

This lovely angel was a beautiful reminder of the true meaning of Christmas.

Right out of Charles Dicken's novel, walking directly towards me, came characters portraying Bob Cratchit and little Tiny Tim hobbling with his homemade crutch.

This young lady represented Sweden where the celebration of Christmas lasts two months beginning with Advent. December 13th is St. Lucia's Day. The eldest girl in
the family wears a white robe and head wreath with lit candles. She serves the family St. Lucia buns (lussekatter) and coffee in bed.

The holidays would not be complete without a visit from the Sugar Plum Fairy.

He does not look like our jolly Old St. Nick, but this is one of the many 'Santas from around the world' who were on hand to greet the children. Perhaps Pere Noel.

Not a one horse open sleigh, but certainly a lovely carriage ride down Main Street listening to the clip-clop of horse hooves on the cobblestone streets and taking in the sights, sounds and aromas of chestnuts roasting on an open fire, and Grandma's Cookie shop selling freshly baked saucer sized cookies on the street corner.

There were groups of carolers on every block wearing period clothing singing the traditional Christmas carols in perfect harmony. We wish you a Merry Christmas...

A famous author personally responds

2011-12-10T07:19:00.011-06:00

Kudos to authors who really care about their readers, not just their sales. High fives to any writer who responds with a personal letter to his or her number #1 fan.
Accolades and hugs to Randi Barrow, author of Saving Zasha.

Nicholas is nine and a half years old. He is kind, caring, has a winning personality and smile, a thick shock of dark hair and large feet that he is finally growing into. His lofty goal is to be a professional hockey player. He and his dad, my son, watch St. Louis Blue's Hockey. It is not uncommon to hear him cheer when the players get into fist and stick fights. I used to be appalled at the violence and feared he would incorporate these actions into his daily life. Well, he IS a rough and tumble kid on the football field. His team was undefeated until the playoffs. He participates in and loves all sports and he prefers outdoor play with the neighbor kids, which usually ends in a dispute between someone. Nick either defends his position or the underdog. He likes wrestling with his dad, but he also enjoys snuggling with his mom. And he teases, as much as helps his little sister. He is fond of his large reddish brown dog, Nash and his cat, Tweeny.

This kid will defend to the end a bullied student on the playground. He is not afraid to preach his convictions of right and wrong, and he is proud to be a Christian. He is a member of Student Council, and he attends meetings an hour before school when he'd rather stay tucked under the covers. He is passionate about everything, so I was not surprised when I came to visit and he began to expound on a book he'd been reading.

"Nana," His green expressive eyes widened. "I'm reading the best book I have ever read in my entire life, and I have read every one of the Captain Underpants books. I'm telling you, this is the best book EVER and did you know that in World War I, we fought the Germans? Well this book is about a dog that was in the war, well he wasn't a soldier-soldier, but he came to this kid..."

Nicholas has given me DETAILED snippets of this book for two weeks. The book is set in Russia and involves a German shepherd dog. The main characters are boys and, I could tell you the whole synopsis, but I think you should purchase a copy of this book for the preteen or tween in your life.

Nick is usually dropped off first at school and his mom brings his little sister to our house at 8:00 a.m. Nicole is in my preschool class. I am used to her 'surprising' me with a big hug in the morning. I was completely surprised when Nicholas came through the door and directly to the computer room where I was busy writing. I knew I would have to listen to more of his wonderful tale.

"Nana, since you're a writer, do you think you could get me an autograph?"
I'm thinking Blue's Hockey Player. "Sure, I can try. Which one?"

"Could you look up Randy Borrow? This guy is the best writer I've ever read. His words got into my emotions and I feel like I am in every scene in Saving Zasha."

I did a Google search on Randy Borrow. Then I searched the title and came up with Randi Barrow. I found contact information. I told Nick he could write to his favorite author. He wrote from his little heart. Then, I showed him the author's photo.

Those darned stereotypes. His eyebrows shot up. "Huh? Wow, this is different than what I expected. Oh wow, I don't care; she is the best author, EVER."

Amazingly, Randi Barrow, author of "the best book in the whole wide world" responded. Her friendly email included confidential information, "Shhh, Nicholas, it's our secret, but you haven't heard the last about Zasha."

I took the email to him after school and I have never seen a happier, more stunned, surprised little boy. That night ...

Riiiinnnng
"Can I take the email to school?"
"YES, be proud of it."

Rrrriiinngggg
"I don't think I should, because then I would be telling 'our secret' and she told me shhhh! So that means don't share the information, and I'm worried I might ruin it for her."
"It's OK, Nicholas. Share it only with your teacher then, not the class."

Rrriiinnngggg
"Nana, would you write her back again and tell her I would prefer her autograph, because she said I could have EITHER a book OR her autograph, and I want this author's AUTOGRAPH not an inscription."
"Nick, inscription means she'll address the book to you AND sign her name."

Rrrriiiinnnggg
"Nana, I feel bad that she has to pay to mail the book, so tell her to just sign a paper with her name on it."
"NICK, it is past your bedtime, and mine. I'll offer to pay postage."

Rrrriiiinnnggg
"Nana, when you write her, be sure to tell her this is the best book I have ever read, and I cannot stop thinking about Zasha."
"I will, Buddy. Love you."

Rrrriiiinnnggg
"Mom, you can't believe how happy Nicholas is about contacting this author."
"Son, I am so happy for him. Do you know how many times he's called me tonight? Isn't it past YOUR bedtime? Love you."

Next day, I pulled up after school and handed Nicholas her note stating his book is in the mail. His grin was slow; it grew clear across his freckled face, and I thought he was going to cry. Me too.

Randi Barrow is a former adoption attorney who has also written, Somebody's Child:Stories from the Files of an Adoption Attorney.Her books can be purchased through Amazon, Barnes and Noble and indiebound.org.

I am certain her books have deeply touched adults, students and little boys like Nicholas, the world over.

THANK YOU, Randi Barrow, especially for making an impact on me and my grandson!

Saturday multi-author event, can you help us?

2011-12-06T23:23:00.002-06:00

Multi Author Event ... please pass this information on to others.

20% off your entire purchase at Main Street Books, 307 So. Main Street,
St. Charles, MO

THIS Saturday, December 10th, from 1-3 for those who make a purchase and donate a canned good. Please come out and support local authors at the

2nd Annual Chicken Soup for the Soul book signing/ Canned Soup for the Body food drive to benefit the local food pantry.

Theresa Sanders, T'Mara Goodsell, Cathi La Marche and Linda O'Connell will be signing Chicken Soup for the Soul books on a variety of topics.

Come, let's take another tour

2011-12-06T06:27:00.016-06:00

The Chatillion-Demenil House, rich in French Cultural history, is on the National Historic Register. It is located in a neighborhood known as Benton Park in South St. Louis. The mansion was built in two sections, a modest two story brick house was built in 1850 and owned by Henri Chatillion who was a guide and hunter for the American Fur Company. He was immortalized in Francis Parkman's bestseller, The Oregon Trail about an expedition the two men made together.

The Chatillons sold their house in 1856 to French native, Dr. Nicholas DeMenil, a physician and pharmacist. He married Emelie Sophie Chouteau, a descendant of our city's founding family. The Greek Revival portion of the mansion, pictured here, was completed in 1863.
The furnishings are original and date from 1820-1880. Ceiling medallions, marble mantels, parquet floor and the front hall, gas powered chandelier are original pieces.

The DeMenil heirs retained title to the house until 1945. Lee Hess then bought it and capitalized on the natural system of caves under the property. This area was home to several large breweries that used the caves as a refrigeration system and underground connecting walk ways tot heir businesses. Hess opened and operated Cherokee Cave from 1950's-1960's. I toured that cave when I was ten years old. It is one of my fondest memories, as my overprotective mother allowed me to ride the Broadway bus from North St. Louis to South St. Louis with a teenage neighbor and her sister to tour the cave.

The path of Interstate 55 closed the cave and threatened the demolition of the mansion, but $40,000 doanted by Union Electric, allowed Landmarks Association of St. louis to purchse and oversee the restoration. The formal dedication took place in 1965 when the house was turned over to Chatillon-DeMenil House Foundation. It is open to the public for tours Wednesday through Saturday for a nominal fee. There is an indoor and patio cafe on the premises.

I was distinterested in local, national and world history when I was young. Now, I am awed by the significance of these historic local structures and the street names of founding fathers and land owners. Take a tour with me through the Chatillon-DeMenil House.

The piano was built specifically for the family and has always been in this place.

The gas lamp is original. This is a depiction of Aphrodite and she holds a sprig of mistletoe. Can't you imagine the glorious holiday parties back in the days?

How would you like to write your correspondences from this desk?

The candelabra are original pieces, a bit too elborate and ornate for me, but oh those crystals.

I certainly could have sat a spell in this antique chair after climbing so many flights of stairs in so many houses on this wonderful Soulard Historic House Tour.

Which picture is your favorite?

A glorious historic tour in my own town

2011-12-05T06:18:00.016-06:00

I attended a holiday house tour and this church was one of our stops. I was astounded at the beauty, the history and this altar.

This is the interior of Dreieingkeitskirche, now known as Trinity Lutheran Church, and earlier, as Trinity German Evangelical Lutheran Church. It is located in Soulard, an historic neighborhood.

Trinity was founded by Saxon immigrants in 1839. It is just a few blocks from downtown St. Louis and a block from historic, Soulard Farmer's Market which is still in operation. It cost $117,000 to build the church. Note the intricate carving on the white and gold carved altar and baptismal font.

Rev. C.F.W. Walther pastored the early church in 1848. He also founded a school, the oldest elementary school still in operation in St. Louis. Other recognizable local institutions established under Walther are Concordia Lutheran Publishing House, Lutheran Hospital (no longer affiliated) Concordia Seminary, Missouri Lutheran Synod. this was the Mother Church.

In 1917, with the onset of World War I, there was bitter anti-Germnan sentiment in St. Louis and unruly folks hurled rocks through the stained glass panel that was inscribed with the word Dreieingkeitskirche. The sermons originally preached in German were then preached in English until after the war, when the church returned to their native tongue. To this day, 172 years later, on the last Sunday of each month the sermon is preached in German, continuing the founding fathers' tradition.

Today Trinity Lutheran has an outreach and is a diverse and caring Christian community serving homeless, needy, wealthy and every soci-economic group.

