Branching Out

To all my friends and family that tune in to keep up with what my children are doing: I’ve created a new blog just for you! 

Keepin’ Up With the Kids is up and running. I promise to keep it updated with fun stuff, including pictures, just for those of you too far away to enjoy the craziness of our lives! 

I will continue to blog regularly about life and relationships and writing and all that good stuff at Five Bazillion and One. But now my friends and regular readers won’t have to wade through the “proud mom” posts to get to the other parts of me!

Morning and Evening

I ran across this verse not long ago and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. (I’m adding verse 1 for context.)
 
Psalm 92:1, 2
 
It is good to give thanks to the Lord and to sing praises to Your name, O Most High; to declare Your lovingkindness in the morning and Your faithfulness by night.

At the beginning of each new day, I can tend to worry: will the Lord really be faithful today? After considering this verse, I see that is the wrong approach.
 
In the morning, before the day has begun, all I can truly declare about that day is God’s lovingkindness toward me. His steadfast, loyal love is present with me in that moment. I can know and declare it. I can trust that everything that comes to me throughout the day will be filtered through that love.
 
But at night, as I reflect back on my day, I can declare His faithfulness. In little and big ways, He meets me throughout the day, giving strength or conviction or discipline or self-control or joy or just a sense of His presence. His faithfulness is evident at the end of each day. In the mornings, I have faith in His faithfulness. At night, I can declare it as a certainty.
 
So now as I wake each morning, I remember His lovingkindness. And as I lay down each night, I recount His faithfulness. I can’t think of a better way to bookend my days.
 

Indulge Me!

Forgive me for bragging a bit more, but so many of my readers are far-away family! So here’s my latest in sports reporting:
 
Not to be outdone by big brother, Nathan played a crucial role in the middle school victory yesterday. He quarterbacked the team, throwing one touchdown pass. He played defense, with several tackles and one QB sack. And he did all the kicking, making 3 of 3 extra point attempts, despite Gustav’s gusting.
 
Should be a great season for them both. And I promise I won’t spend my blog words with a play-by-play of every game!
 
 
 

All Organized!

This summer I’ve had a goal: clean out and organize the parts of my house that hide behind cabinet and closet doors and in scary drawers. Throughout June, July, and August, I systematically worked from room to room, in between running kids and finishing my book. I wanted to have everything in order by September 1^st. 

And yesterday, I finished! The rest of my house may be a mess, but I can open all the doors and drawers and find exactly what I’m looking for. 

At least for now.

Are You Ready for some Football?

Being a Texas girl, I live and breathe football in the fall. And for a football fan and mom, Friday night and Saturday were AWESOME!
 
Aaron got his first chance to kick at the varsity level on Friday night. It’s six-man football, so field goals are rarely attempted, but he made 5 of 7 extra point attempts. That was pretty exciting. At least I thought so until this morning.
 
JV played their first game today and, frankly, our jv players are small and slow compared to most teams. But we didn’t count on the largeness of their hearts! They were down the entire game, but hung in there. When the center was hurt, Aaron stepped in and handled it. Our jv quarterback was battling a bad headache, so the backup QB stepped in and did beautifully. With 4 minutes left in the game they had the other team backed nearly to the end zone. Aaron made a hit, caused a fumble. We recovered and scored, putting us ahead by four! Of course, there was still time left and we had to stop them. They marched past mid-field. Their QB launched the ball into the air just as the buzzer sounded to end the game. AND MY AARON INTERCEPTED IT AT THE 10 YARD LINE!!!!
 
Game over. We win.
 
Amazing!

Meeting God at Every Turn

I read an incredibly wonderful book the other day—Catherine Marshall’s Meeting God at Every Turn. I’ve been wanting to read it for awhile, but I think the Lord saved it as an exclamation point to the weekend I spent finishing my book.
 
Catherine Marshall, in case the name rings a bell but you can’t quite place it, wrote the novel Christy, as well as the story of her husband, preacher Peter Marshall, A Man Called Peter. She wrote other books as well, a dozen or so, all told. Most were books on Christian living, and, I confess, I haven’t read any others of those. Just her two fiction works. Until now.
 
Meeting God at Every Turn was written just a few years before Catherine went to be with the Lord. It is the story of her life, but not just the events of that life. It is also the story of her spiritual journey. She talks about herself with such honesty, reveling her own shortcomings, her own wrong patterns of thought, and how God met her at each place, nurtured her into a deeper relationship with Him through the often painful twists and turns of life.
 
Besides challenging and convicting me, her words gave me a longing to strive every day to know God more fully, listen to Him more completely, and display Him more boldly.

Cover Story

Although two or three of my stories have found their way to the cover of NeighborsGo, the local magazine insert in The Dallas Morning News, I still get excited when it happens. 

Today I awoke to find my story about the Mission HCA trip to Ghana, focused on the kids presenting school supplies to a village school. To me, having my story make the cover means I’ve found a noteworthy event to cover. That makes me feel good as a writer. And when it is an event so close to my heart, that’s even more fun. 

But this particular cover stunned me: the picture they used was this one of Elizabeth! 

To see the cover and read the piece, click here and scroll down to the "my stories" section.

The Last First Day

And so it’s over: Elizabeth’s last First Day of School.
 
The pictures didn’t turn out.
 
She came home and slept.
 
Kind of anti-climactic, huh?
 
But whether it comes in with a bang or a gentle whisper, the Senior year has officially begun.
 
 

Squashing the Olympic Dream

My fifteen-year-old son has the driest wit. We’ve been watching the Olympics, where, of course, there are often athletes competing that are close to his age. Here’s our conversation from the other day:
 
“Mom, you squashed my Olympic dream,” he said.
 
“I did what?”
 
“You squashed my Olympic dream.”
 
“How’s that?” I asked.

He shook his head slowly. “You wouldn’t buy me a ping-pong table or a badminton set. Now I’ll never win a gold medal.”
 
We have laughed about that for days now.

Return of the Runaway

This has been a crazy-busy summer. Between “normal” teenager stuff (social life, appointments, sports, work, etc, etc.) times 3, trying to get my house organized, dealing with a boatload of responsibility at my kids’ school that got dumped in my lap, and putting the finishing spit and polish on my novel, I’ve teetered on the edge of sanity! So last Thursday I ran away—with the permission of my family, of course!
 
I spent two and a half days ALONE in a cabin, with nothing but my computer, my Bible and my ipod. It was glorious. I spent some uninterrupted time with the Lord. I worked through the last edits on my book, readying it to send to an agent. I slept. I even watched a movie. And I reveled in the silence.
 
I came home refreshed in body, mind, and spirit. My book will go in the mail on Wednesday. Now I’m ready to concentrate on school and football and college decisions and catching up with friends and getting ready for my trip to the ACFW conference. And I’m ready to keep up with my blog again!

Not That!

Last year I took on a volunteer role at school that I didn’t want to do. It required two things—organization and coordinating people. I can organize, but I don’t particularly like to lead, or even organize, people. So at the end of last school year I purposefully took on a different job, one in which the duties involved organization alone. No dealing with other people.
 
Or so I thought.
 
Suddenly I find myself thrust into the same position I hated, but on a larger scale, and in addition to the job I so smugly assumed was my protection against the other. Yesterday I was ready to scream and cry and throw a bit fit. But after looking again and again at the other options (of which there weren’t any), a thought suddenly struck me: maybe the Lord allowed this. Maybe He wants me to learn how to deal with people.
 
Not a happy thought, let me tell you. I don’t like it. I don’t do it well. It frustrates me to tell people what needs to be done and have them ignore or dismiss me. And yet, in spite of finagling my life to avoid such a thing, here it is again. So I am accepting this as the hand of the Lord. Teaching me. Stretching me. Again. Continually. It never stops. Even when I feel like protesting that I’m as grown up as I want to be. It all goes back to that word the Lord spoke to my heart so many years ago: I love you so much I have to grow you up.
 
It’s one small lesson amidst a lifetime of others. Maybe I can get it one right this time. Or at least more right than I got it last year.

Summer's Waning Days

I’ve been quiet lately. No, not because I’ve been sitting around a pool, book in hand, cool drink by my side. I only wish! Alas, I’ve been busy with too many other things—cleaning out my house, writing, grocery shopping, laundry, piano lessons, etc.
 
Today, I took my kids to get their sports physicals. My son, my 10th grader, came in at 5’8” tall, 108 pounds. I had to laugh. Those were my stats the day I married! I told him he could fit in my wedding dress (almost)! (He didn’t seem to appreciate that.) Anyway, it makes it official. He is as tall as I am. And my youngest son is just a couple of inches behind. Yikes!
 
So football two-a-days kick off on Monday, which means summer is officially over. Kind of. Two and a half weeks until classes actually start. In between are orthodontist appointments, dentist appointments, piano lessons, and, of course, football practices. My kids may bemoan the fact that their days of freedom are nearly at an end, but I have to say: I’m so ready for a regular routine!

