I'm Home

It's Christmas Eve. I'm here in the house where I grew up. Happy sigh. Even after forty-plus years of happy marriage, I still feel the need to come "home" for Christmas.

I don't mean that as a reflection on the home my husband and I have made together, or on him, or his side of our family, or the Christmas traditions we have with our own children. I just always have that "Folger's Coffee Commercial" kind of feeling about Home when it comes to Christmas.

Warning: I'm about to wax tear-jerking emotions all over the page.

Some of the best family times happened at Christmas. And some of the worse.
Christmas of 2002 was the beginning of a season of heartbreak and change. The first Christmas at home without my dad. Ever. He was in the hospital and our whole extended family came home. Waking up on Christmas morning without his "I know what you're getting for Christmas" to tease us one last time before opening presents was ... indescribable. As I watched my mother, who stayed upbeat and smiling, I could not help but think ... change is coming. (So strong, my mother.) But this, this is a first, and more will follow.

We trooped to the hospital where the nursing staff had reserved us a "party room" for the family to gather, complete with a Christmas tree for our gifts for Daddy. They wheeled him in to join us and he looked frail and pale and not at all well. It was the last time I saw him out of a hospital bed.

My sister, my daughter and I had worked for many months on a surprise project for my dad that involved most of the family. A project that we knew would be near and dear to his heart, and I had long anticipated the joy of giving that gift. I could "see" already how his eyes would light up and I knew what his appreciative grin would look like. I could hardly wait. But now, my excitement was dimminished by the brutal reality of Daddy's poor health.

Family was very important to Daddy. I grew up in the house where he was born in a family of Keepers, so there were many family things to cherish and a million past family stories to hear over and over, as well as the memories we made ourselves. Over the months of 2002, the three of us compiled and wrote an anecdotal history of our family. We started by making a list of all our favorite memories, then we contacted members of the family asking for a written contribution from each. We wrote, we edited, we printed; we put it all together into one large binder with a copy for Dad and each member of the family.

On Christmas morning 2002 in a hospital "party room" I got to see that special grin and hear those words of awe and appreciation for our labor of love. He opened other presents, but that one, that heavy tome, sat on his frail knees for a long time, as he turned pages and really realized what we had done. It was an amazing morning, one I can still picture in my head.

Because it was also our last Christmas with him.

On January 2, 2003, (One-Two-Three) Daddy died, without ever seeing home again. During that week between Christmas and New Year's, he read The Book. Each time I visited he had it open on his lap. He also made notes - impressions, typos, comments - and stuck them in the book with Post-It Notes. So like him! It still makes me smile.

Daddy ran out of Time and didn't get to read it all, but there was evidence that he read the most important parts. And enjoyed our effort as well as the memories he relived as he read. He told me once that he came home from the South Pacific after the war with the idea that he'd one day write a book. He never did write a novel, but he completed a long essay on his wartime experiences that was included in a book of area veterans' stories published by the county historical society. We included it in our family book. It was one of the reasons we undertook our writing project; we knew it was the kind of thing he'd appreciate most.

We've made many more sweet memories since that Christmas ten years ago. Mom is 90 years old this year, still in relatively good health, definitely in great spirits and still able to out-shop me. She is hosting the family Christmas Day gathering in our home of so many years. As I write, I am surrounded by the best memories.

And one of the worse.

So hard to believe it's been ten years since Daddy opened that gift. Ten years since we watched that familiar slow grin as he realized what he held in his lap. Ten years.

Someone gave a bit of life advice once that hit me so hard I immediately recognized it as profound truth. "I pray you will get to the point where you can remember more of what you had than what you lost."

I did and I can. I am thankful and I am blessed.

A little over a week ago in Newtown, Connecticut, 20 small children and six adults were brutally gunned down at Sandy Hook Elementary School. My heart breaks for the families and for the lost soul of a twenty-year old boy who first killed his own mother before shooting out the glass door of the school to gain entrance. A senseless tragedy has become the precursor to what should have been a joyous Christmas filled with church and family and Santa and gap-toothed grins and presents under the tree. We may never understand, may never have the answer to Why.

Words are powerful but in the midst of blinding grief and pain, they are only a drop in the bucket, a grain of sand on a coastline of living and not strong enough to dent the thick wall of disbelief and horror at the loss of a child, a mother, a sister or cousin. Still, this is my prayer for the survivors:

One day, whether ten years or fifty years from this Christmas season, I pray that the memory of your lost ones will bring only smiles to your faces and joy to your hearts and that you, at last, will be able to remember what you had more than what you lost.

Advent - a season of preparation and waiting

Waiting. It's hard.

It matters little what you are waiting for - whether Christmas morning or the proverbial "other shoe to drop."

It's still hard.

I wait to do things. I diagnose it as mild procrastination. Mild, meaning I put some things off until close to the last minute, but I rarely put everything off. The "pleaser" part of my personality won't allow me to totally blow off some people, things, events or chores. I feel compelled to finish (thank you, Mother and Daddy!) the course. But the "selfish" portion quickly cuts to the chase and recognizes allowable  shortcuts; it's a sort of "good enough for what it's for" philosophy that makes it work. And so procrastination is involved.

Not a particularly gratifying trait, huh.

I anticipate. The Brain constantly runs interference ... if they do this, I can do this. Or I'll try that. If he/she says that, I will respond with this. If. If. If. But you get that I don't call this worry, right? In my book it spells "anticipation." And anticipation means "preparation." Not being caught short, i.e. success.

Nothing to brag about there.

And so I wait.
To hear.
To say.
To do.
To think.
To wonder what will be done about this or that.

But this I know. Waiting should be a time of reflection, a time of preparation for whatever Good Thing is to come, not a means to rush a job or assignment just to get it over with and done.

Christmas is approaching. It is not just a holiday where we rejoice over No School or a vacation from work. It is so much more than that.

This time in the church calendar is known as Advent, the time when we anticipate the celebration of our Savior's birth. A time of Hope. Of Love. Of sacred thankfulness that "He loved the World so much." It deserves so much more of me than my usual.

And so THIS YEAR, as we move toward the celebration of that miraculous first Christmas morning, I resolve not to lose sight of the real reason for the season. Not to murmur about a long "to do" list ...  I'm retired; there is plenty of time if I don't procrastinate. Not to moan about crowds of rude shoppers or the traffic ... there are plenty of cheerful smiles and "Merry Christmases" if I look for them. Not to spend more time worrying about gifts than time spent giving ... possible if I keep the true focus of the season close to my heart and mind.

I mean to experience Family. The delight in a child's big eyes, the glee over choosing just the right gift, the appreciation for parents, siblings, children, grandchildren, cousins and friends. I imagine the Father felt the same as He prepared to send His Son.

I mean to enjoy the sights and sounds of Christmas ... even the continual Carols played in all the stores and ditto, the extreme lighting displays. Even the shopping, the gift wrapping, the viewing of "White Christmas" and "Holiday Inn" (not It's a Wonderful Life, however) again, the Hallmark channel, and the few Christmas variety shows on TV these days.  Yes, even the minimum cooking and necessary baking (ha!) I will do. And Santa ( I still believe!). All these things, while not always wonderful in and of themselves, are beautiful, family memory makers. Something I will cherish against the inevitable change and loss in the years to come. I imagine the Father shakes His head over His children's silliness, but loves us anyway.

I mean to absorb the events at church that mark Christ's birth  ... the giving, the Advent messages, the youth programs, the hymns and special music on Sunday morning, the fellowship of a church family experiencing joy and sorrow for each other, the blessed peace of the Good News ... and allow them to cover my soul. I imagine the Father smiling tenderly as we honor Him.

This year I will enjoy the waiting, the advent of Christmas. And I hope you will, too.

Merry Christmas y'all!

Tribute to Vintage YA Fiction and More

A Tribute to Vintage YA Fiction and More

 

 

I've read some wonderful books in 2012. The odd thing (at 63) is that most of them were written for Young Adults - for teens who are between 13 and 18 years old.