This 100 year old diarama (about six feet long)was imported. The Nativity figurines were designed by an artist. An electrician designed the backdrop and installed a carbon arc light bulb. On Christmas eve, when the congregation is singing Oh Little Town of Bethlehem, the day sky, turns to night, and the sanctuary dims as stars in the night sky illuminate the diarama. The congregation sings Christmas hymns, and at the conclusion, the "star" shoots a beam of light throughout the church. It must be magnificent to be in that congregation and feel so connected to the first Christmas when Jesus was born and to feel what the shepherds felt.

Look at the intricate artistry. Lest you think that these are ceramic, let me assure you that each figure in this nativity scene is made of paper mache`. Aren't they incredibly beautiful at 100 years old?

Lay down your sweet heads

2011-12-01T20:05:00.005-06:00

The children on the stairsteps are not mine, but the story is. It is near and dear to my heart as those days were so precious to me.

Please click HERE to read my Christmas story in Sasee Magzine.

I welcome your comments.

Naked sneezing and no more people pleasing

2011-11-30T07:18:00.007-06:00

I teach at a school designed specifically for children with life-threatening food allergies and asthma, although not all of the students are affected. I am forever washing my hands and know better than to put my fingers near my eyes or nose, one of the fastest ways to transfer germs. I teach my students to cough or sneeze into their cough/sneeze catcher, the inside crook of their arm. But we all know that the world is a preschooler's tissue, so I am careful not to touch a sleeve at the wrist. If someone forgets to cover their mouth and they release their germs into the air, I fan it back to them with a piece of paper and laugh and say, "You keep these germs, they're yours. I don't want them." It's a nice way of saying, Cover it!

With cold and flu season upon us, I have more control in my classroom than out in public. Adults who were trained to cover with their hands, think they are doing the right thing, but those hands transfer fistsful of little buggers (not boogers) to shopping cart handles and every other thing they touch.

So many times I've been tempted to use non-verbal communication, raise my arm and point to the crook. But they'd think I was deflecting, asking for the time, or merely a confused old lady. I've thought about actually saying what's on my mind to the dumbasses who hack and cough and naked sneeze (completely uncovered) in tight spaces, but I figure if I let loose with my words it would be more viral than their sneezes.

Did you ever turn the corner at the grocery store only to run into someone who speaks thisclose in your face? " 'scuse me, hack-hack-hack, do you know where the cold medicine is?" I mean, really!

I was in the toy aisle when a woman coming directly towards me, and not two feet away
bellowed at my eye level for her kids ... out of her mouth into mine. Yuck!

I used to smile, be friendly and speak, you know...'tis the season and all that. But now, when I see someone approaching, I turn my head, and exhale through my nose until we pass.

I've had to swallow enough of my own words over my life time. I am not about to start eating other people's.

I had a vision

2011-11-29T04:41:00.012-06:00

I embarrass myself!

A couple years ago I went to the ophthalmologist and received a good report. She asked if the Dollar Store reading glasses were still doing the trick, and approved their use. I didn't admit that I have two pairs, one for reading small print and one for watching TV.

Last evening I awoke from my three hour! nap on the couch with my TV specs perched cockeyed on my nose. I proceeded in a trance-like state to the bathroom, the dim motion light barely illuminated the room. I sat down, looked down and screamed like a banshee. I reached for a magazine and beat the heck out of a piece of black sock lint on the floor, then I looked at the wall and attacked the plug on the curling iron (the cord had unraveled and was hanging off a shelf).

Perhaps I had the wrong pair of readers on. Perhaps it's the dreaded winter doldrums that causes these sleep-induced panics. When the sun goes down, so do I. No wonder I wake up refreshed at 4:00 a.m.

Now that I am bright-eyed, let me tell you about a call for submissions. Go HERE to read an interesting interview with Rhonda Penders, Editor-in-Chief of Wild Rose Publishing. She gives a thorough breakdown of the many romance sub-genres they publish, everything from short-story to novel length; hot and steamy to sweet, sweaty and sticky (implied sex); to hot and bothered (explicit); and everything in between. Put your "readers" on and get to it.

How about you, front or back

2011-11-28T05:47:00.006-06:00

of a book, a football player, a dress, yourself?

BOOK:
Usually The Front. I purchased Mama Makes Up Her Mind and other Dangers of Southern Living, by Bailey White. The picture of a cute cottage with vintage car parked ON THE PORCH along with a bathtub and rocking chair made me chuckle. I read the first paragraph of the back blurb and gave the book a thumbs up. I got home and began reading. Bailey has the writing style of Flannery O'Conner and Fannie Flagg, which I like. It was an easy read, but I kept getting frustrated at the end of each chapter. There was no continuity into the next chapter. I must be a slow learner, because I was on page 48 before I flipped the book over and read the entire back cover blurb. "Bailey White's indelible VIGNETTES of Southern eccentricity..." well, Duh!

FOOTBALL PLAYERS:
I've done a whole lot of football watching since Thursday. So uhmm, ladies, you all know it's The Back. Unless it is my nine year old football playing grandson I'm watching, and then it's The Front because he has the cutest face.
Ahh, if only Spandex pants did for my hiney what they do for those pro jock tight ends.

Dresses: The Front
Saw some of the cutest dresses this weekend. They MUST drape across my midsection ... uhm, Okay, my midriff bulge, an old woman's version of a young girl's "muffin top". I found several that I thought did the trick, and then I looked in the mirror to discover buttons, zippers and puckers in the wrong places in the back. I walked out of the dressing room and saw an old friend from many years ago. "How are you doing?" I asked.

"Getting older, wiser and fatter," she said with a smile.

"I still think of myself as when we were young. I have this image of how I will look in these dresses. Then, I try them on and get my real age come-uppance in that dressing room mirror," I complained.

She rubbed her belly and said, "Me too. Enjoy the holidays."

I patted my belly and said, "Yep, going home to finish the pie."

"See you round," I said and headed down the aisle. From a distance you couldn't tell if I was coming or going.

I ask for your forgiveness before you read this

2011-11-26T08:43:00.008-06:00

Bill slept with his ex-wife for nearly twenty-two years. I am embarrassed beyond words to tell you that I have slept with her, too. Let me lay it out for you.
On Thanksgiving, Bill's daughter invited her sister's family and her parents to her home for dinner. We sat around and watched big-screen football games.

Bill's ex-wife and I complained that we don't get it anymore.

We ate a big dinner.

She and I, elbow to elbow, washed and dried the dishes.

And then everyone else, five kids and six adults went to the diningroom to play Phase 10, a long-lasting, noisy card game.

That is when it happened. She and I were alone in the living room and ...

Bill's ex-wife and I slept together.
Bill's ex-wife and I slept, together.
Bill's ex-wife and I slept, together, after Thanksgiving dinner.
Bill's ex-wife and I slept, together, after Thanksgiving dinner, in the livingroom.
Bill's ex-wife and I slept, together, after Thanksgiving dinner, in the livingroom, on separate couches.

And now it is a scandal; someone took a picture of us, curled up, together, after Thanksgiving dinner, in the livingroom, on separate couches.

She is a very nice woman and we get along well. (No offense intended.)

There you have it.
The moral of my story: use your commas, and be careful of tabloid headings, unless you are trying to reel your reader in, and then you'd better be careful that you can pull it off, or you might tick them off. See what I mean?

Thanksgiving, circa 1969

2011-11-24T03:33:00.010-06:00

On this Thanksgiving Day I am thankful for my abundant blessings, and I am thankful for you, my blog friends.

I awoke at 3:30 a.m. this morning with Thanksgiving, 1969 on my mind. I was three months pregnant, a soldier's wife, living in a trailer the size of an old city bus, in Delta Junction, Alaska. It was a wilderness town, population 500, situated at the end of the Alcan Highway. We received Down the Road Pay, an extra monthly stipend of about forty dollars because we lived off post in a hostile environment. No, we didn't have to dodge bullets like the soldiers in Viet Nam, but danger lurked and our enemy was the extreme climate, fifty below zero degrees with unbelievably strong winds. Caribou, moose, a herd of buffalo and an occasional bear roamed freely.

Winter sunrise occurred about 8:00 a.m. and illuminated the town with a forty watt glow. Pitch dark enveloped the town by 2:30 p.m. There were no porch lights and no street lamps, like back home. Walking outside on a clear moonlit night was literally breathtaking; our exhaled breath crystallized. The stars looked so close it seemed I could reach up and pluck one. The aurora borealis spilled pastel streaks across the sky. But on cloudy nights, (3:00 p.m.) when I walked outside, my visibility was zero. I couldn't even see my hand in front of my face. I could hear and feel the thundering from the herd of wild buffalo tramping down our gravel road.

I stayed inside and watched either PBS, Public Broadcast Station or AFS, the Armed Forces Station. I viewed a lot of Sesame Street, a brand new childrens' educational program, and when I tired of that, I watched army reels. At 6:00 p.m. we were able to watch the NEWS, live from a local TV station in Fairbanks, 100 miles away. The male reporters were often caught licking their hands and smoothing their hair -talk about Candid Camera! Then Walter Cronkite would report the nightly world news. The only problem was, it was the news from the night before. There was a twenty-four hour delay because the newsreels had to be flown in from Seattle each day.

Thanksgiving, 1969 was one for the books. Every military family living off post had difficulty stretching their paychecks 30 days. We all ran out of something by the last week of the month. Often we didn't have six cents for a postage stamp to write home.

The day before, I'd purchased a roasting hen and stuffing at Diehl's, a general store, bookended by a tiny post office and bank. At 10:00 a.m. I put the chicken in the tiny oven and sat down to write a letter.

Dear Mom,
Happy Thanksgiving. As I look out the window I see an older Eskimo couple in their mid-forties walking down the road wearing parkas. They are arguing loudly in their native language. Most of the people around here are transient young military couples, and most of the wives are in various stages of pregnancy. This native couple must live nearby. I see them frequently, and he is always verbally abusive to her. I should invite them in for Thanksgiving dinner, but I know you'd lecture me about strangers. I've invited Bob and Karen from down at the end of the road. I like her, but her husband is more hot-tempered than mine. Have to go baste the bird ...

That's when my Thanksgiving took a turn for the worse. I opened the oven, anticipating the blast of warm air, but the oven was cold and the bird uncooked. My former husband and I pooled our pocket change, and came up with ninety-four cents. We scrounged around the couch, searched high and low and found three more pennies. He unscrewed the small propane tank (which fueled the cook stove) attached to the front of the trailer, and we headed up the road to the gas station. It cost $3.00 to refuel the tank, but my Ex explained the situation to the attendant, asked if he could purchase a dollar's worth of propane, and promised to pay him the three pennies later. The man filled the tank, and said, "Happy Thanksgiving, kids. Come see me on payday."