Images of Days Gone By

My daughter, who is co-editor of the yearbook at school, pulled out all our old yearbooks this weekend. She wanted to see “how far yearbooks had come.” You know, since the olden days.
 
Back when, I explained to her, the yearbook staff took their pictures with real film and even, in some cases, developed those pictures themselves in dark rooms on the school campus. No weeding through thousands of digital pictures for that perfect one to splash on the yearbook page. No, “archaic” yearbook staffs had to make do with the pictures they took, never knowing until well after the event how they had turned out.
 
But beyond the scrutiny of the yearbooks’ layout and content, my kids got a kick out of the “senior awards” in both my husband’s and my senior yearbook. In his, he was voted “Mostly Likely to Make a Million.” Over the course of eighteen years as a lawyer, he probably has. I, on the other hand, was given the “Nervous, Klutz, Reckless Driver” award.
 
Of course, to make counteract such an auspicious award, I held up my final high school transcript, which happened to fall from the pages of that yearbook. My ACT score was quite respectable, as was my GPA. So while I may not have garnered much respect socially, I was stellar in the classroom.
 
The trip down memory lane was fun, though. I can’t believe we are embarking on her last year of high school. It has gone so fast. But she is excited to know that the memories to be made in this milestone year will find their way into a yearbook created by her direction. That will be an accomplishment she can cherish for years to come.

Kristy Dykes

I never imagined someone I’d never met could touch my heart so deeply. Since last November, I’ve been following the journey of Kristy Dykes, writer and ACFW member, and her unexpected diagnosis of a brain tumor. Her husband Milton kept up her blog at her request. I feel I’ve come to know not only this fellow writer, but this family. And what I’ve come to know has blessed me beyond words.
 
Kristy’s and Milton’s deep, strong faith came shining through the blog, but so did their understanding of life in the here and now. Humor and grief marched side-by-side through their harrowing ordeal. Their fierce love for each other, in spite of their admitted flaws, challenged me in my own relationships.
 
Kristy went to be with Jesus yesterday. I wept this morning as I read the words. But her story is not over. Kristy’s words and Milton’s words about Kristy will continue to affect the lives of others for a long time to come.

Pound By Pound

Is it any wonder I’m gaining weight? It would be impossible to spend enough hours at the gym to counteract my daughter’s culinary experiments. This morning it was homemade donuts. We tried to make things healthier. She made whole wheat ones for my husband and I. And we had a fresh fruit salad on the side. But whole wheat donuts are still donuts, in all their fried and sugar-coated glory.
 

New York City--Boy Style

A Yankee game from the lower deck—thanks to one of my husband’s clients.
 
Pizza. And more pizza. And more pizza. And burgers. And more pizza. And desserts.
 
Central Park.
 
Times Square.
 
Niketown.
 
We did make them go to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. And they finally okayed the American Museum of Natural History since it was across the street from our hotel. But overall, quite a different trip from the ones I’ve taken before. I will say this—never again will I have to do the overview tour bus. I’ve now done it with all of my children!
 
But New York is New York. The city energizes me somehow. I’m sure it wouldn’t be the same if I lived there, but when I visit, I wake up ready for the adventure of each new day and I fall asleep without effort.
 
Now I’m home to my crazy yet mundane life.

The Storm Before the Calm

Vacation is great. I love getting away from my normal four walls and my normal routine. Whether it be to visit family or sightsee or sit on a beach or ski down a slope, I always enjoy it—when I’m there.
 
It’s the getting ready to go that nearly undoes me.
 
I’m in that mode at the moment. Suitcases litter the house. The washing machine runs non-stop. Lists beget lists.
 
It truly is the storm before the calm. I know once we get out the door I will breathe a sigh of relief. Then vacation begins.

Cars

Since last Tuesday (June 17):

My daughter's car has been inspected, had the oil changed, and received two new tires.

My SUV has had new brakes--twice, the first parts proving defective--been inspected, had the tires rotated, and received a new battery.

My husband's car has been involved in an accident (while I was driving--not my fault) and is awaiting repairs to the front fender, bumper, and door. Of course this is after I spent time with the other guy's insurance adjuster and recounted the accident to two different insurance representatives.

The only expected things in this list were the state inspections. Everything else was a surprise. I'm so ready for all my cars to just need gas. As painful as it is to fill up, it's much better than being on a first name basis with the guys at the garage!

Anniversary Surprise

I heard my husband’s footsteps yesterday afternoon. At least they sounded like his. But it was only 2 pm. Why was he home? I’d just spoken with him on the phone 15 minutes earlier and he seemed busy, not inclined to just take the afternoon off.
 
“Honey? Is that you?” I left my study and headed toward the living room. There he stood, hands behind his back.
 
“Happy Anniversary!” he said. (Our 21st anniversary is Friday.)  He pulled a thin, rectangular box with an Apple logo on it from behind his back. A Macbook!!! I couldn’t believe it! It was especially timely since this weekend, on top of all its other problems, my laptop decided it didn’t want to stay powered on more than 5 or 10 minutes at a time.
 
So I’ve been happily switching all my files and learning how to navigate this new system. The best thing is I can take it on vacation next week and actually use plane and train travel time to get some work done!!
 
So Happy Anniversary to me. Isn’t my Honey great?

Minneapolis, Here I Come!

I just finished all my registration for the ACFW Conference in September in Minneapolis! Woo-hoo! It will be my 5th major conference to attend since I started seriously writing seven years ago. And it will be a very different experience from the previous four.

Why? Because I’m going it alone. That’s right, neither of my critique partners and dear friends will be there. On the one hand, I’m sad. We’ve had so much fun rooming together, talking through our encounters and classes each day while we are lying in bed. We’ve laughed and cried and encouraged each other. I will miss them terribly! But on the other hand, it’s a good thing. Suddenly I will have no one to hide behind, no one to shadow in a room full of hundreds of people. I will have to step out and make friends. Oh, there will be people there I know. Just not ones I know as well as I know Mary and Leslie!

I would still really like to find a roommate for the conference, but I’m leaving that in the hands of the Lord. I’m excited to see who He will bring along to share the room I’ve reserved. And I’m excited to see the fruit of my growing confidence over the past few years. It will be hard to go it alone. And yet I know I won’t be alone. I will have the strength and encouragement of my God, the prayers of my friends and family, and a whole new passel of friends yet to be met.

You're Gonna Miss This

It’s been a crazy few days getting my daughter ready for her Ghana trip and my son back to the campground where he is working day camps for refugee children. I’ve wanted to pull my hair out, been frustrated at my to-do list that gets longer instead of shorter. But all this morning as we readied to leave for the airport, the chorus of the new Trace Atkins song kept running through my mind.

Have you heard this song? It follows a girl from her teenaged years through being a new bride and a young mother. At the end of each chorus, an older person gives her some advice (the chorus.) Now, I’m not overly sentimental about my kids growing up and leaving home. I’ve always looked forward to an empty nest. And yet I find myself singing these words and tearing up:

You’re gonna miss this.
You’re gonna want this back.
You’re gonna wish these days, hadn’t gone by so fast.
These are some good times. So take a good look around,
You may not know it now—but you’re gonna miss this.

And for anyone interested, my daughter’s mission team has a blog they will be updating throughout their trip. You can read it here.

Caddying

I have never—I repeat, NEVER—watched golf on TV. Until yesterday. Yesterday I was captivated by the playoff between Tiger Woods and Rocco Mediate, captured by the intense drama of a 45-year-old man ranked 158th in the world playing 18 holes with arguably the best golfer ever and hanging in there, until the final stroke of the sudden death hole.

But you know what else I noticed as I watched? The caddies. These guys are dedicated to golf. They follow around the guys who play the game (and make the big bucks) with the bag of clubs slung over their back day after day after day. They help the golfer chose the right club for the right shot. Tiger’s caddy even stopped him just before a shot and asked him to reconsider his approach. “That was a brave thing to do,” said one of the TV commentators. And yet, it just seemed right. After all, the caddy wanted his guy to play well. Thus, his last minute questioning of the shot.

As I watched the support and the camaraderie between the caddies and the golfers, it occurred to me that some of us are called to a “caddying” role in our lives. The caddy has his golfer’s success as his goal. He understands the game in minute detail and advises and encourages the one actually doing the golfing. His is not the place in the spotlight. It’s behind the golfer, mostly out of the view of the cameras. It’s a sweaty, back-breaking job. And yet, for those called to do it, it appears to be immensely rewarding.

Are you “caddying” for someone in your life right now? Perhaps someone is “caddying” for you. Either way, remember that the person doing the thankless job of carrying the clubs and giving advice and support is often more valuable than the winning purse at the end.

Summer Whine

I can’t think of anything to write.

My daughter leaves for Ghana in 3 days—and works every day until then.

Two of our cars need to go to the shop for inspections and repairs.

My novel is sooooo close to being finished, but chunks of writing time elude me.