 

Good Books, I think, are just good books, no matter the age for whom they are written. (yeah, I know - sounds silly, doesn't it - that "no ending a sentence with a preposition" thing - I so hear my high school teacher's voice in my head. shiver.)

 

But this did make me think.  What did I read when I was in my teens? My quick answer was that there was hardly a YA genre back then, so I progressed from the Betsy-Tacy books (Maude Hart Lovelace) and the Little House on the Prairie series (Laura Ingalls Wilder) to gothic mysteries and romances by Victoria Holt (oooh, Mystress of Mellyn), Madeline Brent (Moonraker's Bride), Barbara Michaels (House of Many Shadows),  and Mary Stewart (The Ivy Tree). Courtney will tell you the same thing, that she went from books like Hatchet by Gary Paulsen, Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh (Robert C. O'Brien) and The Wrinkle in Time series (Madeleine L'Engle) straight to mystery romances by Mary Higgins Clark. But as I traveled down Memory Lane, a few actual YA books from my teen years came to mind. Some of them came from the classroom order that my teacher made each month. I remember the Arrow Book Club, but I believe that was the Scholastic division for younger readers. It was probably TAB (teen-age books) by the time I was in the sixth grade in Mr. Ragsdale's room.

 

The Trixie Belden series. I still own these books - the earliest ones cost me 50 cents, and they are practically falling apart! I've read each one dozens of times. Trixie ages so by the time the series finishes, she is a teen and has a boyfriend (Jim!). I loved them all.

 

The 'boy' books by Troy Nesbitt . I didn't care that they were for boys. I loved them, especially The Diamond Cave Mystery. I had been to Carlsbad Caverns where the book is set, so it felt personal to me.

 

Fifteen by Beverly Cleary. The story of two teen girls, one of whom wore glasses. My best friend and I pretended we were those girls. I got to be the one who wore glasses!

 

High Trail by Vivian Breck. A classic favorite. I recently ordered a used copy of this book just so I could reread it. A teen girl goes to the mountains with her dad to trout fish. He slips and breaks his leg; she has to hike out for help. She decides to go up over the mountain to save time but gets caught in a snowstorm. No spoiler, but let me tell you ... there's a guy!

 

Mr. and Mrs. Bo Jo Jones by Ann Head. I first read this story when it was serialized in one of Mom's subscription magazines - they used to do that back then! It read as a dose of reality in the midst of my usual "happily ever after" romances. An unexpected teen pregnancy and hasty marriage - it almost hurt me to read it (I shed tears!). I recently reread it. Some emotions and some issues do not date, no matter when they're written.

 

Good Morning, My Heart by Mildred Lawrence. I own my original copy of this wonderful "coming of age" novel. It was always one of my favorites because I so identified with the main character, Jan Barnaby, with all her fears and insecurities. Happy Ending, folks!

 

Mildred Lawrence, Ann Head and Vivian Breck wrote other books, all out of print today (as far as I'm aware). As a teen-ager, I haunted the local library and probably read them all, but these three are the ones that struck my heart. These ladies are the forerunners of today's great YA authors. They foreshadow the YA genre that provides so much of my current reading pleasure. My hat is off to them!

 

And to Susane Colasanti, Deb Caletti, Sarah Dessen, Sarah Ochler, Dana Reinhardt, Jessi Kirby, Stephanie Perkins, Maureen Johnson, Katie McGarry, John Green, Ruta Sepetys, Sharon Cameron, Sara Zarr, Myra McEntire, C.J. Redwine, Rachel Hawkins, Kelly Creagh, Amy Plum, Bethany Griffin, Mike Mullins, Chris Crutcher, (I could go on and on) and ... oh, yes! my daughter, Courtney C. Stevens, whose YA novel, Faking Normal (Harper Collins), will release in early 2014. I'm only a tiny bit biased, but I believe it will become "one of those books" that strikes the heart.

 

And now, I'd better stop because there are SO many more great YA books and I hate that I've left out some names. Some that I've already read plus SO many more on my TBR list!

Reading is a daily "must" for avid readers, as necessary as breathing! I am one of those readers.

 

So, Thank You ~ for your words, your heart, your inspiration!



 

 

 

 

 

 



Itty Bits of Un-Solicited Wisdom

Okay, here goes. (Warning: the following advice reflects my beliefs and experiences. Stop right there if you're thinking I have any qualification for this.)
And revisit the site - it's on-going.

• Don't spit on Superman's cape. Oh. Well, okay; Jim Croce might have thought of that first. But still good advice.
• Don't do anything that requires an expenditure of calories ... on a full stomach. Just go to the couch.
• Don't look a grizzly in the eyes. (Or a strange dog.) Back slowly away and RUN!
• Don't be honest when answering any personal questions like Does this make my butt look big? or Is this my color? It's not worth it - they don't really want to know - and you can't win.
• Read. Read. Read. Whatever genre you like. It keeps your mind and imagination active.
• Work crossword puzzles - even the easy "no dictionary needed" type helps keep your brain alive and exercised.
• Don't smoke (funny smoke or the regular type). If you already do, quit. Just do it.
• Pay for DVR service, get the receiver and learn to work the remote. You'll need it to record all your favorite shows - the ones you missed while you were at the beach (or a ballgame or shopping or at a friend's house, etc) and, oh yeah,  use it to mute/cut out all the political ads driving you crazy, especially those in a presidential election year.
• Never wait 'til the last minute (like, immediately before the big event) to try on the new outfit you bought ... leave time to CHANGE YOUR MIND because you never know when you will need it just after you ate that huge meal and the slacks (i.e. the skirt, sweater, you know) no longer feels good, never mind how it actually looks (or what the Hubs tells you)! Women know what I mean. Men will never understand, so don't even speak it out loud. Just save time.
• Don't text and drive. Don't read the text and drive. Don't (and while I'm at it ... don't do the drinking thing and drive, either).

Fall Reflections

What Fall means to me.

Covering the pool. Hate that, even though I know the water will soon be too cold even for testing with a toe. I just get a visual uplift from the rippling surface of the pool reflected by the sun on my living room ceiling. Not to mention the sight of the blue water and the pots of greenery surrounding the pool. (Even when it's too cold to use the pool.)

Packing for my month at the beach. Okay, I have a computer-generated list that I use year after year that makles the job easier. But still, I have to gather all that stuff. And I always ... always take too much. Too many clothes. Too many shoes. And the hubs always says, "I don't know if we're going to get it all in." That's a traditional rite. He has to say that. And in the back of my mind - though I shove it away - is the negative thought that what goes in the car must eventually come out of the car. And go back in and out again!

The beach. Spending time first with my family - my husband, my sister and brother-in-law, various visitors (at times our children visit) and especially my mother, who celebrated her 90th birthday this spring. Sitting under the blue beach umbrellas, taking long early morning walks on the beach to watch the sun rise, hunting for sand dollars and unusual shells, seeing dolphins roll, sea turtles gliding by, manta rays flipping their way up the beach, sting rays hiding in the sand, the occasional shark zigging by, crabs scurrying everywhere; I enjoy the sea in all its varying personalities and the cold wet sand between my toes. I love the pink, orange streaks of light at sun set, the way the big firey ball hangs suspended as if on a yo-yo string until it suddenly plops down and disappears behind the horizan. I love the way people congregate for the 'light show' at that time every evening and then linger on the sand until darkness falls. And I love seeing old friends who come to the beach every year when we do.

The changing seasons. I leave home when it still looks and feels like summer. I spend a month at the beach in 'summer heat' with the AC on 24-7 and most of my waking moments wearing swim suits or shorts and tank tops. and flipflops. And I return home in long sleeves and jeans to very cool weather with the furnace running. To gorgeous red, yellow, orange and brown leaves clinging to bare branches and cluttering the ground.

Coming back home - except for that un-packing thing - I love being back home. But it takes me days to unload everything and get it all put away. I don't mind washing multiple loads of clothes, but that searching for a place to fold them away or hang them up now that they are out of season is no fun! It goes without saying that I missed Ron for these last three weeks, in spite of the nightly phone calls and the daily series of text messages. Just good to be back together, to know I can stretch out a hand and curl mine in his.