As we sat down with friends to a delicious chicken dinner, I said a long-winded prayer.

Forty-two years later, my kids and grandkids are scattered in all directions, visiting relatives. I will join Bill's children and grandchildren this afternoon and send up a prayer of Thanksgiving for good health, a good husband, good kids, good grandkids,and good gravy, because Robin makes the best!

They THINK they are just playing

2011-11-22T05:59:00.011-06:00

HAPPY THANKSGIVING FROM MY CLASSROOM TO YOUR HOME

Nicole and Daniel in front of the tee-pee which they decorated. They are ready for a bear or buffalo hunt. They shot the nerf bow and arrow at turkey, bear and buffalo targets. If a messy desk is a sign of brilliance, well, please disregard the messy classroom. It is the end of the month and we collect a lot of clutter. Oh, but experiential, hands-on learning is so much fun and is developmentally appropriate. Little children should be moving and exploring, not sitting at a desk doing paper/pencil work.

Creative dramatics, Nicole and Nina rowing downriver. All we needed was a box, cardboard oars, and a blue sheet. The boys insisted on fishing poles. We also sat on carpet samples, paddled our canoes and 'tipped them over', that is, WE tipped our bodies backwards and spilled out. You should have heard the gleeful laughter.

I believe that literacy is one of the greatest gifts that we can give children, and so, I encourage story telling. Parents read aloud and the kids see their words in print. If you can enlarge it, read Daniel's to the left, on blue paper.

We are great story tellers, as were the Native Americans. You can certainly see which stories were dictated by the three year olds and those that were told by the four-five year olds. The 4's & 5's chose their Native American's Name by using their imagination. They closed their eyes, pretended they were in their Tee-pee (tipi) and peeked out. The first thing they 'saw' was what they named their main character. They also examined buffalo and bear pelts borrowed from the Department of Conservation. They learned how every part of the animal was used for food, clothing, bedding, shelter, etc. their parents were amazed at the facts they told THEM.

Albuqurque the Turkey targets many areas of learning.
Speech: we touch our throats to learn where the "Q" sound comes from, and we touch our mouths when we say the "T" sound. Otherwise they call it AlbuTurkey.
Finger strengthening: twisting tissue paper
Cooperation: working alongside a classmate
Empathy and generosity: the children help STUFF the food into the box and learn about donating to the needy (those who need it but do not have it).

The children think they are just playing, but sticking feathers in styrofoam develops and strengthens small muscles in the fingers/hands which children use when printing. Some of these had turkey heads. We also laid on the floor and blew feathers, stood and caught (the snipped off top, soft part) them as they drifted down, staying focused and in control :)

When people ask me what I do, I reply, "I teach preschoolers."
When they say, "Oh, you babysit," I want to bring them to my classroom for one day.

Did you ever shake the box to reveal the gift?

2011-11-19T16:27:00.006-06:00

Christmas Surprise (100 words)

"I don't need nor want a new stove," Mom insisted when she came home and saw the appliance box in her small kitchen.

"Be nice. I'll call Johnny long distance. He sent me the money to buy you a new stove. We both went to great lengths to surprise you."

I dialed my brother who lived in Nevada. "Mom wants to say thanks for her present."

"Hi Mom, do you like the color?"

She frowned, stretched the phone cord, opened the box. My brother popped up with the extension phone. Her son in the box was her favorite Christmas present.

http://warnerwriting.wordpress.com/christmas-with-mom-contest/
Check it out. If you can do it in 100 words, and your entry is chosen, you could win a $25 gift card.

Things are not always as they seem

2011-11-17T20:54:00.009-06:00

I babysat Nicole for a couple hours while her dad and brother went to football practice and her mom went to school. She played with her little mermaid Polly Pockets.

"Nana, help me get her dress on."

Dressing those rubber mini dolls in rubber clothes is worse than stuffing that big-boobed Barbie in a too tight dress.

She came into the living room and snuggled with me under a warm blanket. We searched TV for something child-appropriate. No such thing at 7:30 p.m. So I turned on reruns of The Waltons. FYI, it wasn't all Utopia on Walton's Mountain. In this episode the preacher found one of the red haired sons in a road house (bar). Pa Walton, after being struck by lightning, walked into church, and then got up and walked out on a fire and brim stone, circuit riding preacher.

The Waltons all had their problems, just like modern day families do. Mama Walton not only had to put up with living with her in-laws, but she had to feed, clothe, referee and care for her brood, not to mention deal with a husband who wanted no part of religion and refused to attend church.

The entire town turned out for the annual revival and baptism. Pa steadfastly refused to take part. He said there was nobody going to shout at him to save his soul; he already believed in God, and no amount of river dunking was going to change the way he already believed.

I watched those stair-step Walton kids walk into that river one after another and get fully immersed as the preacher pronounced their souls saved. A song from my childhood, Shall We Gather at the River was being sung by all. Dang! That preacher held those kids under way too long as he invoked the Trinity.

I got to thinking on this cold night about how warm the ocean feels. I was lulled by the memories of floating at Maegan's Bay in the Bahamas. I could actually feel the warmth, and the wetness, and the heat. And then I realized, Nicole had fallen asleep and had just "baptized" me.

I am praying that I can save my sofa. First, I am going to immerse myself.

Hamming it up

2011-11-17T07:54:00.002-06:00

The Pigs Took the Cake!

My wedding date coincided with my best friend’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. We decided to repeat our vows together; she and her husband would renew their vows at my small, second wedding.

Brides go to great lengths to select the perfect wedding cake and topper. I am not a professional cake decorator, but every birthday cake I’d ever baked for my grandchildren had received rave reviews. How difficult could it be, I reasoned, to make my own small, three-tiered wedding cake? It actually turned out quite beautifully. I chose a unique and most appropriate ceramic figurine topper: bride and groom porkers smooching. Yes, pigs!

The reason for my selection began five years before when my best friend, who had been my former next door neighbor in Alaska, came for a visit. We had so much catching up to do. I couldn’t wait to introduce my fiancée and my best friend to one another. Even though twenty years had passed, it was as though we’d never been apart.

We visited tourist attractions. At one of our town’s animal sanctuaries, she saw her first pot-bellied pig and fell in love with it. Her obsession with that paunchy sow became the topic of every letter and phone call when she returned home.

“How’s my pig? When are you going to send me one?” We sent her pig photos, but in each letter she jokingly begged for the real thing.

My fiancée, with his warped sense of humor, decided to grant her wish. He called to tell her that her pig was on the way. He went to the pet store and purchased rawhide pig ears for her dog to chew, pickled pig’s feet in a jar and pork rinds in a bag. This went on and on until the two of them were swapping ceramic pig figurines for every occasion and no reason at all. His office study soon looked like hog heaven with decorative wooden shelves on each wall lined with miniature swine of every kind. One pig sat in a rocker reading the New York Times; another stood on a scale with an ice cream cone in hand, a reminder that our favorite vice is ice cream. Then a bikini clad pig with sunburned buns arrived after our beach vacation. She sent the pig in the hammock when we returned from Cancun where we’d taken daily siestas in hammocks. Each pig she sent had particular significance.

On the day of our mutual weddings, my friend admired the three individual cake layers on my kitchen table. She laughed aloud at my choice of cake topper, in honor of her “pig.” We drove the cakes to the reception hall. I stacked the three layers which were positioned on thin wooden dowels. As the wedding music began, she and her husband, and my fiancée and I walked down the white silken carpet runner and took our places in front of the pastor.

Standing with my husband on one side and my best friend on the other, we sealed our friendship with hilarity that April afternoon. The four of us had no sooner said, “I do”; “I do”; “I do”; “I do,” when I glanced over at the cake. Horrified, I whispered in my friend’s ear, “I do not believe it!” The minister solemnly continued to speak. We had to stifle our giggles when the middle cake tier collapsed. The pigs on the top layer tumbled … icing on the cake of our life-long friendship. Usually it’s the bride that steals the show, but at our wedding, even though there were two brides, it was the pigs that took the cake!

Published in Patchwork Path, Wedding Bouquet

Angels

2011-11-15T07:30:00.004-06:00

I wake each day with a prayer. This morning I had so many prayer requests and so much gratitude on my mind, I fell back asleep and woke up with a song on my lips not even related to the requests. I wonder if God feels as overwhelmed with all the major and minor problems. I often think my piddly problems are a nusiance.

I sometimes just ask His angels to guide and guard my kids, grandkids and friends in need. I think this is as direct a line to heaven, especially if you believe that each of us has a guardian angel.

Case in point, last evening my daughter had car troubles, and her husband was gone. She called Auto Zone who advised, but could not do diagnostics on a car in her driveway. She asked if they knew of a nearby auto mechanic. She telephoned the person they reccomended in her small town. He offered to stop by her house on his way home. That in itself is way beyond the call of duty. He looked at my daughter with surprise and she recognized him, but she couldn't quite place where she knew him from.

He said, "Years ago, you lived on my road, and you found my lost Great Pyerenes and you kept him for days and fed him, and then you found me! This is the least I can do for you."

The car ended up being a minor problem, but in a very big way, I know the angels were at work yesterday, for I do not believe in coincidence.

For the birds

2011-11-13T14:09:00.005-06:00

It is 77 degrees on Novemeber 13th, but the wind is gusting at 40 mph. It feels like springtime. I feel exhuberant, alive. The sunshine on my face warms me, the leaves letting go, floating and swirling, and the crunch beneath my feet are as good as chocolate in my mouth. Imagine my surprise when hubby and I were hiking in a county park this morning and came upon this. Perhaps some summer campers did it, maybe it is a neighbor child's gift to the birds. Whatever, it made me smile. It made my day! Little things do that for me.

Memoir can be difficult to share

2011-11-12T10:42:00.004-06:00

I was relcutant to read an excerpt from my incomplete memoir at Open Mike. I was surprised by the reaction of the younger people. They were interested. I told the group of twenty-somethings that I am sometimes embarrassed to share personal details about my "nomad" dad and my childhood. They encouraged me to lay it out there. They are right.