I need to call insurance companies with questions about my coverage/policies.

Most of my closets and cabinets are begging to be cleaned out and reorganized.

And I’m fighting either a cold or allergies.

The bank. The grocery store. Laundry.

Summer is supposed to be fun and relaxing. I’m supposed to have time to write, too. And that begins when?

Two Quirky Stories

So I was in Wal-mart the other day and I saw the most unusual (read: creepy) tattoo. I passed behind a woman wearing a spaghetti-strap top. On her back, between her shoulder blades, were two eyes. Women’s eyes, with eyebrows and just the top of the nose. I’ve heard of wanting eyes in the back of your head, but this went a bit too far!

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

My husband’s father often sends us tidbits from their small-town’s newspaper. One from this week announced found property: a bag of marijuana. It said the owner, with proof of ownership, could pick it up at the police station. The thing is, someone will probably try to claim it!

Short on Shorts

Ah, summertime.

Ok, so the first week of summer has been way too busy, but still. It’s here. And one of the necessities of summertime is . . . shorts.

My boys (15 and 13) informed me they had 1 pair of shorts each. I made them accompany me to the local department store to buy 2 more pair each. They groaned. Some things never change.

Now these are two lanky creatures, so we’re still shopping in the boys department in order that their shorts don’t fall down around their ankles. Still, I thought we’d have upped the sizes from the past couple of years. After all, their pants sizes have changed as their legs have stretched longer.

Not so with the shorts. Still well below moving up into young mens’ sizes. But the most frustrating thing about this rite of summer was leaving the store with four pairs of shorts ALL THE SAME SIZE! My boys are 19 months apart in age, but I might as well be buying for twins! The good news: they have plenty of shorts to choose from now. The bad news: there will be no “passing down” of outgrown sizes.

A Little R&R

My crazy month of May came to a screeching halt on Saturday. When the school was swept clean from the graduation reception, my duties for the school year ended. So we skedaddled for the country, for twenty-four hours of R&R.

Our friends have a small house/barn on several acres of land southeast of Dallas. We went there and did NOTHING. And I do mean nothing. No TV. No phone calls. No computers (at least, none of ours). Yes, we got email on our cell phones, but we just checked for anything urgent—and nothing was. Nowhere nearby to drive to. No fancy meals to cook or clean up after. Just good friends and empty space. I didn’t even read a book!!!

We laughed, we talked, we slept, we just sat still, sometimes, watching and listening to our almost grown-up children, wondering where the years went. By the time we left there and returned to the real world, my body and spirit had the refreshment it needed to finish out this week of finals and head into summer—into finishing my book and organizing my house. Oh yeah, and chauffeuring my boys to football, friends’ houses, and various other activities while my driver-daughter works!

I’m so happy to have had a respite at the end of a long school year. It’s amazing what a little R&R will do.

The Center of a Tootsie Pop (Or the End of a Tube of Lipstick)

Remember the old Tootsie Roll Pop commercial with the owl in the tree and the boy asking how many licks it takes to get to the center? The owl takes three licks, loses patience, and bites in.

I think tubes of lipstick are the same.

Don’t see the connection? Here’s my question: how long does it take to get to the end of a tube of lipstick? No one ever knows because it so rarely happens. We get impatient and change color or brand, abandoning half-used tubes, never reaching the very bottom. At least I have done so. Until now.

Yes, I reached the end of a tube of lipstick. How long have I had it? Seven, eight years? I can’t remember. I only know I liked the color and it was expensive, so I didn’t want to throw it away. Now I’m not one to reapply my lipstick all day. Just one swipe in the morning if I’m going out of the house. Maybe once in the evening if it’s a social event. Even so, I’ve reached the end. Yes, I have other lipstick in other colors, but this seems like such a significant small event. The end of a tube of lipstick. Like reaching the center of a Tootsie Pop, I never thought I’d get there.

Cranford

I normally hate movie renditions of books that change the story, but I found myself captivated by Masterpiece Classics version of Cranford that concluded on Sunday evening. I confess, before watching the first part of Cranford, I had never heard of the book of the same name by Elizabeth Gaskell. But after watching part two of this Masterpiece production, I knew I had to read it.

So I did. Before part three debuted across the airwaves.

It’s a short book, written as a series of vignettes of small town life in 19th century England. It is a lovely work of characterization, where one knows the people one is reading about. They come to be friends. But there is no overarching “plot.”

The screenwriters of Cranford decided to add a plot framework around which to structure this movie about a year in the life of a small town. And they did it superbly. The new characters and story lines fit in as if they’d been there all the time. And even while adding new elements to the story, the writers maintained the charm of the original characters and included most, if not all, of the heartwarming elements of the book, even if in slightly different forms.

Of course part of the success of the film version, in my mind, was the absolutely superior ensemble of cast members, led by such names as Judi Dench, Imelda Staunton, Michael Gambon, Greg Wise, and so many more. While the names may not be familiar, I assure you that any fan of classic British literature will recognize faces from productions of Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, Miss Marple movies, and so many other BBC and Hollywood films.

In the end, Miss Matty Jenkyns has become one of my most favorite characters in literature; through she will remain eternally intertwined with Dame Judi Dench in my mind. I heartily recommend both book and movie—just don’t expect one to follow the other in exact measure. Enjoy them each for their own uniqueness.

The Power of Truth in Fiction

I always forget how much I enjoy the Chronicles of Narnia books until I read one again. In anticipation of the coming movie, I picked up Prince Caspian this week. It’s a quick read. And, frankly, not a super exciting one. Not like The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe or The Silver Chair. But as I came toward the climax of the story I remembered why I love these books: they convey Truth.

About 2/3 of the way through the book, Lucy meets with Aslan again. It’s been a year in our time, thousands of years in Narnia time.

“Aslan,” said Lucy. “You’re bigger.”
“That is because you are older, little one,” answered he.
“Not because you are?”
“I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger.”

Knowing that Aslan is a picture of Jesus, isn’t that so true? As we grow, as we see the work the Lord does in our lives, in the lives of those around us, in the world at large, don’t we grasp just a little more with each passing day of the bigness of God? I know I do. And in the context of the story this truth just leaps off the page and imbeds itself in my heart.

How about this one, a few pages later, after Susan has said ugly, sarcastic things of Lucy?

Lucy went first, biting her lip and trying not to say all the things she thought of saying to Susan. But she forgot them when she fixed her eyes on Aslan.

That’s the power of Truth in fiction.

An Encouraging Word

My friend Robin has joined the blogosphere. She swears she isn’t a writer, but after reading her few posts, I beg to differ. Anyway, yesterday she wrote a wonderful post encouraging and cautioning those of us who consistently put pen to paper (or our fingers to a keyboard) to be careful of our words, of how they will affect our readers. It was a blessing to me. I thought it would be for you, too.

Check it out here.

And you might want to check back with her regularly. She has incredible insight into many matters pertaining to life and godliness.

The Past Comes Back

It’s nice to know that after almost 30 years people can forget the awful things you’ve said to them. Especially if you were the student and the other person was the teacher/administrator.

I ran into such a person tonight. It was at a reception at my children’s school. She is the head of the accreditation team coming to evaluate the school. I was at the reception because my husband is president of our school’s Board of Trustee’s.

So there we were. I could have let it go, never mentioned the old connection. But I’ve spent my life desiring, for myself and others, that we not hide the hard or ugly things—past or present. Here, I realized, was a moment in which I could practice what I preached. I introduced myself. Told her my maiden name and waited for the look of horror on her face.

It didn’t happen. Instead she hugged me. She was so excited to see me. She either didn’t remember my angry junior high words or she was gracious enough not to mention them. Instead, we talked and laughed and left each other with a hug.

It’s nice to know that 30 years can change people. And it’s nice to know that others’ memories of us don’t last as long as our own.

Crazy May

I contend, as usual, that the final 6 weeks of school are busier than the same period of time from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day.

So that’s my excuse for not blogging lately. I have been (and will be) insanely busy with kid/school stuff and trying to get my book finished (I’m making significant progress). But all that leaves little time for blogging. Before I know it, a week has passed with no new post. However, my son’s last baseball game should be Thursday (unless they play as well as they played last night), and that will help. But it still leaves the SAT, an art competition, three AP tests, Fine Arts Night, Spring Sports Banquet, Academic Awards, Graduations and finals (plus normal, daily life) to get through before the end of May. Whew! I’m tired already!

My writing here may be spotty until June, but I haven’t abandoned it yet!

Character Sighting!

WARNING: All you non-writers out there will probably scratch your head and think I’ve lost my mind, but I assure you, it’s simply a side-effect of a being a novelist.

I went with my husband on a business-type engagement Saturday night. It wasn’t where I wanted to go, but I went. And with good grace, I might add. But I prayed earlier that day that the Lord would give me something in the course of the evening to make it worthwhile.