Getting back to church and Bible study groups, re-connecting with church friends and getting re-involved in teaching Sunday School. And this year I came back to a newly transformed sanctuary - out with the old, in with the new while I was away - new carpet, new upholstery, redesigned pulpit area. All more beautiful than I imagined.

Upon my return this fall,  I also legally registered the editing business. Went to the county seat where the courthouse is located and certified my "business under an assumed name."  Pretty weird, huh. I told the clerks it sounded highly illegal! Editing Courtney's rough drafts, AKA "WriteWay Consulting"! But it was a fun thing to do, and I look forward to working with her on many, many more manuscripts.

Uncertain weather. You never know whether you need long sleeves, a sweatshirt, a winter coat or a short sleeve tee-shirt! The saying goes, "If you don't like the weather in Kentucky, wait five minutes and it will change." At this time of the year, it's even more uncertain.

Harvest. On corn years, the harvest takes place before I return. This is a soy bean year, so the harvest will take place several weeks after my return. Dust in the air, the earthy smell, naked fields, the whir of big machinery and the accompanying allergy sniffles that are a given!

Dancing With the Stars. Okay. That's just me.

Cardinal Baseball. For the past two years they've made it into the post season.

Holidays and decorating and shopping.  A very busy time of year.

I'm sure there are other personal Signs of Fall, and they'll probably come to mind in the middle of the night ... but these will do for now!

A guest post by Courtney C. Stevens (2.)

September 25, 2012

The following is a second guest post from author, Courtney C. Stevens. She posted it on her blog at quartland.blogspot.com on August 10, 2012 after HarperCollins (HarperTeen) officially announced the sale of her debut novel - Faking Normal - in Publishers Weekly.

 

My Name on a Spine

Words that I will never forget: "Courtney, I have an early birthday gift for you."

My agent called on Wednesday, June 13th to tell me that HarperCollins (Harper Teen) offered a contract on Faking Normal, my debut novel. My agent and new editor spent the next two days doing what Agents and Editors do and we accepted on Friday, June 15th, my 33rd birthday.

Here are my thoughts:

1) My book gets to be a book.

2) Can I keep my mom quiet until they release this officially? (Not completely.) But I can't blame her. She's been such a great partner to me. If you only knew how bad my grammar was (and sometimes still is) when we started five years ago, you would give the woman three gold stars.

3) I have the best agent and editor in the world. I am so blessed by the professionals in my life. I pray every writer with dreams in their heart has a day when they are paired with the perfect person.

4) My critique partners have their fingerprints all over this manuscript. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

5) Did I really start this entire process (on Faking Normal) August 8th of 2011? (Yes- even though it doesn't seem possible. Oh, what a year!)

6) My accountability group believed in me much more than I believed in myself. Thank you to them for BELIEVING BIG and doing the dance (They know which one).

7) In the season when my husband and I needed encouragement the most- God delivers. Perfect timing.

There's so much more to say, and I'm sure I'll find the words over time, but for now, here is the release from PW.

http://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/book-news/deals/article/52702-deals-week-of-june-25-2012.html

A guest blog by Courtney C. Stevens (1.)

September 25, 2012

The following is a guest post by the author of Faking Normal, a YA contemporary fiction debut novel that will be published by Harper Teen.  Courtney C. Stevens posted it January 15, 2012 on her blog at quartland.blogspot.com the day after she received an offer from agent Kelly Sonnack (Andrea Brown) for representation. Reprinted with permission.

Prayers of a Newborn Author

I have been on a print journey since September of 2007. One fall day, I woke up with an idea for a series of books (which will probably never see the light of day). And I was obedient to this idea, a slave to the concept that I would someday become an author.

And because I know I’m not the only one out there who has been on a quest for an agent and someday a publisher, here is a little bit more of the back story. A short timeline from idea to agent.

September of 2007-2009- I wrote and re-wrote the first book of said series

September 2009- Joined SCBWI (Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators) and attended my first Mid-South Conference

October 2009- Joined a critique group in Bowling Green, KY.

July of 2010- I started my first realistic fiction manuscript SOME SECRETS BLEED

March 2010- I sent out my first ever query letters on the series book to the faculty of the conference

September 2010- Attended my second SCBWI Mid-South Conference and got an honorable mention in the fiction contest for SOME SECRETS BLEED  (Met Kelly Sonnack for the first time)

June 2011- I queried a handful of agents on SOME SECRETS BLEED

July 2011- I joined a second critique group in Nashville, TN

August 2011- Attended my first SCBWI National Conference in Los Angeles. I had a critique on that series book with Beverly Horowitz, who told me to go write the book I HAD TO WRITE

August 2011- I started TWENTY-THREE- the book I had to write

September 2011- Attended my third SCBWI Mid-South Conference and pitched TWENTY-THREE to agent Erin Murphy

Between August 8^th-October 18^th- I wrote and re-wrote and re-wrote TWENTY-THREE, following the request of agent Kevan Lyon

November-December 2011- I started two next realistic fiction manuscripts to explore which would become my next project. I decided to pursue one titled Unit 42

December 2011- I queried agent Kelly Sonnack of Andrea Brown Literary Agency

January 5^th-12^th 2012- The week all the amazing agents read TWENTY-THREE

January 12^th 2012—I signed (agrees by phone) with Andrea Brown agent, Kelly Sonnack

Upon getting my dream, dream, dream agent, what did I do???

-scream.

-shout.

-dance.

-cry tears of happiness.

-cry tears of fear.

ALL OF THE ABOVE.

Since I am a youth minister who makes no apologies for the fact that I use the lens of faith to understand my life, the first thing I did was sit down with God and process how I felt. And in a moment of transparency I’ll share with you my journal entry from that evening.

January 12, 2012

There is a moment of fear, terror really, that follows the moment of peaceful success. Yes. For this very breath and second, I hold this accomplishment, this achieved goal in my hand, but my fingers are not yet conditioned to hold on. What if I can’t maintain? Why does this thief named SELF-Doubt sneak in and so quickly make my heart beat fast with fear instead of excitement?

All I can do is pray.

Oh God, Father, Abba, Creator, when you breathed into me and brought me to life, that breath contained words. Words of a future, a plan for me - a good plan for me - a story I would tell that you’ve been telling: LOVE IS REAL. LOVE IS REDEMPTIVE. (As I'm fond of saying, everything has redemptive possibilities.) Help me to believe these words won’t run out. Help me to believe that you gave me a lifetime supply instead of a mere 80,000. Help me to know I won’t let you down.

I am happy.

I am scared.

Of failing. Of succeeding. Of only succeeding just once. Of letting people down. Especially Kelly. Of not enjoying the moment in front of me because of future fears.

I said yes today to a career in books. Today, I make the first step toward being an author. I might have my name on a spine someday. But I know, God, that it is your name that rightfully goes there. You did this. Not me. I prayed and words came. You came. I trust you to keeping coming and breathing words, poetry, dialogue, life into me.

I trust you to help me believe this prayer. Even now, when it’s hard. Help me rise to the occasion by falling on my knees in thanks and praise. Give me the patience and faith to believe without seeing. Because right now I don’t know how to write what is next. Or I’m scared that I’ll never write better than now. And God, that sucks, because the whole goal of my life is to always be on a journey toward better. What if I can’t?

Be the whisper, God. The whisper that says, You WILL. You can. You have to... not because I’m pressuring you, but because you’ve got the creator in you. THE CREATOR.  And I like to share.

Share with me.

Share the words of a 1000 books

Share the words of a 1000 books that matter

Share the words of a 1000 books that matter and are beautiful

Share the words of a 1000 books that matter and are beautiful and connect me to people in need

And now God, if it’s not asking too much, I pray for the people around me. Kelly. Give her the plan for me. Give her wisdom and favor. Build and multiply her career. Tell her how to challenge and encourage me. For Twenty-Three. For Book Two. For books two-to-a-thousand. And for the way Kelly leads her other clients, especially Jess and Sharon; give her a vision beyond our todays into our tomorrows. Please give them all ten times their hopes and dreams.