Do not allow fear to hold you back. If you have a tale to tell, write it down. You can revise later. Sit down and free write. You may be surprised at what you find. Among all the junk in your life, you might find a nugget you can work up into a piece for publication. I did and you can too.

Traipsing Through the Decades
published in Tiny Lights, A Journal of Personal Narrative
by Linda O'Connell

Ahh, wanderlust! I inherited it from my father who had a third grade education and was functionally illiterate. He traveled wherever his wandering heart desired, and when he couldn't actually go someplace, he'd spin a yarn that kept adults and children spellbound with vivid details of people, places and things. His story telling was the catalyst for my writing.

Personal essay is my favorite writing genre. Writer's block is as painful as writer's cramp, but I have discovered that if I allow myself to travel into the past instead of plot a future story or article, I can write prolifically. Sometimes I am five years old smelling autumn leaves burning in the gutter and Grandma's homemade soup bubbling on the stove. Other times I find myself wandering into my children's childhoods. Remembering their baby days triggers a memory of nuzzling a newborn grandchild, and so it goes as I traipse through the decades.

Although I am planted in a chair in front of a computer, often I am walking across the tundra in Alaska where I left a little piece of my heart, or I am power walking on a beach listening to the ocean roar. I can almost feel the crunch of gravel underfoot as I stroll down Memory Lane with my best friend; and to feel lush grass on bare feet, all I have to do is kick off my shoes and allow my mind to wander. A short jaunt is all it takes to jog a memory. As I hop, skip and jump through the decades, I kick up dust-covered memories that result in nostalgic personal essays or blog posts. It does a writer good to take a short jaunt every now and again.

It's THIS Sunday!

2011-11-11T07:18:00.007-06:00

Please come out for a while to support this great effort. Stay a short while or a long while. Meet the authors, listen to them read their work. Please repost this and tell others.

Storm Country release party and book signing $10 per book
All proceeds benefit Joplin tornado victims to replenish their library books.

Sunday, November 13 • 7:00pm - 9:30pm

Regional Arts Commission
6128 Delmar Boulevard St. Louis, MO

Authors will read from their work and discuss their contributions to the anthology. Some of the authors scheduled to read include: Elaine Viets, Linda Austin, Lynn Obermoeller, Linda O'Connell, Donna Volkenannt, Anene Tressler-Hauschultz, Kelli Allen, Bill Hopkins, and others. Event is free and open to the public. Refreshments will be provided by the Missouri Writers Guild.

Wear your words wisely

2011-11-10T05:08:00.008-06:00

Usually on Fridays, we go to a nearby buffet because I like the catfish. They also serve breakfast on weekends but we had never eaten there.

Sunday morning we drove past the new International House of Pancakes because there were picketers stringing a parking lot-length banner which stated SHAME ON IHOP. It was probably a union dispute, but how do I know they weren't putting a forbidden ingredient in their pancakes and omelets?

We drove to Denny's for their advertised Grand Slam Breakfast: two of everything, eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes. The line looked like Noah's Ark, two by two out the door.

We decided to try Golden Corral, the trough food place. I am a people watcher. I couldn't believe how crowded that place was, how overweight 99% of the diners were, and how delicious the maple flavored 1/2 slices of bacon were.

After our meal we sat and sipped another cup of coffee so I could take written notes. Some folks were dressed to the hilt and obviously had come from church. They wore glitzy dresses, sparkly shirts and suits.

Some people in their twenties, I'd bet money on, couldn't even spell the names of the universities embroidered across their sweatshirts.(Goodwill sometimes has good sales.)

Most teens wore product advertisements; branded with logos and company names. Unlike my kids who had to wear mix and match Garanimals until they were thirteen, these kids wore names of Fortune Five Hundred Companies. I'll bet none of the CEOs were stuffing their faces at a buffet.

Younger children wore T shirts with wisecracks printed on them.
What are you looking at?
If You're Looking for Trouble, Here I am!
I'm With Stupid. (That kid was being held in his seventeen year old dad's arms.)

As I looked around I noticed pretty teenage girls wearing granny skirts and ugly oxfords, not so pretty grannies wearing mini skirts and high heel shoes sporting an assortment of spindle legs, plump stumps, and turkey drumstick-shaped varicose-veined gams.

Males and females wore their affiliations and fondesses on their bodies in the form of art, tattooes ie: needles and ink, no thank you. I'm not one to judge; each to his own. I just know that no one is etching my neck, arms or legs. Not to mention other parts of one's body that I prefer to cover, unlike one gal who preferred to show her proud purchase off.

Emblazoned across her chest flesh, well let's be honest, breasts, was the word BEAUTIFUL.

I almost choked on my coffee when my husband said to me, "Hey, Beautiful, you ready to go?"

Good news for all writers

2011-11-09T04:57:00.015-06:00

I have more great news, some about me and some just for you! The editor at Sasee Magazine accepted my Christmas story for the December issue. It is a holiday story near and dear to my heart about my children. I will link to it here on my blog in a few weeks.

The great news for you is PROFESSIONAL, EXPERIENCED, MULTI-PUBLISHED WRITER, Jennifer Brown Banks is launching her writer's service. See details for the wealth of information she has to share. Jennifer is Managing Editor of Coffeehouse for Writers. Why not sit down, sip a cup of your favorite java and learn from Jen? She knows her stuff! I discovered an article penned by her in a writer's magazine about breaking all the rules. I have followed her wonderful advice ever since, and here I am today, prospering, multi-published in many genres. No wonder her blog is titled PEN AND PROSPER! (click on it for the link)

I received this email from Jennifer, and I am passing it on to you. Will you please pass it on to others?

From: Jennifer Brown Banks
Subject: WILL YOU JOIN ME?

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TIP OF THE MONTH
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Jennifer Brown Banks

Veteran freelance writer, Columnist, Pro Blogger
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This chickie is clucking!

2011-11-07T19:28:00.006-06:00

I am so excited. I just signed TWO more Chicken Soup for the Soul preliminary contracts, Messages from Heaven and the Married Life . I am hopeful but realistic. I know that rejection can occur thirty days before the publication release date. If these stories are accepted, that will be fifteen (15) Chicken Soup for the Soul books my stories will appear in. I feel very blessed to have the ability to write a compelling, often humorous and or inspirational story.
***********************************************************************************
This Sunday evening 7-9
Regional Arts Commission on Delmar
Storm Country, an anthology $10.00

I am joining Elaine Viets and other contributing writers who have been published in Storm Country, an anthology.

Deb Marshall, Kelli Allen, Dianna Graveman will also be on hand. All proceeds will be donated to Joplin tornado victims to replenish their libraries. Please spread the word. This is not about the contributors. It is a benefit for the people of Joplin.

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Trick or Treat, or the joke's on you!

2011-11-06T17:43:00.011-06:00

Last night we went to a belated, outdoor Halloween party. The weather was chilly, about 55 degrees, but there was a fire and a heater. There was also Karaoke, too much food, and lots of fun.

I wore my striped black and yellow, long sleeve pullover with black pants, and pinned a stuffed bee to my shirt. I went as BIG "B" and Little "B". Hubby wasn't about to wear an elaborate costume, and even insisted he would only wear a T shirt with a slogan.

I convinced him I would make him a costume that he could slip over his head and take off soon after we arrived. Bought a yellow disposable table cloth from the Dollar Store and cut out a bee pattern, drew some lopsided stripes. He tried it on and said, "I look like a wood bee."

"That's it! You are going as a Would Bee."

He had so much fun telling everyone, "I WOULD Be thinner if it weren't for my honey. I WOULD BE happier at the beach. I WOULD be ... "

He thought his jokes were hilarious because everyone laughed ...

when he walked away!

Give me a little hug, won't you, huh?

2011-11-04T08:05:00.009-05:00

Every person needs a daily dose. It has no monetary value. It is one of the most beneficial things in life; it is affirming, healing and transfers energy from one person to the other. It is a hug.

Four year old Nicole was over last night for a couple hours. She and I drew pretty designs on paper plates. Then she snipped the edges.

She played 'family' with three dolls. A big rubber boy doll (wearing her daddy's baby clothes) for Paw-paw, a chatty pull-the-string-doll for me (hmmm) and a Baby Beautiful baby doll for herself. She named them and gave them personality traits.

Paw-paw Bill being the male that he is, held the doll for a moment, and then he chased her, played monster, teased her etc. She would run to me with open arms shouting, "Hold me, Nana!" Then she'd yell, "Do it again, Paw-paw!"

She knew her safety zone was in my arms. How often we go through life unable to say, "Hold me." or "Hug me."

Later as she was snuggled with me in a blanket on the couch, she jumped up unexpectedly, ran over to Paw-paw, laid her head in his lap, wrapped her little arms around him and said, "I love you Paw-Paw Bill, let me hug YOU."
She sat on his lap and they snuggled for a while.

I think I disagree with my previous statement that there is no monetary value to a hug. Sometimes a hug is worth a million bucks.

When you are in the midst of a heated discussion with anyone of any age, and one of you says, "Stop that right now!" It is almost impossible to immediately switch gears. Human beings reason with emotions first and logic second. It requires a powerful shift in our emotional state to turn off what is bothering us. BUT...a hug first can lead to peaceful resolution.

Today, won't you give away one smile and one hug? The energy spent will be returned. Know that God loves you, and His door is always open even if yours isn't. He believes in you even if you don't believe in Him. My personal belief is, one God, one earth, many religions. HUGS to all of you.

Stretch your imagination

2011-11-03T07:29:00.008-05:00

When young children color on a flat service, they work different hand/finger muscles hand down, than they do with the hand up. I mount foam peg boards or puzzles and table toys on walls, ends of book cases etc, so children can exercise the area between index finger and thumb. When this area is strengthened it is easier to grasp a writing instrument.

Geo Boards are great manipulatives. Usually they are table top toys. Children stretch rubberbands between pegs to make different shapes. My approach is a bit different. I used a large sheet of cardboard, hot glued the center of buttons in three sizes, and added some happy face stickers. I glued a box on the bottom filled with colorful rubberbands and I mounted the entire contraption on the door with clothespins (the glue pops right off). Children stretch rubberbands to make designs. They use this game during free play; it is a self-directed activity and they play cooperatively, believe it or not.

Easy to make for pre K and elementary classrooms. Imagine the joy on your child's or grandchild's face if they were to come home and find one of these propped up against a wall or mounted to a door.

With a little imagination and few discards or reasonably priced items, you could be the star where you are!

Can you say OUCH?