In my mind, that something was a conversation about spiritual things in which I could encourage or be encouraged or some insight into my own character or that of my husband or friends. Aren’t those the kinds of things God does when we pray such a prayer?

The evening turned out much more enjoyable than I imagined, but even beyond that, the Lord gave me an incredible gift. He let me see one of my characters!

I’ve had lots of strange “writer” experiences, but this is the first time I’ve run into a live person—a stranger—who IS my character personified. It isn’t a character in my current book. No, this one has flitted around my head for a couple of years now and I think, perhaps, may be the book I write next. Especially now.

I saw her twice in the course of the evening. I didn’t speak with her. In fact, I only saw her from behind. But I knew in an instant who she was. Not only did I write down some of her physical characteristics, but I knew that even where I’d seen her was part of who she is as a person (ok, as a character.)

It was quite exciting. It did, indeed, make the whole evening worthwhile. And it confirmed to me, yet again, that God is the author of my life and my desire to write is not dismissed as unimportant by Him. Nor should it be by me.

Driver's Ed

My son starts driver’s ed on Monday. Now that I’ve been through this once, I at least know what to expect over the next year, until he turns 16:

A year of “Can I drive?”
A year of gripping the door handle without appearing to.
A year of biting my tongue almost every time I want to shout “Look out!”
A year of it taking longer to get places when he drives.
A year of him critiquing my driving.

But the rewards are oh so great. By the time my daughter leaves for college, he will be on his own—with his brother in tow—and my days as chauffeur will be coming to an end.

A Wild Weekend

Whew! We survived quite a weekend—well, Friday through Monday. Here’s the scoop:

Friday I accompanied my youngest son to ACSI Math Olympics. He loves math. He loves the competition of Math Olympics. But it is very hard to place in the top 5 in each category. The competition consists of a series of timed tests, the first of which is the REAL test, the next six are tie-breaker tests. Way back in 3rd grade, he placed. Since then, nothing. Until now. Here is he, proud as punch, with his 4th place ribbon in 7th grade Computation.

















Saturday brought all the hullabaloo of Prom. Not only did we have the “normal” chaos of such a day, the juniors GIVE the prom, so we had to help with setup and tear down as well. She went with a group of her guy friends who didn’t ask specific dates, so she was quite the princess arriving, eating and dancing with three guys instead of one! And the cherry on top? She was head of the “food” committee and may have wrangled a job in the kitchen of the new hotel where the Prom was held. (The head chef gave her a kitchen tour and interviewed her as we were decorating!)



After a bit of a respite on Sunday (thank you, Lord!), but we were off Monday mid-morning on a two hour journey to the District Track Meet.
My 9th grade son competed in two events.
He took 2nd in the 3200 meters (2 miles) and
3rd in the 1600 meters (1 mile.) He qualified for the Regional Track Meet (Thursday) in both events. We didn’t get home until after 10 last night!



Whew! No wonder I’ve been such a bad blogger lately! But oh how much fun the past four days have been!

Shoe Shopping

I have a love/hate relationship with shoes. I love shoes. But I hate shoe manufacturers.

Here’s the problem: AAA

Yup. Super skinny feet. It’s bad enough with “regular” shoes, but sandals? Nearly impossible. (Unless, of course, you are willing to spend $100 on a pair of shoes, which I’m not!) For the past three summers I’ve been on the hunt. I do have a great pair of dressy off-white sandals. Other than that, it’s been flip-flops. Not any flip-flops, mind you, but the rare find of ones that my feet don’t slide out of before I even take a full step.

One pair lasted two years. I finally found another pair last year, which are great. But there are (many) times I want sandals, not flip-flops. So I went on the hunt yet again. I decided if I began in April instead of June, perhaps something that fit me would be left in the stores. I found myself out shopping unexpectedly today, so I decided to bring my rounds on sandals to an end. I looked at a big discount shoe store. I looked at an upscale department store.

Nothing.

On a last-ditch effort, I decided to check the new JCPenney in our town. I’ve never found shoes that fit me there before, but I wanted to be truthful when I claimed “no sandals anywhere around here fit me.” So in I went.

Imagine my surprise when I walked out of there with not one, but THREE pair of sandals! I was giddy! I found a pair of fun silver t-strap sandals, a pair of light brown leather flip-flop type sandals, and a dressier pair of white leather Clark sandals. All three for less than the price of a pair of AAA sandals from a high-end store or catalog!

If only my impromptu shopping trip hadn’t happened because my laptop power cord died. Sigh.

The Simple Rule of Addition

I’m not very good at math, but I do know that little things add up. It’s a lesson I am constantly learning; a truth I constantly preach to my children. It applies to money and time, food and exercise, discipline and idleness. It also applies to words on the page (or, rather, on the computer screen.)

I’ve been a bit downcast through February and March. I haven’t made the amount of progress I wanted to on my current novel. But I’ve also written other things—articles for my kids’ school and blog posts being the majority of “other.” But this woeful feeling is why I began keeping a spreadsheet of my daily writing activities a couple of years ago, charting words written and pages edited, books read and writers groups attended. And guess what? I looked back today and realized I haven’t done as badly as I’d imagined! No, I’m not where I want to be on my novel. But I have been writing. Tens of thousands of new words. Hundreds of edited pages for myself and my critique partners.

So little things really do add up. Sometimes I just need to see it in black and white to believe it.

Printers, Printers Everywhere--But Not a Drop of Ink on the Page!

Most days I can sing with Kip from Napoleon Dynamite: I love technology!

Today was not one of those days. Today I wanted to walk down the block and toss the lot into the lake!

Actually, it started last night. My son needed to print a paper for school. Now understand—we have two computers and two printers in the house. He tried to print from his computer to his printer. No go. Out of ink. So he emailed his paper to me.

No problem. My laser printer is never out of ink. And it still isn’t. But try as I might, the print job failed every time. Even though I’d printed an email just a couple of hours earlier without a hitch. Nothing had changed since then. Nothing. But even after disconnecting the printer from the wireless print server and attaching it directly to my laptop, the same, frustrating message popped up—and no page printed.

Finally, this afternoon, I determined to find the problem. An hour and a half later, it works. The problem? One number in the IP address had changed. How, I ask you? I didn’t do it. I didn’t change a thing from the last time I’d printed. Go figure.

So my printer is working again. I guess to be on the safe side I’d better go buy new ink cartridges for the other printer!

Seventeen

My firstborn is 17 today. Where have the years gone? I confess, I don’t want to relive many of them. She was quite a handful for her first, oh, 16 years! I never imagined she’d be such a delightful young lady (although we’re still working on the “lady” part) at 17.

Why does 17 seem so much older than 16? Is it because 18 and independence are only a year away? I don’t know. But as I thought about it this morning, I realized how many things happened the year I was 17.

At 17, I ended my junior year of high school, started my senior year, got accepted to college, had my first boyfriend and my first date to Homecoming. My first job outside of retail came the summer I was 17—answering phones for an insurance agent, although mostly I read book after book in between calls! I also had my first taste of death when a childhood friend (and my first elementary school crush) died in a car accident that same summer. I remember feeling so grown up that year, making plans for the future, feeling secure in my place at school and with my friends yet looking forward to new experiences and new friendships on the horizon.

My daughter’s going out for dinner tonight with five of her girl friends. It’s been hard on her daddy that she didn’t want us along. But I understand. I remember. And I pray that 17 will be a year full of wonderful things for her.

A Complete Turn Around

Over the past few years, I’ve used writing as a reward in order to get other things done—things I hate to do, like clean the house, wash the clothes, buy the groceries. You get the idea. But I wanted so badly to write that I would work hard to get through the “have to” list in order to be able to do my “want to” list.

Today I realized I’ve done a complete turn around. Here’s what happened:

When we moved nearly 2 years ago, we gave up a whole room dedicated as our library. It had been the formal living room, but we wrapped floor to ceiling bookshelves around two walls, added two comfy chairs with a small table between and a couple of bright lamps. We LOVED that room! My husband and I spent many evenings in there reading or talking.

In the new house, we lost that space. Our bookshelves were regulated to the small “office” room. It was a bit claustrophobic in there. Soon after we moved in I suggested nixing the formal dining room and redoing our library. My husband balked. I let the idea drop. Last month he came in with a “great idea”—turning the formal dining room (which we’ve used twice in two years) into the library. I immediately began making plans.

The room has been empty for a couple of weeks now, but I haven’t had time to move the books and shelves and create our much loved space. I’m hoping it will happen this weekend, but a big precursor is unloading the bookcases. However, I haven’t let myself touch them—until today.

Why today? Because I’ve met my word count on my book for two out of the past three days! All of a sudden, I’m using other things as a reward for persevering with my writing! It’s a very exciting thing. It isn’t that I now see writing as work, as a “have to”, but instead that I have finally given myself permission to declare my writing work has value and worth in and of itself. It’s a big day for me. And with my revamped library and office space, I hope I’ll be even more productive in the days and weeks to come.