And the people around me- the creative folks who share their lives with me- my mom, dad, Adam, CJ, my amazing, amazing critique groups, Ruta, Jess, Erica, and all the cheerleaders (Katie, Leah, Brooke)- the professionals who have encouraged me (Sarah, Kevan, Erin, Tina, Tricia, Emily) Bless them. Bless them more than you bless me. I need them all. Raise them up. Let them have their dreams come true the way mine started coming true today. I wouldn’t be here without them. I wouldn’t. This I know.

And it is You – the path-crosser of destiny, friendship and love - who puts me in their life’s way. You told them to chant, move, keep going, you can, you will; just move on the path toward your dream.

And I move.

Today, I move toward the unknown to me but the certain for you. Oh, how I’m scared. Oh, how I’m grateful.

Courtney C. Stevens

Book of Lists - My Idea of ...

Book of Lists

~An On-going List~

 

 

My idea of camping is ... a Motel Six.

 

My idea of jogging is ... a brisk walk. I don't jog.

 

My idea of hunting is ... figuring out where in the house I left my iPhone.

 

My idea of window shopping is ... surfing the net.

 

My idea of reading is ... daily. I mean that.

 

My idea of shoes is ... any pair of Easy Spirits. In every color.  On sale.

 

My idea of vacation is ... a white sandy beach, a big umbrella and sunshine.

 

My idea of dessert is ... Golden Oreos, Mom's homemade chess pie, Grandmother's Italian Creme Cake and Aunt Millie's chess squares. Oh, yeah and fried apricot pies ... made the old-fashioned way!

 

My idea of dinner is ... the one inch pork chop at Patti's, and any entree plus a 'throwed roll' at Lamberts.

 

My idea of lunch is ... Donzella's fried chicken, mac and cheese and cornbread sticks.

 

My idea of swimming is ... lying on a float in the pool.

 

My idea of sports is ... the St. Louis Cardinals and UK basketball.

 

My idea of highschool sports is ... summer league, travel team and BMHS softball (Courtney), BMHS BB (Courtney & Abby), BMHS baseball (Caleb), BMHS track (Matt & Courtney), BMHS volleyball (Maggie & Mackenzie).

My idea of a cruise is ... four days - The Mississippi Queen - the Ohio River.

My idea of an amusement park is ... DisneyWorld, Orlando, Florida.

My idea of an amusement park ride is ... Pirates of the Caribbean.

My idea of a dress is ... I never have an idea of wearing a dress.

My idea of comfortable clothes is ... jeans, sweat or t-shirt and a pair of Easy Spirits.



 

 

 



Book of Lists ~ Things I Like About the Beach

Things I Like About the Beach

~an on-going list~

 

• White sand. (as in Gulf coast white "silvery" sands).
• Crystal clear, green salt water (no seaweed).
• Starfish. We've only found them two of the many years we've been to the beach.
• Tiny sand crabs that tickle my palm.
• Beach umbrellas.
• A good book to read under the umbrella.
• Early morning beach walks and cool sand between my toes.
• Sunrises.
• Sunsets.
• Sea turtles and sea turtle nests.
• Feeding popcorn to the gulls.
• Searching for shells.
• Finding unbroken sand dollars.
• Casual beach style furniture and decor.
• Family.
• Renew-ing old friendships.
• Appreciation for the beauty of the sea and our Creator.

My earliest memories of our family vacations involve all of these things, in one way or another.

As soon as school was out for the year, my sister and I received our "summer haircuts." This was a short, carefree cut my mother called a Pixie Cut. Basically, just wash it and wear it. This look was much more flattering for my sister, but I didn't want to waste valuable summer time washing, rolling and sitting under a hair dryer either. Our visit to the beauty shop usually heralded the approach of our week long Florida vacation.

My mother did the packing in the early days. My sister and I were allowed to pick out one or two toys to take with us, depending on their size, because car space was limited. I nearly always chose my favorite baby doll - Judy - and the small "little pillow" I required for sleeping. Over the years, the toys we chose would change, but a selection of books to read was always essential.

In the days before extensive interstate travel and air-conditioning, the trip was long and hot. My mother hid road trip surprises in the car. When two little girls got car-fever, she pulled out a surprise to delight us and distract us from the long ride. New colors, new coloring/activity books, paper dolls (that required no scissors), drawing pads, a new book. It didn't really matter what they were, they got us through another hour (and made an easier trip for her).  We made frequent stops to "stretch our legs" as well. My dad encouraged us to get out and run around the car a couple of times. The hope was that this exercise would make us less antsy, and therefore, be an easier trip for the parents. I never believed it helped. For me, frequents rest stops just made the trip longer!

I have random memories as to how my parents made the trip affordable. Gas cost roughly 25 cents a gallon in general, but the cost would be higher at "filling stations" along the main tourist routes, up to 30 cents (gasp). My dad complained about this and sometimes drove an extra mile off the route in order to save pennies. We rarely stopped at restaurants on our trips; my mother packed a picnic lunch to eat at roadside tables. Travelers looked for places on the side of the road with a couple of white concrete tables with attached benches; these were the precursors to interstate Rest Areas. We also had a green gallon thermos jug with a spicket (it fascinated me) that my mother filled with lemonade. She packed pop corn and other homemade snacks; we knew we'd never get the green light to buy sugary snacks at Stuckey's or some other store along the way.

We didn't have iPods and DVD players and other electronic devices, so parents often resorted to bribes. My dad paid a nickel to the child who saw the ocean first. If the amount of kid monetary awards has increased as much as the Tooth Fairy's payment for a tooth, then I figure I'd be paying out a fiver in today's world in order to keep a child occupied during the last hour of a long trip.

We also didn't have reservations. Upon arrival, we stopped at likely cottages and motels to inquire about their prices. I learned early what the words "No Vacany" were. Once, my sister and I left the car to inspect playground equipment on the sand just beyond a motel, while my dad negotiated with the manager. We were very happy with the place and looked forward to taking advantage of the extra amusements. Turned out there were no ground floor units available, so my dad moved on to the next place. There, we rented a small efficiency unit. My sister and I were happy with that and immediately headed out to play on the merry-go-round, only to have the manager run us off because we weren't staying there. I was young, but old enough to feel embarrassed and then angry. Funny how the brain retains memories like that.

Another funny memory: we used those photo booths on the beach to take Before and After pictures. By the end of a week in the sun, we were dark tanned!

Over the years we spent a week at many different towns along the coast; Clearwater, Indian Rocks, Pensacola, Panama City, Navarre, Ft. Walton, Destin and more.  Our accommodations changed from primitive cottages and cabins with screened porches and no air conditioning to the more modern townhouses and condos with all the amenitiesin recent years. The unchanging variable has been mealtime. We were not those people who ate out every meal. Our places had kitchens where my parents carefully prepared meals in order to save money. Once each trip we went out and had a seafood meal. I loved eating at a table with a view of the water. Still do.

Sand. Sand. Sand. Kids. And bare feet.  Definitely equals SAND IN THE BED! We weren't allowed to get on our parents' bed either. And every night, it was almost necessary to strip the bed in order to sleep in a bed with a minimal amount of sand. That changed the year we had carpet on the floor for the first time (I was married with a toddler in tow!). To my surprise the sand disappeared into the carpet fibers long before my feet hit the bed.

Every summer in Florida with my family is a precious memory. We spent our honeymoon in Florida. We took our children to Florida. And our grandchildren. It is OUR idea of a true vacation.

After I retired, my one-week-during-the-summer beach vacation extended to several trips a year and lengthened to a month at a time. I love returning to the same beach, the same condo, the same restaurants, shops and old friends time after time. I may take other vacations, but I feel as if something is missing when I don't get to the beach.

And I don't require new experiences for my beach stay.
The traditional experiences on my list more than satisfy.

 


Remember

Today is not September 11, 2012 (obviously, huh). But I have some things to say about remembering and could not get my thoughts together in time on Tuesday (when it WAS September 11, 2012).

Eleven years ago.