2011-11-01T06:34:00.007-05:00

It's that time of year for me again.

Ladies, be vigilant and get your

Mammy Whammy

“Disrobe,” said 20 something
“waist-up completely bare.”
I removed my shirt & bra
and awkwardly stood there.

“Point your toes now forward,
twist your body right this way.”
Maybe ten years ago,
but I can’t move like that today.

She lifted Mopsie and Flopsie,
manipulated my chest,
depressed that boob smasher
and said, “Honey, hold your breath.”

“All done now. Take those with you.”
She joked and continued to yap.
“Don’t worry,” I said sarcastically,
“I’m not leaving either one of these
flatsos in your booby trap.”

Happy Halloween

2011-10-31T08:10:00.006-05:00

My former husband, an auto mechanic knew his stuff about cars. However, he had a disposition that I referred to as mechanic's mentality: lug nut, crank shaft, hammering piston, boiling radiator, speedometer in the red zone. We were like fire and fuel, and I admit, my mouth fanned the flames.

We lived in a brick house, in a middle class working neighborhood, on a one way street. The neighbors on either side of us were aging and had been long-time residents. The retired immigrants who lived to the right, kept their property immaculate. They were what was referred to as Scrubby Dutch. The missus would come out every Saturday morning with a bucket of steaming sudsy water and scrub the white marble stoop, four steps, and the porch. The mister would mow his lawn closer than a young man's crew cut. Often we found a big fat swath cut from our grass. This hint-indicator irritated the mechanic as he only mowed on weekends.

The retired white-haired couple on the left were an odd couple. He was mild mannered and soft-spoken; she towered over him figuratively and literally. Both sets of neighbors were friendly, but they knew that the mechanic was usually one spark plug away from firing off an opinion.

One Halloween, our daughter and son wanted to make a scarecrow. They wadded up newspaper and stuffed a pair of their dad's blue jeans, a red, plaid, flannel shirt and a pair of my discarded suntan colored panty hose which we used for the scarecrow's head and arms. I drew on facial features and added a mustache and a cap. We propped him outside on a chair on the porch and added a pair of work boots. Eight year old Jason, asked if he could give the scarecrow his rifle. Why not? I placed that rifle in the life-sized scarecrow's "hands" and took a photo of our masterpiece.

I saw the neighbors to the left drive up. I stood inside the open door and listened. I couldn't wait to hear their reaction. They did not park, they sped past the house, not once, but twice. The third time, they parked in the alley. I peeked out and saw them hunched over creeping quickly to their back door. I wondered what they were up to.

The next day, I was in the back yard with Dusty, our spaniel-mix, when the neighbor man walked out with Fee-Fee, his white toy poodle.

"How'd you like our scarecrow?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, yesterday when we came home, I started to park in front of the house when I saw your husband on the porch, wide-eyed, looking like he was about to go off half cocked with that rifle in his hands. I drove around a couple times, then decided to sneak through the back door. My wife looked out at him a time or two, and then we realized it was a dummy."

Out of grief came joy

2011-10-30T10:28:00.010-05:00

Did you ever sew something with a loose, temporary stitch and then forget about it?
Pull a thread and unravel a hem?

That is what it felt like for me yesterday. So many years have passed since my childhood, since the day I sat at my grandma's table on my Uncle Frankie's lap. He was in his late teens, had a full head of thick, wavy hair. He tried to get me (a preschooler) to eat my chicken noodle soup. He held the spoon in front of me and told me to look away. Then he ate it. After that, it became our game, everytime HE looked away, I gulped "his" spoonful of soup.

He was my mom's younger brother and the only boy among five sisters. Spoiled? Yeah.

We didn't have too much interaction, but I do remember that he gave my dad his old Studebaker when we needed a car; he came to my mom's rescue a time or two, and when he was in his forties and bald, he decided what he wanted to be when he grew up. He became a police officer. He made the rank of lieutenant. He had odd pets, a pot bellied pig and a "depewed" skunk.

He visited me and my family at my home a time or two after I married. My kids were little but they remember him tooling around in a little red MG, experiencing his midlife crisis, probably.

I saw him at Christmas once at Grandma's but our family did not have a close bond. Everytime I tried to take a snapshot he'd cover his face, to keep from having his picture taken.

I spoke to him on the phone a year ago. He said he needed to have an artery opened, and after he got over his painful case of Shingles, he would probably have the procedure. He chickened out and his heart gave out.

In so many ways he made his family proud. He raised three step daughters, but he harbored a shameful secret. He had two children, a boy and a girl from his first marriage, and he was estranged from them. I felt sorry for my cousins whom I barely knew. I always wondered about them, especially after I had a granddaughter whose father abandoned her at birth. That kind of pain is searing.

Yesterday at my uncle's memorial service, I met my cousin, Brenda, and her daughter. We shared a common memory, our grandmother used to stuff us with cookies, although we were never at her house at the same time, that we can remember. As I shared my memories with Brenda about her mom and grandma, I felt as if I was hand stitching pieces of a patchwork quilt together with very large stitches, connecting our memories, as we hurried to wrap it up. Someone pointed her out to me at the conclusion of my uncle's memorial service. I gave her my business card. I hope I hear from her.

Clarence, my uncle's lifelong best friend, almost eighty, grew up on the same street as my mom and her siblings. Once this cracker jack joker started talking, it was as if he'd tugged at a loose thread and let out a hem on my old coat. Memories flooded from him to me as he told me things about my father and mother and grandma that made me laugh, cringe, frown and smile.

Out of sadness and grief came joy, a reconciliation of spirit even if we never see one another again. For a brief hour, I was three, my dad and mom were young; I could hear my grandmother's voice, and after half a century I finally hugged my long lost cousin, Brenda, who seems to be doing well.

I crashed the gates! I'm ready to do it again.

2011-10-28T15:54:00.006-05:00

1982 World Series
This is what happened twenty-nine years ago. Thirty-eight years ago today my baby boy was born. He can verify this and so can my daughter.

Happy Birthday to my wonderful son, Jason.
By Linda O’Connell

The announcer’s voice gunned across the airwaves
like a hot rod peeling out on gravel.
Nearly fifty-four thousand fans “going crazy” as Jack Buck thundered
play by play, the seventh game of the’82 World Series.
Home runs ricocheted down my spine, coursed through my veins as I bled Cardinal red.

Although my ex was Bruce Sutter’s and Keith-damned-good-looking-Hernandez’s auto mechanic, he said he couldn’t get us a ticket, had to work that night.
Right! During the seventh inning stretch, I raced
the kids to my ’65 Mustang and we sped to Busch Stadium.

Bellowing cheers rocked downtown, thundered to an apex,
reverberated off century old brick buildings,
shook my car windows; drew me like a rip current towards the epicenter
of sound, lights, frenetic on-field activity.

I tugged my two kids three blocks, running
on wobbly legs through thick night air
permeated with popcorn, peanuts and Cracker Jacks,
gasping for breath, hungry for a taste of excitement.

We arrived at the twelve foot fence, and stopped.
A gated community. Padlocked.
The fans in stands, a tsunami of red,
swayed like an aftershock.

When Ozzie doubled and Sutter replaced Andujar
I had to see! We ran around the perimeter to get a better view,
and when I saw what I saw, I knew
prison bars could be no worse.

We took off towards the teenagers scaling the chain link.
When they shook the gate loose,
I snatched my son's and daughter’s hands and crashed
through too. A dozen guards came running.

I dashed into the nearest ladies room.
My nine year old son’s mouth moved maniacally
when I shoved him into a stall.
Cheers rocked the walls; his protests fell on deaf ears.

He still boasts about being front and center
at the ’82 World Series when his old mom
nonchalantly pulled him out of the ladies john
and ran like a slugger down to the good seats.
We got caught
up in the moment
and have reveled
in that kick ass Cards vs. Brewers game for twenty-nine years.

TONIGHT'S THE NIGHT WE'RE GOING TO MAKE IT HAPPEN AGAIN

If you saw the 'bad boy' again, would you? I did.

2011-10-27T15:57:00.007-05:00

I received my shipment of books a moment ago. My story, A Blast from the Past, is on page 150 along with the recipe I submitted. That in itself is reason to celebrate. More than that, I flipped through this book and noticed that they have included only 21 recipes along with the 101 stories.

My late, best friend and neighbor, Rose, used to make this recipe when our kids were young. I spent many hours in her small kitchen which had dark cabinets and orange counter tops, nibbling, munching and devouring her Apple Walnut Coffee Cake. Two pots of coffee past noon, our small kids would walk through her door after school, and we would still be sharing sweets, secrets, dreams, pain and laughter.

It had been nearly thirty years since I'd had my last taste of that bad boy. When I saw that "hunk" in a clear plastic container on a deli counter, I tried to look away, but was smitten all over again. All of the memories flooded back and I devoured every last crumb.

In the Chicken Soup for the Soul story, there is an incident that accompanies the recipe. No, it is not nice to laugh at your mother, let alone your friend's mother when you see them flat on their backs, feet in the air, in a compromising position.

I will be doing a book signing on 12/10/11 at Main Street Books in St. Charles, MO, along with two other Chicken Soup writers. Would love to see you there.

Halloween trash to treasure

2011-10-26T06:10:00.005-05:00

Before you toss that disinfectant wipes container, consider converting it into a learning tool. Cut a cardboard picture of Scooby Doo and an opening for his mouth on both Scooby and the container.

Hot glue the cartoon character to the inverted container (so it opens on the bottom for easy removal of the foam candy corn with letters printed on them).

I cut up a decorative party bag and wrapped it around the container.

I chose the foam pieces because children strengthen small hand finger/thumb muscles turning over the pieces to discover which letter they will "feed" Scooby.

After the holidays you can pick up plastic or flannel backed table cloths (with repeating designs) at discount prices to make an over-sized matching game. Cut the table cloth in half and hot glue it to a large piece of cardboard which can be obtained at Sam's Club or Costco for free. They are placed between layers of boxed goods.

Next, take the other half of the table cloth and cut the sections apart. I mount them on poster board weight paper and cover the paper backing with wide packing tape, so they don't stick to the DOUBLE SIDED Clear tape which I stretch across each row so the pieces don't move around or fall off.

This matching game can be used standing up or on the floor. The children have to decide which position to place each section in, sometimes the pictures are positioned sideways or upside down, so the children have to do some reasoning.