My Tuesday

Articles drafted: 1
Novel pages revised: 12
New novel words written: 2118
Watching my son come to the mound, top of the 6th, bases loaded, two outs and striking out the batter in three pitches: priceless

Ski Trip Update

I haven’t had much time at my computer this week, which, on a family vacation, is a good thing. But for those of you (mostly family, I guess) looking for an update, here are some highlights of the trip so far (pictures to follow when we get home):

Saturday morning: My husband woke us all up after he woke up—a little after 4 am! We were on the road by 5. Needless to say, this significantly affected my planned “writing time” as we drove since it was dark for the first almost four hours and, having been forced awake at such an unnatural hour, it took me until lunch time to be fully awake! The positive: we were in Colorado Springs less than 12 hours later and had a relaxing evening.

Johnson & Wales University: the tour was very impressive. Denver seems to be a nice city. Now she just has to decide between the two schools. Each has a very different style and its own pros and cons.

Skiing: Great—not too cold, not too snowy, but not icy, either. I’m in better shape than when we went two years ago and had forgotten how enjoyable it is to swoosh down a wide, not too steep, not too mogully mountain trail. Yesterday, my youngest son’s binding come off his ski—a fluky thing which the ski shop said they’d never seen happen. The fun part was he got to ride down on the ski patrol snowmobile.

We’re going tubing this afternoon, then skiing again tomorrow. We’ve had wonderfully relaxing evenings of movies and games (and now basketball, since the NCAA tournaments starts today.) By Saturday morning, I think we’ll all be ready to head home, but I think we’ve all enjoyed this respite from our busy lives.

Spring Break

From mid-eighties today to below freezing tomorrow. Yes, we are leaving sunny Texas (have we lost our minds? Um—yes!) for snowy Colorado. First we visit Johnson and Wales University in Denver. Then we head off to the slopes for a few days. I don’t know what kind of internet accessibility I’ll have but I’ll try to post some pictures this week.

Most of all I’m hoping to get some good writing done on the drive up and back and some good reading done in the condo in front of the fire. Since my ideal ski day is hit the slopes at 10:00, eat lunch at 11:30, end the day at 2:00, I should have lots of time to lose myself in few books (assuming my kids ski from can til can’t.)

Hope your Spring Break is restful and full of memory-making.

We Love You, Miss Hannigan!

“Your daughter makes a great drunk.”

I heart that comment over and over again on Friday. No, my 16 year old hadn’t been hitting the bottle. She’d been playing Miss Hannigan, the mean and nasty mistress of the orphanage that tried to repress the optimism of red-headed Annie. She’s not the best singer in the world, but boy can she nail a character! I think she scared some of the little girls in the audience!

She’s gotten more comfortable with the singing part, too, adding dancing (which she’s never really done) for this particular role. She worked so hard and had so much fun. It’s been amazing to watch her confidence grow since her freshman year when she landed the role of Bloody Mary in South Pacific in spite of her hesitancy to sing. Now she takes the stage with the same energy and excitement we see in her on the basketball court.

She has no theatrical aspirations beyond high school, but what she has learned from her years in drama will be invaluable in whatever her future holds. And we’ve had so much fun watching her transformation!

Is It Already Morning?

I don't know about you, but it takes me at least a week to adjust to Daylight Savings Time. Why do the same seven hours of sleep seem like so much less?

Fine Results in Fine Arts

Long ago, when I was in the 4th grade, I got a B (or a C, I don’t remember) on an art project. Mostly I remember it wasn’t an A and I told the teacher I’d tried so hard and she told me it didn’t matter how hard I tried, that my art wasn’t good enough to get an A. I decided then and there I wasn’t artistic. Which I’m not. But I assumed this extended to my children. Which apparently it doesn’t.

In our school’s district art competition, my daughter took home two 2nd place medals—mixed media and watercolors—and my son took 1st place in pen and ink drawing! WOW! I was floored! So we will take those pieces on to the state competition next month.

My drama queen daughter (and yes, she gets it from me) also garnered 2nd place in solo acting with her Fantine monologue from Les Miserables.

I guess you could say our family had a good day. Two kids. Four events. Three 2nd place medals. One 1st place medal.

I guess you can tell I’m not a proud mama or anything!

Gaining Momentum

Four of the past six days have been 2000 word days. Woo-hoo! That is nothing short of miraculous given all that is going on with school/kids activities these days--track meets, piano competitions, musical dress rehearsals, academic and art competitions. The best part is I see that I've learned over these past several years of writing how to better manage my time and how to pace myself so I can be more productive--and more sane--in all areas of my life.

Now if I can only maintain through the craziness of spring . . .

Back to work!

The Women of Troy Hill

One of the things I love most about used book stores is the possibility of unearthing a jewel. Sometimes a jewel is a book I’ve been searching for and haven’t been able to find. Suddenly it’s there, glittering like a diamond. I snatch it up before someone else sees. But even more exciting are the hidden jewels, the books I’ve never heard of but that catch my eye and capture my interest. At the time of purchase, they are simply an interesting rock. But sometimes the reading of them chips away at the unknown and leaves a valuable gem I am glad I didn’t miss.

Such is the case with a book I recently found. The Women of Troy Hill: The Back-Fence Virtues of Faith and Friendship is a book I will cherish. Clare Ansberry, the Pittsburgh bureau chief for the Wall Street Journal wrote this book eight years ago. It is the story of a Pittsburgh neighborhood, Troy Hill, and the women who live there—some of whose families have lived on Troy Hill for three or four generations. It is a story of ordinary women’s lives, and yet, none of their stories seemed ordinary. It is stories of family ties and of friendships strengthened over the course of decades, not just years. It is the story of faith that is lived daily, practically, not just on Sundays. It is a reminiscence of earlier eras, of daily life as our mothers and grandmothers experienced it. It is a celebration of lives well lived. And it is a challenge to raise our sights and standards to encompass some of what we have lost.

Oh—and the bonus? My current novel is set in Pennsylvania, my husband’s home state. This book happened to have a couple of tidbits of information that actually helped with my characters, given that my characters, too, are long time Pennsylvanians of German descent!

This beautifully written tribute to women who spent their lives loving their God, their families, and their friends, will always remain on my library shelf.

Ready for a Change

I love winter. I really do. But by this time of year I’m ready for a change. Winter feels like a houseguest that has overstayed his welcome.

Yesterday I thought spring had arrived for good. For two or three weeks now the birds have been chirping me awake and flitting from tree to bush all day long. Usually that’s the first indication. Then yesterday the sun burst out in all its springtime brilliance and warmed us to 83 degrees! It was glorious!

But by the time we exited the Mavericks game last night (thanks to friends who invited us to sit in some awesome seats!), we were shivering again. Yup. Another cold front. Spring may be nudging its way in, but it hasn’t bested winter yet.

Fahrenheit 451

Somewhere in my education I missed Fahrenheit 451. I corrected that this past week. Have you read this book? It was fascinating and terrifying all at once! I kept looking back at the original copyright date because it bore a freakish similarity to direction of our culture. Everything going fast, fast, fast. The people bombarded with images and sound. No time to think. No reason to read. A stupefied population walking blankly through their days talking about nothing, thinking about less.

If you are a writer—or a reader—and you haven’t read this book, or haven’t read it in a long time, run, don’t walk, to your nearest bookstore and pick up a copy. It will energize you to continue to do what you to, to continue to value thoughts and ideas and words. And if you get a chance to buy the 50th Anniversary edition—get it. It includes a fascinating interview with the author!

Leslie's New Website!

Want to see a great new website? My friend and critique partner Leslie Wilson is a very funny lady, whether writing or speaking. She’s also very practical. She writes and talks about her two favorite subjects: being a wife and being a mom. She calls her ministry "Reality Motherhood." Her website reflects the whimsical and the practical in her. Check it out here! She’s started a blog, too, as well as a weekly ezine full of tips and stories. And don’t miss the “store” on her site, where you can buy CDs of her speeches and her famous “tip” sheets—reusable, laminated lists of all kinds of different things, from chore charts to beach vacation packing for your family to birthday party planning, formulated to help keep moms organized and sane.

Ministering With My Kids

I spent the morning at the North Texas Food Bank with a group of ninth and tenth graders. We took food donated by individuals through local grocery stores during Super Bowl week and packed it in boxes to be distributed to food pantries and other ministries in the North Texas Area. The North Texas Food Bank distributed 3 million pounds of food last month alone.

We did this through our school’s mission program, instituted three years ago. I love going on these quarterly mission days with our middle school and high school students. Today I realized why.

Not only do these days give me a time and place to do something “others” focused, but working alongside my children and their friends gives us a shared experience. It’s not like a regular field trip where the moms cluster together and talk while the kids do whatever the activity is. On mission days, the parents work with the kids, often letting them take the lead role. And as we work together, we see each other as people instead of as “adults” and “teenagers.”