I officially retired from teaching after nearly 30 years on July 1, 2001. I had imagined for years (particularly the last ten of them) what it would feel like to wake up on THAT day in August when teacher inservice began and know I did not have to attend. Near the end of every summer vacation, I'd think of the old joke where it sounds like the mother is speaking to her 'reluctant learner' child. She says something like, "YES, you have to get up now, and YES you have to get dressed, and YES, you have to go to school." Dramatic pause. "You're the teacher!"

So FINALLY the time had come. I thought.

I taught kindergarten and first grade all those years, but in the beginning I earned an art education degree. It only took a semester of student teaching and one year in a junior high art classroom to make me realize that though I loved DOING art, I didn't necessarily like to TEACH it. So I added elementary education, in particular kindergarten certification, to my credentials ... and thank the Good Lord I did.

In the spring of 2001, I filled out the paperwork to retire, but my principal immediately persuaded me to take a semester long substitute job the following fall for our elementary art teacher who became ill just before school let out for the summer. So, I like to say that I began my years in the classroom teaching art, and I ended my years in the classroom teaching art, albeit a very different and more pleasureable experience the second time around. The only downside was that I had to put off for one more year finding out what it felt like on Teacher Inservice Day when you no longer have to attend (Oh YEAH, it is GREAT!).

So. Flashback to eleven years ago.

I was standing in the door of the art room, having just dismissed twenty something students to return to their regular teacher (one of the perks of being a so-called 'special' teacher where the students come to you is that you do have five minutes to breathe between those classes!). Another teacher came down the hall leading her children in a line behind her; as she passed me, she whispered, "Turn on your TV. A plane crashed into a tower of the World Trade Center." That's all she had time to say, and of course, I thought she meant it had been an accident.

I turned on the TV in time to see the second plane crash into the tower and very quickly learned that it was no accident. That day - the sights, the sounds, the emotions - and the days that followed, are indelibly inked in my brain.

A particular attribute of the modern media age is that we "get to see" and often, we see it live.  I saw a man walk on the moon and heard the "one giant leap for mankind" speech when it happened. I saw John John in his sweet little powder blue suit salute his dead president father as the flag covered caisson rolled down Pennsylvannia Avenue (the sound of the horses hooves on pavement takes me back to that day). I saw Jack Ruby shoot Lee Harvey Oswald. I watched when the space shuttle with a teacher on board blew up in front of her family and her third grade class (and was so thankful we were out of school because of snow, so I didn't have to cope with my first graders when I could barely cope myself). And I've watched countless other things happen live via the screen of my television (including OJ's white bronco leading a cadre of state troopers down the interstate!). My generation relates and remembers where we were when because of TV. Recently, I added a slightly different perspective. A friend told me (as we remembered 9-1-1) that her mother cried when she heard about the World Trade Center; she said it was just like hearing the news about Pearl Harbor. Nine-eleven made her remember that day of horror.

We have TV, but our parents' generation had the radio. The news of the tragedies of their generation came over the radio waves as they sat huddled around it, listening to a disembodied voice relating something terrible. My dad had just returned six days earlier from his required year of Army training and service when they heard about Pearl Harbor. He and my grandparents were sitting around their Sunday noon meal after church. He rejoined his unit shortly afterward and spent the next three years (without leave) in the Pacific Theatre. When he told me that, I was a senior in high school, but he remembered exactly what he'd been doing and how he felt. It was the same for my mother. She also can describe sthe moment at the "picture show" that Sunday afternoon when she heard about the bombing (there were also newsreels shown in those days.)

Each year, Nine Eleven also makes me think of my son, who is a professional fireman. When everyone else rushes away from fire, firemen run toward it. It is a profession that I respect and honor and admire. I give thanks daily for the men and women, my son among them, who have that kind of courage and bravery and sacrifice bred deep in their hearts.

And so on this September 11, 2012, I remembered. I thought of the many things that changed after that day; the stricter laws regarding airports and the Department of Homeland Security, just to mention two. I thought of the many, many acts of bravery from policemen and firemen and office workers and heroic men on airplanes and at the Pentagon. I thought of the families who will never forget that day for a much more personal reason than I. They lost a family member, or perhaps a career and a lifestyle they'll never regain. Or they may now live with a loved one who has a terminal or debilitating disease because of rescue or clean-up efforts in and around Ground Zero.

For all of us in America, September Eleven changed us and our way of thinking. It made us stronger, more patriotic, more compassionate or bitter, but in some indisputable way, it stamped each of us, and we are different.

As Churchhill once said about Pearl Harbor, this day - September 11, 2001 - was "a date which will live in infamy."

Book of Lists - Things I Don't Like to Hear

Things I Don't Like to Hear (in Conversation)

~an on-going project~

1. "I don't mean to be ugly (i.e. mean, cruel, sarcastic) but ..."
2. "I promised I wouldn't tell anyone, but ..."
3. "I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell."
4. "They're not our kind."
5. "They're not like us."
6. "We've never done it that way before."
7. "That's stupid." (one step from saying you are)
8. "I'm not lying." (ps - you probably are)
9. "My child never lies." (YES he does)
10. The Lord's name in vain. Ever. (Aloud or in print.)

I WONDER as I WANDER

Have you just ever paused and thought about the funny, odd and so typical things we sometimes automatically do or think or say?  What do you take for granted about yourself and others? What's the phrase you use all the time that others associate with you?

I started thinking about this - in a seriously random way - during a long drive one night when I had nothing else to do ...

1. How you can imagine something great and work (and work) long and hard to make that something wonderful happen - a particular something - and you believe with all your heart that one day, ONE day, it will.  And then it does ... and you're, like, O.M.G. and you can't believe it! (that even sounds silly. Can't believe I typed O.M.G. - I'm older than 13!) You say things like, "I can't BELIEVE this is true" and a whole lot more phrases like that.  Just as if you didn't really work that hard to begin with. Yes, some timing and some luck were involved, but in the moment of realization, you forget the hard work and can't believe "your luck." #I KNEW Courtney's book would sell. And now ... I have to pinch myself to believe that something so awesome has actually happened!

2. How did I survive so many years without a GPS. As direction-challenged as I am, it's a wonder I'm even here.

3. Which reminds me ... I tried to use one of those "You Are Here" directories at a city mall recently. And apparently it lied. Or (possibly) I wasn't where it said I was ...

4. How many times in a day do I ask myself, "What did I do with my phone?" And how many times is it lying on the same arm of a particular chair (where it totally blends in)?

5. So ... then how many times do I use the landline to locate my cell phone in the house? Yeah.

6.How many times in his life has the son said, "Trust me, Mom."

7. Corollary: How many times has the same son told me to get a MAC. "Macs are better." (Trust me, Mom.)

8. How will the daughter feel the day Fed Ex drops that big box of Faking Normal ARCs from HarperTeen at her door? And sees her name on the spine.

9. How will I feel - really feel - the first time I walk into a bookstore or a library and spy Courtney C. Stevens on the spine of a book? (I will definitely make certain it's facing OUT!)

10. Have you ever thought how incredible e-readers are ... really? As a child, I haunted the library and bought as many paperbacks by my favorite authors as my parents would allow; as an adult I have a book-filled library in my home (I have been accused of hoarding books ... nooooo!) I could never have even imagined such a marvelous thing as a child ... so surreal! But I love to read; in fact, I MUST read every day (like a 'fix' for a drug addiction). So I will always love books - the smell and the feel and the hunt for them - but any device that facilitates my love of reading AND saves space gets a thumbs up from me! It is the written word that counts, not the manner in which it is delivered.

11. Having said that ... my dream job would have to be in a library (surrounded by books but without using a cash register). Soooo ... guess that should have occurred to me before I'd spent nearly 30 years in a classroom that was NOT a library. You think?

12. There's the fact that I would love to visit foreign countries - see amazing sights - join in all kinds of activies I've never done before - but I don't like to travel. Neither by bus, nor train, nor plane and sometimes, not even by car ... how about inventing 'teleporting' someone? Anyone?

13. If I have to travel 8 hours in a car, there better be a beach at the end of it ...

14. We had a Blue Moon in August - it's the second full moon in a month. Who the heck thought it should be called blue? It's not blue. So why? A Blue Moon only happens once in a ... well, a blue moon. There won't be another one until the year 2015.