I am a bit of a stinker. I pick up the board when they are finished and "accidentally" drop it so some of the pieces fall off, and they work it again :)

I hope you can start thinking REUSE instead of reFuse (trash).

What do you call a female peeping Tom?

2011-10-25T06:49:00.008-05:00

What do you think of a grown woman who goes around at night peeping through holes to get a better look at her subject? I'm sure there are laws against peeping, but this gal has pulled some shenanigans that are downright dastardly, if not against the law. In fact, I suffered at her hands; she nearly maimed me for life.

Knowing what I know now about her, I would never get on an elevator with her if it meant she and I were the only ones on it, not to ride to the only bathroom in the establishment, not for a chunk of luscious chocolate, not for a view of a rare Monet. She'd suggest lifting the painting and I mean LIFT, not lift. I can't imagine being locked in a cell with her. My luck she'd put her minitaure monacle up to her good eyeball and inspect my pores, comment on my crooked teeth, mention my hair roots, and the fuzz on my upper lip. I don't need an educated person making educated guesses about me. I am steering clear of this peeper.

Years ago I used to teach school age students, K-6th at a summer day camp. I gave them a first-hand lesson on peeping. My classroom was in the cafeteria which had floor to ceiling windows. I completely covered one window with a roll of white art paper. I then made several eye holes in the paper at different heights. I instructed the children to peek through a hole and write or dictate their observations with as much detail as possible. When you have limited scope of something, it gives you a completley different perspective. It can be frustrating to have such a narrow view, but it can also be enlightening. As a writer, you begin to discover nuance, fine details, textures.

Well, I will allow the official peeper to enlighten you on this. Visit her HEREPlease take a moment to read her post and leave a comment. You will learn how this technique can help you as a writer.

The skinny on corn

2011-10-23T16:39:00.006-05:00

We went on a hayride to the pumpkin patch a couple of weeks ago. A middle school teacher pointed out the corn growing in the field and one of his students said, "Yeah, that's where hi-fructose corn syrup comes from, and that right there is why everyone is so fat."

The teacher said, "The corn didn't make them fat; overeating it did."

That lesson came back to me last weekend when we visited the Deutsch Country Days. One of the demonstrators showed us the functions of these various milling machines. He held up an ear of corn still in the husk and said, "What did the settlers do with corn like this? Let's begin: Feed the chickens?"

He tossed an ear of corn and said, "They'd have killed the chickens tossing this, and those that survived wouldn't eat it off the cob anyway. So, what if we strip the corn off the cob? Well, if I toss it in the barn yard like this, these pellets could put a chicken's eye out when I toss it. Besides, even if they did eat it like this, it would back up in their gullet, because they need fiber."

In our part of the country they used bone meal, beef bones were shaved and added to the corn, which was ground down into a finer meal for the chickens' mash. Farmers in coastal areas add ground oyster shells instead of bone meal to their chicken feed.

The farmer's would grind corn even finer and make meal for Johnny Cakes and corn bread.

The corn tassels were used to make a paste, which had healing properties for stinging insects.

They also boiled the tassels and made tea. The husks were used to make dolls. They were also soaked in water and then bunched,folded then inserted into holes in a piece of wood to make a corn husk broom.

The settlers boiled the corn until it was a fine syrup, and yes, they had hi-fructose corn syrup. Fermentation led to corn pone.

We take for granted the availability of corn and all its products. A hundred years ago, from the time a child could walk, they were working for their corn. Kids as young as toddlers would crank the handle on the shucker, the next machine milled it, and the next made it into finer meal, and the next machine (the blue one) shaved and ground the beef bones which was added to the chicken feed.

AN IMPORTANT NOTE: farmers did not feed beef bone meal to cattle. They knew better than to cannibalize cows.

He said nowadays our food is readily available. We don't have to expend any energy tilling the land, planting the crop, harvesting, storing and preparing the food. These are contributing factors to weight gain.

He mentioned that the settlers ate food that rotted, and passed quickly through their digestive tracts.

Today our food is over-refined and over-processed with so many preservatives. He said he has a commercially prepared hamburger and French fries from a year ago; it still has not rotted. Isn't that an eye-opener? Probably true. I know I have found petrified burger and fries under my grandkids' car seats, months later, and they still hadn't disintegrated.

He did mention the corn cobs, as nothing was wasted. They were used as stuffing for bedding.

They were also used as toilet paper. Folks always took three to the out-house, two red and one white. First they used a red one, then a white one if needed, and if there was no evidence that a third was needed :) it was saved for next time.

Now you have the skinny on corn which is allegedly responsible for making everyone obese.

I'm going to do it in public!

2011-10-22T07:11:00.009-05:00

and I want everyone to watch me.

I don't have the face, and certainly not the body to compete.

I am not an egomaniac; in fact, I am rather shy.

It really makes me uncomfortable, but yes, I AM going to expose myself.

I will be reading my personal essays and a poem. Please come listen.

Tuesday, November 1 at 7:00pm at
Dressel's Public House (Central West End)

Poems, Prose and Pints is proud to present:--Poets and Writers:
The Dressel, Howard Schwartz, Linda O'Connell, Julia Fialla Earhart, Byron Lee, Katy Friedman Miller, Gerald Rock, Kim Lazano, Jason Braun
and Music by: Warm Baby

In case you don't recognize these names, let's just say, this old pup is running with the "big dogs". I am so excited and would like to have as many people as possible in attendance at this FREE event. It would be nice if you bought a drink or a bite to eat at Dressel's, but you don't have to. There is no cover charge.

Story stones and story rollers

2011-10-19T15:51:00.012-05:00

As a writer and an early childhood teacher, I believe that storytelling is a key to emergent literacy. I found this little ghost at a yard sale for fifty cents and placed our Halloween story stones in it, (I have an assortment of general ones and also holiday theme ones). I turn them over so the kids cannot see the pictures (stickers). They select one at random and tell me something about it. The very young children in my three year old class simply label them, or say, "The ghost ate the pumpkin." There after, the next object eats the next and so on. That tells me something about individual students' language development. I want them to have fun, so I don't lead them. I listen. There are about thirty story stones, and some children will stop at three and others will use all thirty. It gets very redundant if all they do is eat each other :)

However, the four year olds are learning about sequencing stories, pictures and events: first, next, then, and last. When they begin, their stories are mostly basic, somewhat creative, and my only questions are, "What happened first? What happened last? What was your story about?

The more verbal children, especially the older fours and early five year olds, elaborate. They tell very creative stories and want to use all of the story stones.
They do this on their own, with me, or with a friend.

STORY ROLLERS

To further enhance language development, I bring in a Halloween theme decorated popcorn tin. I place a few objects inside and the children shake it and guess what COULD be inside. I lift the lid and expose one portion of the object at a time until someone guesses it. They use descriptive words.

Next, I roll the decorative can to each child and the class tells a continuing, group story as they touch a section on the tin. Sometimes I write their words and hang the story in the hall, and sometimes, we just do an impromptu story for fun. I pretend I am amazed when they add a great vocabulary word or I act frightened if they tell a scary detail.

A ghost saw a pumpkin on the ground.
The bats were flying in the sky.
A witch took the pumpkin. (Ohhh, don't make this too scary for ME.)
The scarecrow scared the mouse.
The witch cackled. (What a good word!)

The children laugh and think they are just playing, but you and I know that they are LEARNING. Did you ever try to roll a popcorn tin straight ahead? Sometimes it goes sideways and the kids have to do a lot of reasoning to figure out just how to roll it back.

One of these days, some of my students will be best selling authors. I know it!

I've been busy...and I'm going to be busier!

2011-10-18T19:21:00.010-05:00

Please support this great, collaborative event which will benefit the Joplin, MO tornado victims.

Storm Country release party and book signing. Authors will read from their work and discuss their contributions to the anthology. Some of the authors scheduled to read include: Elaine Viets, Linda Austin, Lynn Obermoeller, Linda O'Connell, Donna Volkenannt, Kelli Allen, and others.

Event is free and open to the public. Refreshments will be provided by the Missouri Writers Guild.

Sunday, November 13 · 7:00pm - 9:00pm

Location Regional Arts Commission
6128 Delmar Boulevard St. Louis, MO 63112-1204

Proceeds benefit the restoration of the Joplin School District libraries.

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Writers' Journal Magazine, Volume 32 NO 6, NOV-DEC Issue

Check out page 44!
Write a Winning Essay
Selling Your Personal Point of View
By Linda O'Connell

*************************************************************************************

St. Louis Reflections an anthology of essays and poetry by members of St. Louis Writer's Guild will be available soon. My story, Chasing a Name is about getting Chuck Berry's autograph, and losing it the same day.

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Chicken Soup Food and Love will be released in a few weeks.
I will be signing books on December 10th at Main Street Books in St. Charles, along with other Chicken Soup for the Soul writers. This is a food drive, Chicken Soup for the Body and Soul.

*************************************************************************************

My friend knows the editor of God Makes Lemonade, and says they are still seeking submissions. They pay $250.00 per accepted story. HERE for details.

Deutsch Country Days

2011-10-17T05:39:00.019-05:00

The weather was beautiful, sunny, breezy and 80 degrees, a perfect day for viewing fall foliage and taking a day trip. We drove an hour west of St. Louis to Marthasville, MO. Deutsch Country Days is held on the third weekend each October on the historic Luxenhaus Farm. It is a unique and authentic re-creation of early 1800's German life in Missouri. Walking the winding gravel paths and visiting the juried artists and volunteers wearing period clothing, demonstrating tin and peweter smithing, basket weaving, wood carving, natural dyeing, saw milling, corn shucking, candle making, arts and handicrafts, was like taking a step back in time. The smell of German foods cooking and for sale, made me miss my late grandmother.

There are over thirty log and period structures and a covered bridge along with the original Huber House, completely restored and furnished as it was in 1840. It was moved from the Huber Farm in Perryville, MO in 1970.

If anyone is old enough to remember Silver Dollar City, in Branson, in its early days, the primitive structures, the artisans in period garb at work making lye soap etc. then you would like this annual event held the third week in October on the Luxenhaus Farm. Luxenhaus Farm German Heritage Foundation and Deutsch Country Days offers opportunities to numerous history-oriented non-profit and youth organizations, and they also offer college scholarships. Deutsch Country farms is a non-profit organization (your entry fees are tax deductible) and charges a reasonable fee.