I like, too, that our mission days give the kids—and adults—the opportunity to experience different kinds of ministry work. Some prefer the opportunities to minister directly to people by feeding the homeless, interacting with refugees, taking meals to shut-ins, while others (like me) prefer task oriented ministry—doing a more “menial” task that is but one cog in a large wheel of ministering to a persons’ needs, like organizing donated clothes or packing boxes of donated food. We all have a place, and a gift. And I like that we help the kids discover what fits the way God made them.

We will go out again on a Friday in April. I can’t wait to see what opportunities await us!

Another Season Ends

The books are closed on another basketball season. The final game—last night—was a playoff tiebreaker game against an archrival to see who got the final playoff spot. We lost. But the boys played hard.

It was a wonderful season in many respects. Our daughter matured so much, learning to keep her cool on the court, learning to enjoy the game and her teammates whether winning or losing (and mostly losing!) My middle school son learned how to lose graciously and he learned a lot about the game of basketball from a young coach who played at the college level.

But one of the greatest joys of this season has been watching my ninth grade son. He is an athlete, though and through, but he is small and not particularly fast. He is sports-smart, however, understanding the complexities of the game, and he hustles. As one of two freshmen, he knew he’d sit the bench all season, like he did in football (small school, not enough kids for a JV team.) That frustrates him, because he loves to play. But he did it anyway, working hard in practice, taking care of the boys who played in games by having water and an encouraging word ready when they came out of the game, just like he did in football.

The coach noticed. What I think started as an effort to reward his hard work prior to district play became a habit and then an official proclamation: my son was given the duties of captain of the team. He even got to play several times, sometimes even for a few minutes in a close game.

Last night was an example of what he’s done all season. After getting the water and encouraging the guys during time outs, coach put him in the game in the fourth quarter for about three minutes. He hustled, had a couple of assists and a couple of rebounds. Plenty of glory for a teenaged boy. He went back to the bench—and back to getting the water. A servant leader if I’ve ever seen one. I wish I could say we taught him that, either by words or example. But I think not. I think if I boast I must boast in the Lord, for He made my son that way. What most of us spend a lifetime learning, He gave to this child as a gift. And it humbles me to watch it.

So our lives will slow a bit now—but just a bit, mind you! The school musical is in three weeks, with my daughter playing a major role. Middle school baseball starts up soon. The yearbook deadline looms, as do academic and art competitions. A small school keeps everybody busy. But when it affords me the chance to watch my children grow and change, becoming more and more like Christ, and gives then opportunities to discover and develop talents and abilities bestowed on them by God that they had no idea they possessed, it’s worth the effort and the busyness.

The Exact Perfect Gift

It’s been a technologically frustrating 2008 for me. First, after months of having the colors on my laptop screen skew at random, I tweaked it too much and cracked the screen. Now, besides the black line across one corner, everything on my screen is tinted blue. Makes it hard to see things in red, such as anything done in the Track Changes mode of Word.

On top of that, my wonderful laser printer informed me that it needed a new drum. No problem. I ordered and installed one. So now every few lines are faded. Makes each page a bit hard to read. My poor critique group has endured this for several weeks.

Add to that a bit of a money crunch at our house and I have been left to endure. I’m not complaining, mind you. I’m not even throwing a fit. I know how insignificant these things really are. They are just annoying. So fellow Life Sentence-ers Mary DeMuth and Leslie Wilson conspired to give me a boost for my birthday. They gave me a gift card to Office Max to help remedy whatever it could.

Simple, right?

Never!

Backstory: Apparently when they went to get the gift card, they were out. Completely out of gift cards! Go figure! So they had to buy something and then return it to get a Merchandise Credit card. Okay. No big deal. But in doing so, it made an odd amount, because of tax.

After much consideration, I went to Office Max to buy a new printer, one that was on sale and, with my “merchandise credit” and a coupon, would cost me $5 or so. Again, never as simple as it seems. The first store was out of the desired printer. Today I went across town to another Office Max. No printers on the shelf, but a wonderful guy found one in the back. I took it to the register, handed the man my coupon and my card, and waited, cash in hand, to hear what I owed.

The man looked at me, incredulously. “It’s the same amount.”

“What do you mean?”

“The card.” He looked back at his register. “It’s exactly the same amount as the printer. To the penny.”

I just laughed. God is so good. He let my friends give me the EXACT perfect gift for my birthday! So here’s to happy printing, where all the words come through on the page. Thanks Mary and Leslie!

Cheering Them On

A local high school is performing Les Miserables this weekend. As that is a favorite at our house, my daughter and I went last night. They did a great job. No, it wasn’t Broadway caliber, but for a group of 16, 17, and 18 year-olds, it was fantastic.

I loved the music and the story, as usual, but most of all I loved watching high school students take on such an enormous challenge. It’s what I love about watching high school sports, too. And seeing high school art pieces. And observing high school leadership in areas of school government or service projects. It’s seeing young people learn to overcome obstacles, to persevere, to become disciplined, to encounter adversity, to be humble in success. To grow up. We are given a glimpse into who God made them to be and how He is shaping them to be it.

Some years, it happens through success, through accolades and awards. Some years, character is forged in the fires of failure, of hard choices, of unfairness. But none of it is wasted.

When it is my own kids (and sometimes their friends), I get the added responsibility of talking through the situations, helping them process their course of action or their feelings, helping them recognize God’s hand in every situation. But in every situation, such as by standing and clapping at the end of the production last night, I get to encourage, to cheer on these young people striving to become adults. And in that, I find great joy.

Basketball Blues

Here are two of the three reasons I’ve been so erratic in my blogging lately.

With SIX basketball games a week, when’s a girl supposed to get any writing done? My days are spent catching up on house stuff because that we aren’t home in the evenings do, or that get pushed out of the way by things like homework and dinner. Between boys middle school, girls varsity and boys varsity, we go to games Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday—on a typical week. Then there are weeks like this one: a holiday on Monday, therefore THREE games on Tuesday alone! All at the same place! Four solid hours of basketball! I love basketball and I love watching my kids play but . . .

A couple more weeks and the season will end. Thankfully, only one team has the possibility of a playoff run.

Persuasion

I’ve reserved my judgment about the new Masterpiece (they’ve dropped “Theatre” apparently) version of Jane Austen’s Persuasion until I had time to watch it, uninterrupted. I finally got the chance yesterday, curled up on the couch under a blanket, the main TV in the house all to myself.

Now I have to admit: I love the 1995 version of this-book-turned-movie. I’ve seen it probably 100 times. And I’ve read raging debate all over the internet among Jane Austen lovers about which version is better, etc. I wanted to give this one a chance. After all, the story is so good it would be hard to mess it up, right?

I thought the casting and acting and sets and costumes were fine. No problem. My beef is with the writer, the one who wrote this screen play adaptation, and with the director. I felt rushed through each scene, no unfolding of character, just a hurry to say the words that would advance the plot. I couldn’t even tell Henrietta from Louisa Musgrove because they were only onscreen a little bit, when the plot required their presence, but because I didn’t know them, the plot they helped shape felt contrived.

The writer also moved one of the best lines—the one that is supposed to be the hinge on which the story turns, and plops it into the middle of the movie where the lines are said but nothing happens as a result of them. On top of that, instead of letting Anne’s pain and desperation show in her words and actions, the writer tells it by having Anne write journal entries which are voice-over so the viewer can “hear her thoughts” so to speak. Anne is also shown sobbing alone. In the other version, we knew how Anne felt, that she probably sobbed in her private moments, but we didn’t have to see them to know—and it tugged at our hearts more deeply. Subtlety and pacing were both, in my opinion, neglected shamefully.

Finally, my biggest criticism of the director comes when Anne and Captain Wentworth realize they love each other and want each other to know it. The director chooses, at this critical moment, to focus the camera on Anne’s face only. There is no romantic satisfaction in that! That would be like only looking at the bride at a wedding. But isn’t the real moment in a wedding when you see both the bride and groom gazing at each other, adoration naked on their faces? We were cheated out of that moment in this film.

So I’ll go on loving the 1995 version, the one with Amanda Root and Ciaran Hinds. The 2007 version will fade quickly from my mind.

Lost and Found

This is how frazzled I’ve been lately:

Last night I changed out of my jeans and into my workout clothes to go walk while my son took his piano lesson. This morning, I woke up, tired and cold, and looked for my jeans on the floor of my closet. They weren’t there. The top I wore yesterday was there, but not the jeans.

Perhaps I had folded them and put them back in their place. I looked up to the top shelf. Only one pair of jeans, not two, met my eye. I frowned, picked up several things on my closet floor. Still no jeans. Finally, I put on the folded pair to run to my Moms In Touch prayer time.

But the mystery still niggled at me. Where could those jeans have gone? They weren’t in the laundry basket. They weren’t under my bed. They weren’t in my closet. The only time I’ve had something go missing that I knew I put on the floor was years ago when we lived in apartment with rats and my kitchen towel went from the middle of the kitchen floor to underneath the water heater. Yuck!