15. I love to work outside, especially with flowers and shrubs, planting, weeding, dreaming about end results. BUT ... I hate to get my hands dirty, and I can't live with dirt under my fingernails. #gardengloves

16. I think about knees alot. Mine are ... aging (that might be putting it kindly). So, I started thinking about those Little League boys and softball girls who are catchers. The Daughter was a catcher in a summer league (starting at age 5), in middle school, on a traveling team as a teen, in high school and in college. I wince when I think about the continuous squatting and jumping up it takes to throw down to first. And the toll on knees. I don't have that excuse.

17. The sisters of those boys who played baseball in the Little League World Series had on tee-shirts that said, "I don't have a LIFE. My brother plays baseball." True. They were grinning and hamming it up for the TV cameras, but I bet they don't always think it's funny. Traveling teams require a lot of dedicated time, and it affects the whole family.  #BeenThere

18. I am no athlete. REALLY not an athletic bone in my body.
I didn't participate in any sport during my childhood, unless riding a bike counts. Neither a team sport nor an individual one, and I hid when intramural teams were being formed at school. Klutz, no eye-hand coordination, no flexibility, no body awareness; zero, zilch. So why was I able to strap on a pair of shoe skates (the kind that require a skate key to fit) on my third birthday and ... skate. Very easily, my mother says. I loved it and skated during my whole childhood and teen years - on sidewalks, in our concrete floored basement, at the occasional rink. I even skated as a teacher with my students in PE for six weeks every year (and I won't tell you how old I was the last time I did it).  And what's more, why could I ride a skateboard? They were introduced the summer before my sophomore year of high school, and I lived on a hill. I woke up every summer morning to the sound of ball bearings on pavement and couldn't wait to get on my board.  No tricks, just plain balancing and riding down the hill way too fast. But you'd think ... maybe if I could do those two things, then maybe I could learn some other sport or something mildly athletic. But no. It is not to be.

19. Have you ever wondered about those contestants on Wheel of Fortune? I worry about them. They are always married to a 'WONDERFUL husband/wife' and their children are without fail 'AMAZING.' Some of them, for heaven's sake, can't even name their children without stumbling over the names ... but they're amazing! I just want Pat Sayjak tell them to use a thesaurus ... get some new adjectives.

20. I think about Extremes. They happen. Last spring we had major flooding in our area, surrounded as we are by the river on three sides. Homes and families were affected as well as many farms and crops. And this year ... major drought. Hardly any rain between the middle of March through the first of September. We finally got a little more than two inches of rain over Labor Day weekend and had to thank a hurricane for that. Farmers have lost most of their corn crop; the verdict is still out on the soybeans. Extremes, two seasons in a row. It affects everyone, those who grow and those who consume.

Just a few things to ramble on about, to think about and ponder.

Happy Book Birthday!

Happy Book Birthday.

The first time I heard that phrase a few years ago, I had NO idea what it meant. Then I learned it referrs to the day a debut author has been awaiting ... for AT LEAST 18 to 24 months. That's the typical time between selling a manuscript and seeing it on a bookshelf ready to buy. When I tell friends that Courtney's book sold, they want to run out tomorrow and buy it. And they act as if there's something not quite right when I say how long it takes. And that doesn't even count the length of time it takes an author to write a book, query agents and find the right one, and then go on submission to rounds of publishers. Rejections, disappointments, revisions. A lot of them at times. These go hand in hand with the talent, skill and sheer determination it takes to become a successful author. Publishing a book is a long and involved process. It doesn't happen very quickly. Ever.

Mounds of work take place in that period of time between selling and then getting the finished copy of the book. Revisions from the editor to deal with. More revisions. Cover art details. Copy editors, proof readers, checkers ... lots of people are involved in making certain the book format is just right. It goes to press - also not a simple process - and I haven't mentioned delays ... always delays. And marketing. The publisher may decide to hold off on putting the book on the shelf; this may be due to  TIMING the market, which is always a concern. Publishers WANT the book to sell, so they evaluate when the book will sell best, what the competition is from other publishers, and even how many marketing dollars they need to spend. ARCs - the book in its simplest form - are sent to early readers who will review the book. The intention is to drum up enthusiasm before the actual release of the book. And so on. Meanwhile, the author may be writing another book, scheduling signings or blog tours, and dealing with marketing issues. And hopefully, receiving good new from the Foreign Rights department. It's a L.O.N.G. process, as I said.

But finally ... FINALLY, there comes a day when the publisher releases your book (i.e., your BABY) to the waiting public. That day is your book's BIRTHday! It has been a "labor of love," but make no mistake, labor is involved!

So you throw a party! You invite your friends - who tell their friends - and your family (it is required for FAMILY to show up in droves!). You use Facebook and Twitter and newspaper releases to get the word out. If you're very blessed, a huge number of fans show up to pack the venue, to buy your book and stand in long (LONG) lines so that you can sign it for them! If you're very, very blessed, everything works out even better than you dreamed it might!

I believe that's what happened last night at the launch party for Sharon Cameron's debut novel THE DARK UNWINDING (Scholastic). It was held at Parnassus Books in Green Hills, a suburb of Nashville, and it was MAGIC. The parking lot was full, the bookstore was packed, and the atmosphere was ... bookish! And Amazing! It was a thrill for Ron and me to find ourselves in the company of so many writers, a great circle of friends, and Sharon's family. Before the end of the night, the bookstore sold out of all the books Scholastic sent for the launch party! A total success. A best seller in the making! (I believe).

And then ... it hit me.
The booksellers spoke to Courtney, "You'll have your book launch here, too ... won't you?"

Oh. OH. Courtney will have a BOOK LAUNCH one day ... my baby is an author. An AUTHOR. It is surreal ... though I knew in my heart from the very beginning that one day it would happen for her. I had no idea when, but I always believed that some day there would be a book/s with Courtney C. Stevens' name on the spine. That her dream of becoming a writer would "come true." Trite words ... dream come true ... but SO SO descriptive of the way her success feels.

I was so excited for Sharon last night. And so excited for Courtney ... thinking that one day this would happen for her; she will be the one basking in the admiration and love of some big crowd of people who stand in a long line to buy her book. Her book!

How that makes me feel? I just don't have the words.

But I am very thankful.

The Night Sky

Every other month I visit my home town in Tennessee and spend a week with my mom. We do Gurl Stuff, shopping and reading and talking ... alot. We sit on the front porch in the swing and talk to neighbors; we go to church, the one I grew up attending, and out to eat with friends. And we get things done in and around the house, taking care of errands that Mom finds more difficult at age 90. It's a sweet time together for us.

During this visit, in the early morning hours of August 12, 2012, we did something else together. Something new and unexpected. At least, for the two of us.

Every August - for a couple days - if the night is a clear one, we earthlings get to enjoy the Perseid Meteor Shower. This year the optimum viewing area included Tennessee and Kentucky.

During supper, I told Mom I planned to go out at some point after midnight to see if I could see any of the promised 100 per hour streaks across the sky.  Initially concerned that the town streetlights would hamper my view, I checked at ten o'clock and decided there would be enough dark sky to make a middle-of-the-night wake-up call worthwhile.

I woke up sans alarm clock at three a.m. and tip-toed to the back door so I wouldn't wake Mom. Imagine my surprise and thrill when she appeared in the kitchen behind me, wide-awake and prepared to go with me. A good thing ... because the locks on the kitchen doors are not quiet!

On the patio, we craned our necks and trained our eyes on the night sky and counted the "shooting stars."

"There's one! Another one over here! That one wasn't as bright ... but there's one!"

Long before I was ready to stop - but in the absence of lounge chairs my neck was killing me   - we headed back to bed.  Truly a magnificent experience. Of course, we hardly saw 50 in the half hour we watched the stars, but there were enough to compare to other more usual night skies when we have not seen even one.

A friend in KY was outside at the same time Mom and I were. How did I know? Because she and I tweeted back and forth as we both enjoyed the meteor shower ... many miles a part. It made me think about distance and connections. Distance on earth and distance in space; a connection with my mom on the patio and with a friend from back home. And technology, the way it connects us in ways unheard of just a few short years ago.