Not only can visitors experience German settler life in the 1800's, but they can take a tractor ride (or huff and puff as we did) up the gravel trails to higher elevation on the farm and hike "The Osage Trail". It is a real blast from the past, circa 1700's dedicated to the Osage Tribe who inhabitated the area then. There were lodges, Ti-Pis, and earth homes. Actors dressed as French trappers, Native Americans and others demonstrated their skills of bow-making, tomahawk throwing (Hubby gave it a try), leather and flute making, and much more.

Did I mention the animals? I petted a newborn calf, fed a goat the ice from my drink, saw Missouri mules working a sorguhm press. The two sheep got restless in their pen, so the owner took them for a walk. They trailed him like Mary (had a little lamb) around the property. The full grown sheep enjoyed their off leash jaunt as much as the visitors enjoyed interacting with them.

We huffed and puffed a bit up some hilly trails, and we slipped and slid a time or two coming back down, but what a work out, and what a fun time and glorious day to experience life back then, sample yummy food, and sip a glass of fresh lemonade.

Keep Deutsch Country Days in mind for next fall. Mark your calendar now.

I was impressed with the way the structures were built.

The roof of this mud and cedar house is made of cedar branches. Cedar trees grow in abundance in Missouri.

I was amazed to see how the immigrants and settlers made their log cabins, no mortar back then, they assembled with whatever they could find, rocks, mud, horsehair.

My favorite photo. These little boys were not acting. They were trying to catch a frog. I had to laugh at their ingenuity.

Cutest pumpkin in the patch

2011-10-15T15:56:00.011-05:00

What a beautiful day for a visit to the pumpkin patch. I had class field trips Thursday and Friday. My youngest granddaughter is in my class, so she attended both days.

The gorgeous weather is hanging around for a few more days, before sweater-weather returns next week. I feel blessed.

I love this picture because Nicole looks like the scarecrows' kid.

Cutest little pumpkin in the whole pumpkin patch.

Speaking to the supervisor

2011-10-13T17:37:00.005-05:00

I was in a government office today, because I have been unable to get questions answered on the phone. In fact the first person I spoke with on the phone was down right rude to me. The second phone person was somewhat helpful, but told me to make a personal appearance in October.

Today the young woman who assisted me was absolutley delightful. She spoke eloquently, gave me all necessary information to make an informed decision. She went above and beyond the call of duty. It was at the end of her work day. Before I left, I asked to speak with her superior. She looked surprised but went to get her boss. I told the boss how exceptional this woman's service had been and how helpful and personable she was. The concerned expressions on both their faces faded and they both smiled and look relieved. So often the general public has to deal with inept employees, consequently managers receive many complaints. This is one time the manager and employee were thrilled when someone asked for a supervisor.

I urge you, if someone treats you right, smile and comment to them or their supervisor about the great job they did. You might make their day. If more people chose gratitude as their attitude what a better world it would be. A few kind words mean a lot.

Peek-a-boo, I see...what?

2011-10-11T21:39:00.002-05:00

This is my easy-to-make Halloween-theme, peek-a-boo box. As you can see, it is old.

Make a diarama out of a diaper wipes container, add a few interesting miniatures and a background. Seal it shut. Poke a hole to peek through and also a hole on top to allow light inside. Put it on the nature table (we call it our Wonder Table, because we wonder about all sorts of things on that table). I tape it down with clear packaging tape so the kids have to bend down and peek inside, and it doesn't end up lost, dropped or opened.

This simple little container generates vocabulary, spontaneous language, encourages children to observe and recall: how many pieces of candy, what color, etc. was in the peek-a-boo box. I have a different one each month.

Why not make one and surprise your student, child or grandchild?

2Rivers Communication & Design

2011-10-11T06:33:00.009-05:00

So, you've written your book. Now it's time to edit and proof read. You and your friends may have given your manuscript the eagle eye, but doesn't a professional edit and an author's package sound ideal? How would you like someone in the know to do your indexing, back cover copy, promotions, and walk you through social media and branding?

Dianna Graveman is no stranger to writing, editing and publishing. She has been an elementary school teacher, a college faculty member, editor and outstanding corporate employee.

2 Rivers Communication and Design has been launched. Dianna offers editing and writing services from small scale to large scale projects. She wears so many "hats" it is difficult to keep up with her. Her work ethic is amazing and her diligence astounding. Those who know her can attest. Those of you who don't know Dianna Graveman, please check out 2 Rivers Communication & Design by clicking HERE . Move your cursor across her page and spend a moment of your day getting to know Dianna and the services she offers. Stop by her Facebook Page and LIKE it. Let's help this small business owner get her business off the ground. Pass the word on to others, please.

Cookies, better than a face lift

2011-10-09T20:03:00.011-05:00

Get a bunch of hens together, or maybe I should say, a gaggle of gals of a certain age together, and the conversation is sure to turn towards crows feet, the old buzzards we live with and who's ruling the roost.

The cackling is always on the same topics: how to tame the frizzies, smooth the wrinkles, putty the pucker lines. Our birdbrain forgetfulness is bad enough, but to pass a mirror and wonder who that old hag with the sag is ... why, it can be plumb scary.

One woman said she had sent off for a brochure on a highly-publicized face lift. The TV commercial shows before and after pics: a woman with a neck wattle, then that same woman with a taut face and thin chin. In one photo she's the mom and the next she could be the daughter. Can you say, "Results may vary"? Mine would be the exception to the rule.

My friend said she was in the car headed for the consultation when she took out her reading glasses and put them over her bifocals to read the fine print on the brochure.

"They make an incison and insert a string. I'm not being a puppet; nobody's pulling my strings."

She was worried about someone yanking her string, but I was more worried about all of the what ifs: what if I smile too broadly and snap a string? Open my mouth too wide while brushing my teeth and snap the nylon, which may not be as strong as my dental floss? What if the knot came untied? What if they wrapped my excess neck flesh around each ear? They're wing nuts now.

No, as much as I'd like to have a firm flawless, face, I think I'll just have to live with this mug. The face creams fail me, the vertical lines above my hairy lip are deep enough to hide cookie crumbs ... oh did I tell you about going to St. Charles Old Town today and buying a dozen of Grandma's Cookies, those homemade, delicious, inch-thick snickerdoodles that melt in your mouth? I figure I'll, "Ooohh" and "ahhh" as I nibble, (alright, gobble) and pretend I'm doing facial isometrics. Heck, I've decided to just eat cookies until my lip lines plump.

Hmmm, now what was I talking about?

Living in My Skin, Even if It's Purple, a Memoir

2011-10-08T06:50:00.012-05:00

My friend and fellow writer, Debbie Fox, released her memoir. The underlying message, to embrace our differences, runs through every chapter like the port wine birthmark stain across Debbie's torso. This book is affirming, uplifting and frightening (she suffered paralysis during childbirth directly related to her birthmark). Please check out this wonderful memoir about her journey towards acceptance and her courage to face childrens' taunts and life's challenges.

by: Debbie Fox (Author)
ISBN: 0-7414-6748-8 ©2011
Price: $16.95
Book Size: 5.5'' x 8.5'' , 304 pages
Category/Subject: BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / General

My grandson Nicholas, nine years old saw this book on the table. I explained that the author was my friend and she was born this way. His eyes lit up and he excitedly said, "WOW! Look at her. She must be very special."

I thought he was referencing special education.

I asked why he thought that, and he said, "Don't you know what happens right as you leave heaven to come to earth and be born? Look right here on the back of my thigh. I have a birthmark too. It's where the angels kissed me good-bye. Look at your friend. The angels must have really-really loved her and thought she was special, because look how big her birthmark is."

Tears sprang to my eyes and I hugged him. From the mind and mouth of a tender- hearted, football-playing, rough and tumble little boy, who is on Student Council and is an A student, came complete and total ACCEPTANCE of a stanger's looming birthmark that would frighten or at least confuse many children. I am so proud of this boy who is a ray of sunshine in my life and this world.

Need a writing prompt

2011-10-06T08:22:00.002-05:00

I have decided that I can get writing prompts from listening to the police radio. This morning I heard this dispatch, "The man claims there is a strange man in his bed, and there is a gun on the floor beside the bed."

That is a story waiting to be written, isn't it?

The next dispatch was, "Cancel the call, we have the 87 year old female in custody."
Helllloooo?

Learning with leaves

2011-10-04T22:01:00.006-05:00

This week we are doing a unit on fall, using leaves as the theme. This poster board hangs on a door, and the children match letters. Working with hands up instead of on a flat surface strengthens the hand/thumb area, in preparation for holding a writing instrument.

First, stick a square of clear packaging tape on the letter on the branch, then roll duct tape and stick it to the back of each leaf letter. The children match and stick them on the clear tape for easy removal.

I also have a large Zip-loc bag of autumn, silk leaves, (you can print letters/numbers/shapes on each, or not).

I teach the children this song: Leaves-leaves, yellow and brown, leaves are falling down to the ground. Leaves-leaves orange and red, one leaf landed right... on... my... HEAD!

As they sing, I pour the leaves over them, and some actually land on their heads! The preschoolers squeal with delight. Once the leaves are all over the floor, the kids become leaf blowers. They lie on their tummy and BLOW the leaves into a pile in a designated area. Blowing strengthens mouth/jaw/lips/tongue muscles which aids in speech development.

Mr. Mom or just Dad?

2011-10-03T19:27:00.007-05:00

Welcome to my new followers and sorry to my old buddies. Google is still gobbling my comments.

Two little boys were talking in the housekeeping area (kitchen) on old fashioned dial telephones that really work. When they pick up the receiver the children can speak to one another.

First boy: "What are you doing?"

Second boy: "I'm giving the baby a bottle."

First boy: "Oh great, now we'll never get to go out and play."

On a somewhat related note, we went to get our hair cut this evening and our hairdresser said to Bill, "So, were you a hands-on kind of dad when your kids were babies?"

Bill: "Oh yeah I was hands-on. I picked them up with my hands and handed them to their mother when they needed a diaper change."

I'll never forget, when Kyle, who is now 18 was a baby and hubby babysat. I came home to one frazzled grampy. The baby was wearing jammies that unsnapped half way down the legs.

"I'm sure glad you're home. This is a hazardous material situation and I can't get his legs out."

He handed him to me.

He was a great dad and he's a wonderful grandpa, but Mr. Mom he was not.

We sold out!