But no rat could be big enough to drag off a pair of jeans! The dog? Perhaps. But she’d never done anything like that before.

I couldn’t shake the irritation of not knowing where those jeans went. After all, I only have the two pair. I came home at lunchtime in a frenzy of determination to find my jeans. I knew they couldn’t have grown feet and walked off, as I so often remind my children. I searched high and low, finally tossing aside the purple throw crumpled in the middle of the love seat in my bedroom.

Wa-la! My jeans! Then I remembered: in anticipation of the cold morning, I had placed my jeans in my room (as opposed to my cold closet) under the blanket so they would be somewhat warm when I put them on in the morning.

Too, too many things to keep track of in my head right now. I guess cold jeans I can find are better than warm jeans I can’t!

Books, Books, Books

My friend Mary tagged me on this fun blogger game.

1. One book that changed your life.

Bright Captivity by Eugenia Price. I read this historical novel at a time when I was wrestling through issues in my own life. I resolved that I didn’t ever want to act as selfishly as the main character did, which pushed me to deepen my relationship with the Lord.

2. One book that you have read more than once.

Only ONE!!??!! I’ve read so many over and over. The one I’m re-reading now is The Train to Estelline by Jane Roberts Wood.

3. One book you would want on a desert island.

My Bible--with all its notes in the margins and dog-earred pages.

4. Two books that made you laugh.

The 2 ½ Pillars of Wisdom: The Von Igelfeld Trilogy by Alexander McCall Smith. I know, technically that’s three books, but I bought them as one volume and all three of them made me laugh out loud. Seriously. And since I count those three as one book, the other book that made me laugh is every Jeeves and Wooster novel by P.G. Wodehouse. Love ‘em!

5. One book that made you cry.

My family would say that every book makes me cry, but I guess I’ll go with Jane Eyre. I read it again in 2007. I can’t help it.

6. One book you wish you'd written.

Little Women. I love that it spans so much of the girls’ lives and that its characters and story still impact girls and women today.

7. One book you wish had never been written.

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. I had to read this book in college and I hated it!

8. Two books you are currently reading.

The Train to Estelline by Jane Roberts Wood and I don’t have a second book going at the moment.

9. One book you've been meaning to read.

Techniques of the Selling Writer by Dwight Swain.

10. Five people that I tag: Rachelle, Heather, Carla, Tina and Richard.

Romans 5:3-5

I’ve been a bit frustrated and discouraged with my writing lately. One of my writer friends has been with hers, too. As I was praying the other morning, the Lord reminded me of a verse we had discussed at length at church not long ago. I read it again and sent it to my friend.

Last night, as I lay in bed, I personalized the verse with my writing in mind. So here is Romans 5:3-5, the Writer’s translation:

And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations (our frustrations with plot and characters and finding time to write and telling the story of our hearts and rewriting and rewriting and rewriting that story again and again!), knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance (even when we walk away from the work, declare it drivel, swear we will not continue to waste our time, we come back—hours, days, weeks, months, perhaps years later—with fresh insight, with renewed vigor, with determination to tell the story in the best possible way); and perseverance, proven character (tweaking words, analyzing characters and plot, unwilling to let the story remain untold or to let it be told in a way that is less than our best); and proven character, hope (that the story will minister to someone—even if the only someone is me!); and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

New England White

It’s been a very long time since I’ve read a book that so drew me in as a reader and so fascinated me as a writer as did the book New England White. This is the second novel by Yale law professor Stephen L. Carter. It gripped me from page one. I read all 550 or so pages within five days—even taking it to my kids’ basketball tournament and reading during time-outs and half-times!

This mystery/suspense is intelligent as well as page turning—and the plot and characters are so intricate that I am almost desperate to pick Mr. Carter’s writing brain to learn some of his processes for plotting and writing such a book. (I’ve searched for an email address for him and haven’t found one. Nor does he have a writer website. Who knows? Maybe he’ll find this post and contact me!) Anyway, I rarely have this insatiable desire to contact a published author, but as I am at a bit of a stalemate with my own novel writing, I would love some tips from a writer who accomplished such memorable characters in such fascinating circumstances.

I highly recommend this book. But don’t pick it up unless you’re willing to let everything else go until it’s finished!

Twelve Mighty Orphans

I don’t often read non-fiction. When I do, my preference is either history or biography—both for pleasure and research for novels. Early in December, for my husband’s birthday, we gave him three books he asked for—1 biography, 1 history, 1 a combination of history and biography. Well, after he read the combo, he told me I needed to read it. So I did.

And what an enjoyable experience! Twelve Mighty Orphans by Jim Dent is the ultimate underdog sports story. Beginning in the depression and continuing into the days of WWII, Mr. Dent, an engaging sportswriter, tells the story of the underfunded (or should I say non-funded), undersized football program at the Masonic Home, an orphanage in Fort Worth, Texas. He interweaves the story of football with the biographies of key players. It is an engaging and fascinating read, both from biographical and historical standpoints. In fact, I learned much about the history of the city I grew up in from this book!

So if there is a sports fan or a history buff in your life and you’re wondering what a good read for them might be, try this one. I think they’ll be glad you did.

The Last Week of December

I have a love/hate relationship with the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day. Let me set the stage for you. I love Christmas. I love the decorations and the presents and meditating on various facets of Jesus’s foray into our world to bring us life and hope. But, of course, being the Mom, most of the preparations fall to me. And after five weeks of parties and programs and shopping, I’m tired.

So what I want, in that week after Christmas, is to rest. To let everything go and just “be.” But then the other me raises her head—the organized me. I don’t get a frenzy to “clean out” in the spring time, like normal people. For me, that feeling always hits the week before a new year begins. I have this insatiable desire to begin the new year fresh, with closets organized and files weeded of old documents and everything in its place.

Somehow I wish I could have a “week after Christmas” to rest and a “week before the new year” to clean out and organize. But, alas, they are the same week. Some years the rest wins out. Other years I breathe a satisfied sigh when the last closet is straight and accessible. Which will win this year? Who knows. Considering that the next two days I’ll be at a basketball tournament, son and daughter both participating, it might be neither one!

The Gift

I was reminded this week of a Christmas story I wanted to share with you. It is a story that began the Christmas I was 17 and, I thought, finished when I was 21. But several years ago when I needed to speak at a women’s retreat, the Lord brought the story to mind again and showed me a spiritual truth in it that I had not seen before. Now I’d like to share the whole story with you.

I always had a penchant for books. And really long books were my favorite. So digging around under the Christmas tree my senior year of high school, I found a book-shaped package with my name on it. I thrilled at the thickness of it. I wondered what it could be. I pondered day and night until curiosity got the best of me. One day when no one was around, I took my package into the bathroom and locked the door. Then I carefully unwrapped it. Heart pounding with excitement, I turned it over.

Jane Austen, the cover read, followed by what appeared to be several titles. Who in the world is that? (Yes, even in my AP English class we didn’t read her.) I had a vague sense that she had written things long ago. Disappointed, I re-wrapped the book and set it back under the tree.

Christmas morning, I unwrapped it and pretty much tossed it aside without another thought. Fast forward three years. I’m in college now, majoring in history, minoring in English. I take a class called The English Novel where I read Emma by Jane Austen. I’m hooked. I love this woman! Even then it takes a little while to connect her to the dust-gathering monstrosity of a book on my bookshelf. I pull it down. The book contains all of Austen’s works. I am amazed. I am thrilled. An unexpected gift that was already mine!

Many years later, the Lord brought this story to mind and I saw it in a whole new light. I realized that often we receive gifts from the Lord that puzzle us. We have little to no understanding of what to do with it, why it is important. We toss it aside, let it gather dust, until one day something triggers a memory of that gift and makes it suddenly relevant. And often, like my Jane Austen collection, not just relevant, but a treasure.

So as you unwrap your gifts this Christmas, remember that some gifts take time to appreciate. And remember that the gifts God gives to us are never without reason.

A Christmas Luncheon and A Precursor of Days to Come

It’s been a C R A Z Y week and half! Sorry I’ve been silent.

Last Tuesday, Mary DeMuth, Leslie Wilson, and I hosted a table at the Friends of the Library Christmas luncheon. It was a table filled with—what else? Writers! Five other writers joined us for a yummy lunch and great conversation. Wish you could have been there!

I’ve had a fun few days hanging out with my youngest—my 13 year old. His brother and sister are off on a mission trip (more on that when they return) and it’s been fun to have him all to myself. It’s a little preview of what it will be like in just three and a half short years, when he is the only one left at home. And it’s been great. He’s been incredibly amiable and I think is reveling in our alone time as much as I am.

I’ve still got Christmas errands to run and writing to get done, but I promise you will hear more from me soon. Until then, take time to notice the sights and sounds of the season all around you and enter into the joyous celebration of the birth of our Savior.