We live on an awesome planet. We live in an amazing age.

And I am thankful.

Random thoughts about Space

If you thought this post was about organizing my space or your space or even your spouse's space ... NOT. (Although a friend recently related Joel Stein's (Time Magazine) definition of clutter: A man's clutter reveals his true self. A woman's clutter reveals ... shoes. I can go with that!)

BUT I meant Space. SPACE. As in deep space. The kind with stars and constellations and galaxies.

Last night at 12:15 A.M. - technically that would be August 6, 2012, in the Central Time Zone - an Event happened ( 8-5-12 in CA where the lab is). History happened. And millions of people - along with the scientists at the NASA Jet Propulsion Lab - watched it happen. Facebook, CNN, Twitter, NASA TV on our cable channels, our satellite dishes, our laptops, desktops and iPads marked the event. And I stayed up late to be a part of it.

NASA's CURIOSITY. spacecraft the size of a car, landed on Mars after an 8 1/2 months journey through space.

The landing was hyped aplenty, appropriately billed as "Seven Minutes of Terror" in a YouTube video that quickly went viral. The seven minutes refers to the time it will take Curiosity to enter Mars' atmosphere and slow to a stop from a whopping 13,000 mph in order to make a bull's eye landing within the massive Gall Crator near its equator. It was considered nerve-racking because it tests a new landing routine. Steering itself part of the way and slowed by parachutes, it will dangle by cables until its six wheels touch the ground. NASA will monitor it by the 'heart sounds' it sends out and judge its success by the pictures/data it should immediately begin sending.

In the past, only six of fourteen attemps by space agencies around the world have managed to touch down successfully. (NASA has done well, failing with only one of its seven tries).

AND IT WORKED perfectly last night. I stayed up to watch it happen: streaming NASA TV live on my laptop, eyeing CNN on TV and Twitter on my iPhone.

It was exciting. EXCITING. Twitterville was awake and monitoring Curiosity's progress. Minute by minute the men in the Lab reported hearing healthy 'heart sounds.'  (Sounded as if a baby was being born. I'm sure it felt that way to them). I felt the tension almost as if I was watching Apollo Thirteen's Jim Lovell (Gary Sinise) or NASA's Gene Kranz (Ed Harris). I actually do remember when the aborted moon landing happened and the tension that gripped the nation at the time. And I revisited it when the "Apollo Thirteen" movie came out. Yes, I know there was no human life at risk with this Mars landing of Curiosity. But still ... the future of our country's space program may well hang on the success of Curiosity. The tension was alive and well inside NASA's Jet Propulsion Lab.  And so was the excitement - the tears, the hugs and high fives - when Curiosity did its thing so well! And History was made.

Will Curiosity's success  have a positive effect on the endurance of America's space program?

I find myself hoping so!

The Olympic Spirit - July 2012

In 2001, before the 2002 Salt Lake Winter Olympics, Courtney became an Olympic torchbearer. She ran her "leg" on the streets of West Memphis, Arkansas, and it was a very special day for our family. Chevrolet sponsored the Torch Relay, so afterward the local dealership (owned by extended family) framed the newspaper account with her official torch picture to display in their showroom, along with a shadow box that held her torch. Eventually the dealership closed and Courtney acquired her torch. It is now displayed along with other sports memorabilia in her home's sports-themed pool room: a visible reminder of her personal connection with the Games.

I could hardly wait for the Summer Olympics to begin this summer of 2012. Though I love the summer sports best, the Olympic spirit is really what draws me, whether in the summer or winter games. I remember our thrills when our children played varsity sports in high school and college, and how my emotions swelled and practically burst out of me in moments of excitement. Multiply that uber-feeling times a million, and that's how the Olympics affect me. For two weeks every two years, I stay emotionally involved, ready to tear up at a moment's notice, just heart-filled with joy and sadness over the triumphs and failures of the mostly very young athletes. Patriotic pride (love of country) builds, and with it, empathy for the stories of other countries and their athletes.

I cry when I hear "Chariots of Fire" or the booming music of the Olympic theme song. I cry when an American stands atop the medal stand watching the Star-Spangled Banner slowly rise between two foreign flags. I cry when the underdog rises above himself and accomplishes far more than the expectations of coaches and audience and TV announcers, and when the favorite excels. I love the Olympics and the feelings it brings me. I love the way it unites our country in patriotism and common purpose.

And I love the stories. One of the TV announcers said, " ... the lasting impressions of the Olympics are not only of those who stand on top of the medal stands." The Olympic Games are not just about USA Dream Teams, or Michael Phelps breaking medal count records or even the beautiful girls who win gold in gymnastics and swimming. They touch my heart, but so do the unknowns - the one athlete from a tiny country who has no hope of any medal but is THERE anyway; the first time an athlete from a particular country wins in a particular event; the first medal a country has ever won; or stories about the way an athlete and his family sacrifice, how they endure hardship and injuries, yet triumph through the pain. These stories of accomplishment and success touch me: the beautiful back-stories of endurance and sacrifice just to get there. The athletes embody the Olympic spirit - they are "swifter, higher and stronger," yet they compete with sportsmanship and good will and inspirational respect for each other.

THEY inspire respect.

That's why I love it. That's why I watch obscure Olympic sports every two years that I'd never otherwise care about. And every two years - winter or summer - the sports world in all kinds of venues (as well as those uninvolved in the sports world) sits up and takes notice. And THEN it's not just about fame or fortune or simply the glory of winning ... it is much more and more powerful than that. It is the Olympic spirit!

It IS the Olympic Spirit! And the rest of us are mightily blessed.

Independence Day 2012

Today is Independence Day. It is the "birthday" of America the Beautiful. Millions are celebrating our country's beginning with bbqs, picnics, visits to the lake and fireworks.

Our family isn't getting together - we've already done that this summer - so we're scattered from here to there today. Which means my thoughts have not been focused on cleaning the house, making a list of MUST DO STUFF, planning meals, shopping for groceries or any of the other chores that precede houseguests.

I heard no random fireworks this morning (nor through out the day), which would have been a familiar "wake-up" call on the Fourth in the past. We haven't had a good rain since March, and we're going on our second week of triple digit temperatures, so our entire area is under a necessary Burn Ban. Private fireworks displays are off limits, but there will be the unsual magnificent fireworks display over the river for the public tonight, where the water makes such things safer.

I didn't go to any of a dozen flea markets. I watered flowers. I didn't shop the holiday sales at the mall. I read a book and edited another chapter for Court's WIP. I didn't attend special programs or parades or go to a ballgame.

It's been a quiet day.

What I have done is reflect on this country of ours and three people who fought to keep it free. I'm combining patriotic holidays here - a sort of Memorial for my special Veterans on the Fourth.

America is the beautiful. I'm not a huge traveller, but I have seen the Blue Ridge Mountains, the Cumberlands, the Smokies, the Rockies, the ocean, the plateaus of the midwest, the rolling hills of  Middle Tennessee (where I was born) and the length and breadth of Kentucky (where I live now) with its lakes and rivers. I've seen the nation's capital and hiked the battlefields of our country's wars. Many times the beauty of blue skies over shining seas and amber waves of grain touched my heart. As well as producing the scarier emotions during winter ice storms and blizzards, of roaring floods on the Mississippi and the Ohio, in the fearful winds of tornadoes, and through the destruction of hurricane force gales. But regardless, America is a country I love, a country worth preserving. A country where millions of soldiers over the years have willingly given their lives to insure freedom.

Morris Eugene Crain, a Medal of Honor recipient from WWII, was one of them. There is a monument bearing his likeness in front of our local high school. The school boasts the word "memorial" in its name because of him. He was a twenty-one sergeant when he died in France protecting his squad. He left a wife, a daughter born after his death, his parents, and ten Crain brothers and sisters. My husband's mother was his sister. I heard about "Uncle Eugene" almost as soon as we married. His sacrifice has had a profound effect on his family - including the third generation - and provides a legacy of service and an appreciation for country and soldier.