2011-10-02T06:36:00.007-05:00

Sheree Klemites Nielsen, Linda O'Connell, Faye Adams, (seated) contributing writers published in Nurturing Paws, an anthology edited by Lynn C. Johnston, published by Whispering Angel Press SOLD OUT of books in two hours, at indepenedent bookstore, Main Street Books in St. Charles, MO. Vicki Erwin, Propietor.

We had a blast. Diane Peters from CHAMP brought a mild-mannered service assistance dog who acted as our "mascot" or perhaps magnet. When I think of service dogs, I imgaine golden retrievers or labs, not a full size black poodle wearing a Cardinal baseball cap, and Cardinal's bandana around his neck.

Sales were slow at first, but after noon, the streets of this quaint, little, historic river town filled with shoppers and diners and book lovers. I gave away little stuffed Ty dogs to some of the children and even an adult or two.

Imagine peering into the open door of a book store and coming nose to nose with a real dog. Lots of kiddos tugged their parents' hands. Well you know how it is, babies and puppies upstage everything. We loved it! Thanks to everyone who came out to support us, especially Lynn and Teri and Gabe.

I am having blog problems and still cannot post on some of your blogs.

Bad Blogger! Settle down.

2011-10-01T06:18:00.003-05:00

I am not ignoring you.

Blogger is kicking me off most blogs. I write a response and suddenly Blogger gobbles it up and it disappears. This has been happening for a few days. I read all of you on my list, but am unable to post, Sorry.

Hope this gets resolved. I've heard from others that they ahd the same problem last week. Hope it gets resolved soon.

Numbers or letters?

2011-09-30T07:50:00.006-05:00

Did I ever tell you that I am not math oriented at all? Throw a few numbers my way and I get frazzled, but throw a few letters my way and I can unscramble almost any word. I always won the bridal shower game where guests made as many words as possible out of the bride's and groom's names.

I was poor at math but one day when I was ten, my dad handed me a dollar and sent my nine year old brother and me to the store to get three items. He told us we could have the pennies to buy penny candy.

"All of the pennies?" I asked, my wheels spinning two-fers: 2 Mary Janes for a penny, two malted milk balls for one cent, two Swedish fish for a copper head. All that math and my imagination got the best of me.

When the grocer, who was also our landlord, handed my brother the grocery bag and dropped thirty six cents into my hand, I said, "May I have the change back in pennies?"

"Why?" He eyed me suspiciously.

"It's okay," I assured him, "Dad said we could spend all of the pennies we got back, so if you give us the change back in pennies..."

"I can't do that."

"Sure you can. You have a drawer full of pennies, and Dad said it was okay."

I convinced Joe, who looked and laughed like a jolly Santa (without a beard).

He chuckled from deep in his belly when he converted the silver and counted the pennies into my palm. I was giddy.

My brother and I giggled when we selected our candies.

I took the grocery bag from my brother and said, "Let me handle this."

I put the grocery bag on the table, and Dad said, "Where's my change?"

I had my candy bag tucked under my shirt.

"Uhmm, Joe gave us all of the change back in pennies and you said we could spend the pennies." I whipped out my bag.

I have vague memories of getting my butt whipped.

Apples and words, DElicious

2011-09-29T07:23:00.008-05:00

Last week I took my class apple picking. This is my granddaughter, Nicole, who lost her ponytails to her own scissors, thus, the bowl cut to repair the damage.

We had fun tromping through the orchard and picking our own bag of apples.

I was thinking how apple picking is metaphorically like writing.

The children had to reach high for their goal, the perfect apple, much like stretching for the perfect word choice or phrase.

We had to twist and turn in order to get the apple to release its stem from the tree. Don't we have to tweak and prod our words?

The children discarded some apples with worm holes and bird bites. Sometimes we have to discard some parts of our stories because they're defective.

Bruised or rotted apples aren't as yummy as unbruised apples. We've all discovered how one rotten word can spoil a story.

As the children cradled their bag of apples like they were holding a baby, I was reminded that all of our stories are our babies, and it is difficult to edit parts that we wish we could keep. Sometimes we get so tired of lugging our babies, that we put them down for a while.

My 4-5 year old students made up and sequenced their own apple recipes that looked like this:

APPLE PIE

FIRST, smash up sixteen apples.

THEN, add about three cups sugar, a whole bunch of milk, and two pink flowers (heard someone else say 'a cup of flour') and two spoons 'cimanons' and stir it sixteen times.

NEXT, cook it in the oven sixteen hours and three minutes.

LAST, eat some and share with your mom.

****

See what I mean? Apples, words, delicous!

Birthday napkins are not just for wiping messy mouths

2011-09-28T06:07:00.012-05:00

Here's what I do with left over birthday napkins. Open and glue a napkin to a piece of tag board or shirt board, that lightweight cardboard in men's shirts. Children learn about sequencing, continuity, staying on topic for four related sentences. They develop observation and verbal skills, creative thinking and higher level reasoning. They see THEIR words in print and begin to make the connection between, letters, words and reading: emergent literacy.

Reading and story telling are two of the greatest gifts we can give children. They love having their own books. Some kids are more verbose and will tell more than two pages, so you could also add more paper and encourage an ongoing story for a week. Be sure to read each book aloud and make that kid proud!

Tip: the book will open horizontally or vertically depending on how you glue the napkin onto the cardboard.

Getting my Sharpie ready for the weekend NOTE: TIME CHANGE

2011-09-26T17:28:00.008-05:00

Introducing Dusty as a puppy

and here she is as a senior dog. She was my sweetie.

THIS WEEKEND ...

Booksigning - Whispering Angel Books "Nurturing Paws" Anthology

Saturday, October 1, 2011
11:00am-1:00 pm

Main Street Books, 307 S. Main Street
St. Charles, MO 63301

Please stop by and greet Linda O'Connell, Sherree Klemites-Nielsen and Faye Adams, local writers who have stories published in this wonderful book about their four legged fur babies.

Great book for the animal lover in your life!

Are you flying high?

2011-09-25T19:00:00.003-05:00

I remember chastising my daughter when she became a teenager and she wanted Gloria Vanderbilt plastered across her back pocket. "You are buying a label, doing free advertising, and making that woman famous and richer. What has she done for you?"

"Mom, I am not wearing Garanimals mix and match; I want Gloria Vanderbilts."

I lost control. Feathered hair, funky fads and fun friends whose moms "let them do anything they wanted" won her over. I wasn't that mom! But I did buy her GVs for Christmas.

Last week I watched Gloria Vanderbilt, who is 87 years old, on her son's daytime talk show. Anderson Cooper is on Ch. 30 at 4:00 p.m. in St. Louis.

I've decided I like the classy old gal. I especially like a quote that Anderson attributed to his mother.

"We are not put on this earth to see through one another. We are put on this earth to see one another through." ~ Gloria Vanderbilt

I read Anderson Cooper's memoir, Dispatches from The Edge, and was astounded by his determination. He so wanted to be a reporter that he had a friend make up a fake press badge and he borrowed a video camera, hopped on a plane and went out to cover the war and news. His life story is amazing. His mother married her soul mate, his dad who was from Arkansas.

Imagine Anderson as a young man jetting all around the world with the guts to live his dream, not waiting for it to happen, but making it happen. That takes courage.

I imagine we have all had an experience or two on a plane that we could share. Here is an ongoing, online anthology call for submission, but it is not a paying venue.

Airplane Reading: Nonfiction about Flight
Airplane Reading (edited by Mark Yakich & Christopher Schaberg of Loyola University New Orleans) is an online, ongoing anthology dedicated to people's ordinary and extraordinary stories of air travel. The site features creative nonfiction, anecdotes, and observations about everyday experiences and misadventures of modern flight. Now accepting submissions at airplanereading.org

Shhh! Can you keep a secret?

2011-09-22T19:29:00.002-05:00

This was published in Boomer Women Speak a couple years ago.

Secrets

Secrets, naughty or nice, have their own kinetic energy. Much like a bad case of vocal Tourettes, and despite attempts at ardent restraint, the words vigorously burst forth. Like a virus, once a secret is blurted or even whispered, it makes its rounds. Even the Center for Disease Control couldn't track the virulent strain of a secret.

For the past thirty years, I have been privy to more family secrets than the CIA. One of my preschool students drew a family portrait and dictated a story. By the end of her narrative, I knew which bar her daddy snuck her into, where her mama hid the money so her daddy wouldn't find it, who her teenaged sister sneaked out to see after dark, and what her brother did with the mail that came through the slot in the door.

Another child shared a significant secret. Her mommy had way too much wine in her belly to ever have enough room to grow a baby brother or sister. Secrets grow in proportion to perception. When I taught a unit on Native Americans, a child couldn't wait to whisper his secret in my ear: "My daddy is a ‘naked American' too."

Teenagers spread secrets like the common cold. One secret begets another. Teens burn up the phone lines with the precursor to every broken confidence, "Promise you won't tell another soul?"

Adulthood leads to maturity, but even the most well-intentioned adult can harbor secrets for only a limited amount of time. Like a pair of too tight jeans, they have to let it all hang out sooner or later. How many mothers have said, "Now don't tell your brother or sister..." How many siblings have continued the rivalry and squabbling because of one little secret released in a whispered hush?

The positive thing about secrets is that one only has to be concerned with keeping or spreading them for about six decades of their lives. After that no amount of coaxing can pry a secret from a senior citizen like myself. It's not so much my moral or ethical compass that guides me. It's simply that once a secret is revealed, the buck stops with me, because I can't remember what the secret was, or even who told me.

Do you believe in angel kisses?

2011-09-22T06:20:00.003-05:00

Grandma's New Baby
(written for Nicole when she was born, 10/30/07)

When you aaah-chooo you blow me away.
Your hiccup rhythm makes me sway.
Your belly-burps are daddy size.
Your tiny toots are chuckle size.

Your coos and aahs rock my world,
Nana’s newest baby girl.
When we lock eyes it’s you and me,
Toothless wonder and old granny.

“I cuuute”, you babble, and I reply
“Yes you are, and so am I.”
You’re oh so precious, my little miss
Your Maw-Maw blew you an angel kiss. *

She caressed your cheeks from heaven on high.
Painted your peepers like the deep blue sky.
All of your noises, even your cry
inflate my ego and make me sigh.

I cannot believe
I’m blessed again.
You’re a gift from heaven
with an angel’s grin.

*In 2007, before my mom passed away, my daughter-in-law was expecting Nicole. I asked Mom to kiss her great-granddaughter on her way down from Heaven. Nicole was born with a red strawberry kiss birthmark on her tummy. Honest!