Tis the Season

The tree is up, the lights are on. It even turned cold outside—finally.

This is the week of Christmas frenzy before things settle a little into what I hope will be a fun, yet restful, family Christmas. I realize we haven’t many left like this. This year and next, then my daughter will be in college and I know how quickly things can change! My first Christmas after high school, I had a serious boyfriend. By the second Christmas in college, he was my fiancé. By the third Christmas, I was married. So I take nothing for granted.

So this week I will help host a table of fellow writers at the Friends of the Library luncheon here in town, spend an evening with the lawyers and spouses from my husband’s new firm at the Christmas party, watch my niece perform the lead in a Christmas musical at school, travel to my son’s basketball game, get my two high schoolers and my husband off on a mission trip to the Texas-Mexico border, and drive kids from our school to two days of local mission opportunities.

From there, my calendar is blessedly empty—except for the orthodontist appointment where both my boys will get their braces! We plan to bake and watch Christmas movies and play games and look at Christmas lights. And I intend to cherish every minute of it.

Freshman Year Football

This is the image I will remember from my son’s freshman year of football (he’s #32.) In our small school, all the football boys are on the varsity team, but, of course, some of the younger ones don’t play much, if at all.

So I watched my son on the sidelines. What I saw was an encourager—both to those coming off the field and those standing on the sidelines, like himself. He often grabbed the water bottles to hand to the boys on the field during a timeout or when they came off the field for a short rest.

His penchant for encouragement and helpfulness earned him the respect of many of the older boys, including the one he stands next to, a senior affectionately known as “Big E.”

It’s been a hard season in some ways: my son loves to play, not watch, and that got frustrating at times, and this team was slated to repeat as state champions, but they lost last weekend in the semi-finals to a team they’d demolished only a few weeks before.

But what I’ll remember most from this season is this image—my son, skinny and not overly tall, standing out there with the big boys.

A Serial Christmas Story

A couple of months ago, several authors of historical fiction, both published and unpublished, came together (via the Internet) with the idea of writing a serial Christmas story that reflected both their love of historical fiction set in Europe and their faith.

I’m so pleased to announce that the first installment of this story is up at http://www.homebychristmas.blogspot.com/. The installments, 13 in all, will post every other day from now until Christmas. On the in-between days, the bio of the author of the upcoming installment will be posted.

So click on over. I guarantee that after just a couple of posts, you’ll be hooked into the story set in late Victorian England. My part posts December 5.

Happy Christmas reading!

Leaving No Evidence

We spent Friday raking leaves. Last fall, our first in this house, we gathered 22 bags full from the front yard alone! This year, my teenaged boys, who grew up without mature trees that dropped their leaves, reveled in the piles.

But 23 bags later, a mystery. Friday, the bags surrounded our already full trash cans (no trash pick up on Thanksgiving Day). No problem. Trash Day would arrive on Monday and all would be well. Then Saturday I glanced out the breakfast room window. I couldn’t place it at first. The trash spot in the alley looked so—normal. Trash cans filled with black bags, waiting to be carried away. Nothing else.

Nothing else.

No 23 bags of leaves. Vanished. Gone.

Did someone take them? They must have. But we didn’t notice unusual noise in the alley at any time—and it would take a little while to load 23 bags. How did they know they all held leaves? Did they come searching for such things specifically—or did they watch us frolicking in the bright autumn sunlight, the crisp air stinging our hands as we worked and laughed and played?

It’s kind of spooky, if you ask me. 23 bags of leaves. The mystery still gnaws at me, probably always will. I’ll never know what happened to those bags. I’m sure someone took them on purpose, for some reason. I’ll have to make something up and use it in a novel someday!

Cold and Wet

It’s 38 degrees outside—and dropping. A drizzly mist is falling. It’s the perfect day to sit in front of the fire, drink hot chocolate, listen to Christmas music or watch Christmas movies and decorate the house. And I’m . . .

NOT!

Oh, no. Today we are driving two hours to a high school football playoff game! I’m gathering long underwear, hand warmers, scarves, hats, gloves, boots—anything that might ward off the wet-cold of the day. And I so hate being cold!

But when your kids are there, so are you. I’m sure it will be fun. Ok, maybe FUN is too strong of a word, but it will provide “remember whens” for years to come. So while you are cozy inside your house today, think of me in the freezing rain, cheering for my team. And try not to laugh too hard.

A Glimpse of the Future

We went to my cousin’s wedding this weekend. I love weddings, as most women do. But until now I’ve sat in pews thinking wistfully of my own wedding day, of how young and idealistic we were, how the years that stretched out before us are quickly flying by.

This time, I had none of those thoughts. Instead, sitting next to my three teenagers, I realized how close I am to being mother of the bride or groom! I watched the parents, noticing their graciousness to their children and all the guests. I mentally took notes of service arrangements and reception ideas. Of course, all my husband could see was dollar signs!! (Thank goodness we only have one girl!)

But instead of depressing me, the thought encouraged me. One day in the not-too-distant future, my children will stand at the altar, young and wide-eyed, looking forward to the coming years with the one they love. The thought doesn’t sadden me, but it sobers me. It drives me again to my knees, praying that God will work in the hearts of each of my children so that they can bring into their marriages unselfish hearts toward their spouses and humble hearts toward the Lord.

A Must-See: Bella

We saw an incredible movie this weekend. Bella is the story of a young woman who finds herself alone and pregnant and the man who risks his relationship with his brother to be her friend. It is a movie that celebrates life and love, family and friendship. It is real and emotionally powerful—and subtle.

Yes, subtle.

As I writer, I strive for this—to tell the story and let my audience connect the dots to discover the greater, overarching truths the story illustrates. The writer and director of this movie managed this superbly. They told a compelling story that drives home the sanctity of life without using any of the buzz words generally associated with such a theme.

But the subtlety of its theme isn’t the only reason I enjoyed this movie. Its excellence extended to every aspect of the film—the writing, the directing, the acting. Nothing second-rate or hokey about this film and frankly, you can’t say that about very many movies these days. Oh, and did I mention that there are no offensive scenes or language? Yet the feel of reality is all over this film. I assume it garnered the PG-13 rating because of the thematic elements.

This movie is the first offering from new production company Metanoia, whose mission statement declares they desire “to make movies that matter and have the potential to make a meaningful difference in people’s lives.” I’m already looking forward to seeing what they come up with next!

Creating is Messy

I was cleaning up the kitchen the other morning—yet again. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I can clean when I don’t have to cook, and even consider it the best end of the deal. But when my daughter cooks, she doesn’t give a thought to the mess she leaves behind. When she is finished, it looks like a Texas tornado has hit my kitchen.

So after piles of dishes, I was down to wiping the countertops (and the appliances, and the backsplash, and . . . you get the idea) and lamenting the mess that comes from her creations. As I swept crumbs into the trashcan, it hit me: creating is messy, whatever the medium. Painting. Sculpting. Cooking. Even writing. When I get in a writing frenzy of creation, papers and books are often strewn from room to room, linking them like beads on a necklace.

It helped, realizing that her mess is simply a by-product of her creative process. It makes it easier to clean up after her because I know how she feels. I understand the creative urge, the need to see in visible form what exists in your head and heart, the complete focus on the creation, the oblivion to everything else around you.

So cook on, my girl. I’m right behind you, soapy rag in hand.

The Grocery Store Dilemma

I get lulled into complacency in the summer time. When I do my big monthly grocery shopping trip (stocking up on staples such as bread, cereal, and toiletries) I bring home bags piled high in the back of my car and then watch as they disappear up the stairs and into my kitchen. Sometimes I even have help unpacking the bags and putting the groceries away.

But once school starts I live with the inevitable dilemma: do I shop with the crowds on the weekends, when my kids are home to help unload, or do I shop in peace but carry all the bags myself. Every time I try one way, I swear the other is better. Today I shopped in peace, checked out in a reasonable amount of time, and then ended up making about ten trips up and down the stairs to the garage, arms sagging with bags. To top it off, I’ve had a nasty cold, so the effort quite wore me out! Then, after all that, I still had to unload the bags that now covered my kitchen table and the majority of my countertops.

I guess I should be grateful for the extra exercise, but I imagine the chocolate I ate to console myself canceled out any benefit from climbing the stairs. Oh, well. I guess it’s back to fighting the crowds. At least for next month.

Pumpkin Pie

I can’t remember when I started the tradition, but somewhere in the past, it began. October 31 is the day I make the first pumpkin pie of the season. It isn’t just any pumpkin pie, mind you. It’s my grandmother’s recipe—more nutmeggy, more creamy than a traditional pumpkin pie. It’s something I can actually make, something that turns out the way it is supposed to every time.

And my family loves it. The five of us can polish off a whole pie in nothing flat.

So the season begins. I will make one or two pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving, one or two for Christmas, and a few more here and there before Winter’s end. And all I know is I’d better keep to my exercise routine. Otherwise I’ll be round as a pumpkin by Spring!