My father-in-law did not win special medals in WWII, but he volunteered to fight for our country as a teen-ager. One of the youngest men in his unit, nick-named "the kid" by the men he served among, he was tough enough to help build the Burma Road and then to return to life after war unscared by its ugliness. My father-in-law was a strong, quiet man with a quick smile and a wealth of common-sense wisdom. He was always "there" for his son, his family, and his friends, and ever ready to lend a willing hand, to advise if asked, and to show a deep, abiding love of God, of community and country and for his family.

As so many other draftable young men, my dad did his required year of training in preparation for the expected war, was released and then returned to his hometown. Six days later during Sunday lunch with his parents, he listened to news of the bombing of Pearl Harbor. He immediately returned to his unit, went to OCS and then to the Pacific Theatre; Manila and Guatemala and all the islands. There he remained, steadily moving up the ranks, without benefit of leave, for three long years. He commanded an ordnance division, which he said was located on the "island behind the (combat) island." During those three years, my dad wrote a weekly letter to his parents, which we were priviledged to read them after his death. They were dated and so provided a colorful and meaningful chronological record of his war service. They also gave me a visual picture of my dad as a young man, a unique and miraculous opportunity to "see" him the way he was and to juxtapose that with the man and father he became.  I was blessed to understand the origins of his character and to see the development of the spiritual and patriotic values he passed on to his children. After the war, as a businessman, Dad continued in the Army Reserves and continued to rise in rank. Always a patriot, he left us with the legacy of a strong work ethic and rock solid moral and spiritual values.

Three men. Different ages, varied experiences. Each commands my respect, my appreciation and my love. And each one helped to preserve the country I love.

Many things have changed - are changing - in our country since these three men grew up and fought for a younger America. I love my country, though I have many concerns, many fears about the direction America seems headed today. Some are public, some private and personal, but too many to write about here. I end my July Fourth Thoughts with 2Chronicles 7:14.

"If my people who are called by My name humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, will forgive their sin, and heal their land."

Amen.

A Day in the Life Of - Part 2

The continuing saga ...

“Yesterday” – June 15, 2012

“Today” - JUNE 25, 2012

 FINALLY, the day has arrived! It is the fulfillment of one dream and the beginning of many others.

Such JOY and ANTICIPATION, and I could not even TELL why! I have wanted to shout the news OUT LOUD.

Instead, I had to be content with *whispering* to a few friends and family with a promise to KILL if they told anyone else.

All these emotions link to Part 1 of my post, A Day in the Life Of on June 15, 2012, and to my daughter, Courtney Potter). In January of 2012, she posted the story on blog of her author journey.  I was privileged to tag along with her then and for the thrill ride it has been to date; for that is what the journey has become. It has felt like a long one in some ways, but actually has been a relatively short one in others. We have arrived at the first destination - a mere stop along the way in her ‘dreams come true’ desire to become a career author - but a very important milestone (in many future ones to come)!

AND I AM SO EXCITED and CRAZY-HAPPY for Courtney!

BECAUSE …

HARPER COLLINS just bought Courtney’s contemporary young adult novel, Faking Normal. They made the final offer (and Courtney’s agent accepted the contract on her behalf) on June 15. It was Courtney’s 33^rd birthday. What a wonderful, AMAZING present! Especially since it was a Very Nice Contract!

How beautiful is that!

And today, June 25 – a mere week later – Harper Collins announced the acquisition of Court’s manuscript in Publishers Weekly.  So now, NOW, we can TALK about it! Shew.  Thought I’d NEVER get to shout it out!

And so it begins. The life of an author. Writer. Wordsmith. Creator of memorable characters and purposeful plots. 

The deal validates all the long solitary hours of penning words on a legal pad or committing them to a laptop. It makes worthwhile the ‘nice’ rejections (though very encouraging, they were still read ‘no’) from agents and then a few editors. Writing is a business of rejections. Writers have to develop thick skins. (So do mamas).

I always wanted to write. I’ve scribbled stories and dreamed up characters all my life. I am a voracious reader, who secretly dreamed that *one day* I’d write a novel, too. I even took a short story writing class in 2003 and enjoyed every minute of it.  In the course of the class, I realized that I don’t really have what it takes to sustain a book-length plot, but I enjoyed the creative endeavor, and I learned a lot.

The desire to write runs in our family.

My dad told me he always wanted to write a book. He ‘settled’ for writing his Army memoir (and let me edit the draft), which was published by the county historical society as a tribute to veterans.  In 2001, Courtney and my sister and I put together an anthology of family anecdotes for my dad. The three of us enjoyed the process so much! When Daddy died in January of 2002, he had only had time to read one section, but it was clearly something he treasured.

As I did, my mother scribbled stories when she was young. And she liked to illustrate stories that her best friend wrote, too. My son remains fascinated with graphic novels and comic books. He keeps plots in his head and shares them with two friends who have the same interests. My sister has kept an extensive journal for many years; she has a story to tell as well; and one day, I believe she will.  I also have a cousin who is the author of three books.

We are a family of readers and writers.

Courtney is the only one of us who actually got down to it and DID IT! Writing is hard work. It requires consistent, persistent effort. It requires learning ‘the business’ and how to grow as a writer and how to polish your craft. The rest of us yearn, but Courtney did it!

And me? Court asked if I would help (would I?). She wanted grammar/English advice and someone to ‘talk’ the book with her. And that’s the way my part in this adventure began. Courtney excelled at writing non-fiction. She easily wrote reports and research papers and sermons (i.e. ‘talks’), even poems and skits as a part of college classes and then in her job as youth pastor. Though she’d written something all her life, had had a distinguished writing portfolio in high school, and had won a national short story contest, it had been years since she’d written something that required dialogue. Therefore, there was a slight learning curve for her when she began. I helped with punctuation and phrasing. I thought she had a GREAT plot outline for a YA fantasy novel, a genre that she loves to read. She wrote, then emailed me a chapter at a time; and I proofed it and emailed it back. And so on, again and  … again. We worked on and revised that book three times, shortening it, changing perspective and point of view, and even the plot  … over time. That first full-length novel was a great learning tool. And I still believe it has redeeming value, but for now, it resides in a folder on the desktop! Neither of us is ready to re-vise it again … yet! Meanwhile, Courtney joined a writing guild, The Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) and attended her first Mid-South conference. She attended one session by Kelly Sonnack of the Andrea Brown Literary Agency in San Diego, CA, and told me that Kelly was her ‘dream agent.’ She just couldn’t believe she would ever be ‘good enough’ to attract representation by such an amazing agent!

Later that year, Court revealed a new plot idea she’d had. It took a year of writing, revising and proofing to get it to publishable standard. But in this one, a contemporary teen romance, Courtney found her writing style and her unique voice, and her genre. The words, the characters, the setting, all just flowed. I was amazed at the quantum leap in quality, in the depth of her writing with this book. When she submitted it to the fiction contest at SCBWI that fall, judges awarded it an Honorable Mention. We finished the book and began to submit it to agents for representation. There were many encouraging rejections!

Last fall, Courtney attended the national conference of SCBWI in Los Angeles. An editor at the conference gave her the best advice of her writing career. “Go home and write the book you HAVE to write!” That night in the CA hotel, Courtney began the first chapter of that book. And it is the one that got her three offers of representation by top agents in January of 2012 – a late Christmas present! Courtney realized one part of her dream when she accepted Kelly Sonnack of the Andrea Brown Literary Agency AS HER very own AGENT! It is the book that Harper Collins will publish (possibly 2014).

Courtney does the hard work, and all I do is move commas around and act the part of a watchdog for over-used words and phrases. IT IS SO MUCH FUN! I get to enjoy the pleasure of creation and suffer none of the birthing pains.

It is the fulfillment of one of my dreams.

Thank you, Courtney, for allowing me a part in your journey. Thank you, Kelly Sonnack, for believing.  Thank you, Rosemary Brosnan of Harper Collins, for sharing the vision.

Today, on June 25, 2012, Courtney’s deal is in Publisher’s Weekly!

Wow. That takes my breath away. (so  thankful!)

I CAN’T WAIT!!!!